A cold rain was falling on Washington late one night about a month ago, when a knock sounded on the door of a retired U.S. intelligence agent. On the former spook's stoop stood a rail-thin, jug-eared man in a soaking-wet business suit. "Hello," said the visitor, thrusting out a hand. "I'm Ross Perot, and we have some things to talk about."
Yes, it was the Texas billionaire, once more demonstrating his flair for melodrama. At times riding around the Washington area in a battered Volkswagen with drooping fenders (a "perfect disguise," he once chortled to the driver), at times relying on...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
