CHAPTER SEVEN June 26 6:30 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time Special Activities Center, Directorate of Operations Central Intelligence Agency Langley, Virginia “It seems the president has lost his marbles.” “Oh?” the old man smoking the cigarette said. It sounded like he had marbles in his throat. His teeth were dark yellow. Receding gums made them long. They seemed to click together when he spoke. The effect was horrifying. “Do tell.” They were deep inside the bowels of headquarters. Most places inside the building, smoking was now off limits. But here in the inner sanctum? Anything was allowed. “I’m sure you’ve already heard,” Special Agent Wallace Speck said. He sat across a wide steel desk from the old man. There was almost nothing on the desk. No phone, no computer, not a piece of