Covert One 4 - The Altman Code Read Online Free PDF Page B

were high-level.”
    “Yes, sir. But I’m not sure what you mean by who’s left? No one, I

can–”
    “Have they investigated me, Charlie?”
    Ouray laughed uneasily. “Of course not, Mr. President.”
    “Why not? I certainly had entree, unless there were leaks I didn’t hear

about.”
    “There weren’t, sir. But suspecting you is ridiculous on the face of

it.” “That’s what they said about Nixon before they found the tapes.”
    “Sir–”
    “I know, you think I’m the one harmed most. That’s not true. It’s the

American people, but I think you get my point now.” Ouray said nothing.
    “Look higher, Charlie, and look around. The cabinet. The vice president,

who doesn’t always agree with me. The joint chiefs, the Pentagon,

influential lobbyists we sometimes talk to. No one is above suspicion.”
    Ouray leaned forward. “You really think it could be someone that high,

Sam?”
    “Absolutely. Whoever it is, he–or she–is killing us. Not so much the

information … the press, and even our enemies, knowing our plans

before we revealed them … that’s been simply embarrassing so far.
    No, the worst damage is to our confidence in each other and to the

potential threat to national security. Right now, I can’t rely on any of

our people with something really sensitive, not even you.”
    Ouray nodded. “I know, Sam. But you can trust me now.” He smiled, but it

was not a humorous smile. “I’ve been cleared. Unless you can’t trust the

FBI, CIA, NSA, or secret service.”
    “See? In the back of our minds we’re beginning to doubt even them.”
    “I guess we are. What about the Pentagon? A lot of the leaks involve

military decisions.”
    “Policy decisions, not military. Long-range strategy.”
    Ouray shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe we’ve got a foreign mole

somewhere, so deep the security people can’t find him. Maybe we tell

them to dig deeper? Look for a professional spy hidden behind one of

us?”
    “All right, tell them to pursue that angle. But I don’t think it’s a

spy, foreign or domestic. This deep throat isn’t interested in stealing

secrets–
    he’s interested in changing the public debate. Influencing our

decisions. Someone who secures an advantage, if our policy changes.”
    “Yeah,” Ouray agreed uneasily.
    The president returned to the papers on his desk. “Find the leaker,

Charlie. I need answers before this situation paralyzes me.”
    Thursday, September 14.
    Kaohsiung, Taiwan.
    The windows of Jon Smith’s room on the twentieth floor of the Grand

Hi-Lai Hotel displayed a breathtaking panorama of Kaohsiung’s sparkling

night, from the horizon-to-horizon lights up to the black, star-studded

sky. Tonight, Smith had no interest in it.
    Safely back in his room, for the third time he read through everything

in Mondragon’s wallet and notebook. He had hoped there would be some

clue to how the murdered Covert-One agent had secured the manifest. The

only unexplained item was a crumpled cocktail-sized napkin from a

Starbucks coffee shop with a name scrawled on it in ink–Zhao Yanji.
    His cell phone buzzed. It was Fred Klein returning his call.
    Klein’s greeting was a question: “You delivered the article to the

airport?” “No,” Smith told him. “I have bad news. Mondragon was killed.”

The silence at the other end was like a sigh.
    “I’m sorry. I worked with him a long time. He was a fine agent, and I’ll

miss him. I’ll contact his parents. They’ll be shocked. Distraught.”
    Smith breathed deeply. Once. Twice. “Sorry, Fred. This must be hard on

you.”
    “Tell me what happened, Jon.” Smith told him about the envelope, the

attack, and Mondragon’s death.
    “The killers were Chinese, from Shanghai. The invoice manifest must’ve

been the real thing. I have a lead, but it’s remote.” He told Klein

about the Starbucks napkin.
    “You’re sure the napkin’s from Shanghai?”
    “Was Mondragon anywhere but