“You bet.”

When Antonia arrived at the coffee shop she said: “Is my apartment bugged?”

“I don’t know, but it might be, now that you’re working for the special prosecutor.”

“Wow.”

“Here’s the thing,” said Maria. “I don’t work for Dick Nixon. My loyalty is to the Justice Department and to the American people.”

“Okay . . .”

“I don’t have anything particular to tell you right now, but I want you to know that if there is any way I can help the special prosecutor, I will.”

Antonia was smart enough to know that she was being offered a spy inside Justice. “That could be really important,” she said. “But how will we stay in contact without giving the game away?”

“Call me from a pay phone. Don’t give your name. Say anything about a cup of coffee. I’ll meet you here the same day. Is this a good time?”

“Perfect.”

“How are things going?”

“We’re just getting started. We’re looking for the right lawyers to join the team.”

“On that subject, I have a suggestion: George Jakes.”

“I think I’ve met him. Remind me who he is.”

“He worked for Bobby Kennedy for seven years, first at Justice when Bobby was attorney general, then in the Senate. After Bobby was killed, George went to work at Fawcett Renshaw.”

“He sounds ideal. I’ll give him a call.”

Maria stood up. “Let’s leave separately. Reduces the chance of our being seen together.”

“Isn’t it terrible that we have to act so furtively when we’re doing the right thing?”

“I know.”

“Thank you for coming to see me, Maria. I really appreciate it.”

“Good-bye,” said Maria. “Don’t tell your boss my name.”

• • •

Cameron Dewar had a television set in his office. When the Ervin Committee hearings were being broadcast from the Senate, Cam’s TV was on continuously—as was just about every other set in downtown Washington.

On the afternoon of Monday, July 16, Cam was working on a report for his new boss, Al Haig, who had replaced Bob Haldeman as White House chief of staff. Cam was not paying close attention to the televised testimony of Alexander Butterfield, a midlevel White House figure who had organized the president’s daily schedule during Nixon’s first term, then left to run the Federal Aviation Administration.

A committee lawyer called Fred Thompson was questioning Butterfield. “Were you aware of the installation of any listening devices in the Oval Office of the president?”

Cam looked up. That was unexpected. Listening devices—commonly called bugs—in the Oval Office? Surely not.

Butterfield was silent for a long time. The committee room went quiet. Cam whispered: “Jesus.”

At last Butterfield said: “I was aware of listening devices, yes, sir.”

Cam stood up. “Fuck, no!” he shouted.

On TV, Thompson said: “When were those devices placed in the Oval Office?”

Butterfield hesitated, sighed, swallowed, and said: “Approximately the summer of 1970.”

“Christ almighty!” Cam yelled to his empty room. “How could this happen? How could the president be so stupid?”