One day in late May White climbs wearily into his black Pontiac, still wearing his wire. He utters his closing bit of dialogue to himself -- "This is Special Agent Iran White -- the time is..." -- and switches off the recording device.

He drives to the designated rendezvous at the rear of a nearby building. As White rolls out of his car he overhears Novitzky talking excitedly to one of the drug agents about a book deal. They've brought White a copy of the new June 2003 issue of Muscle and Fitness, which to their amazement features a cover story linking their three suspects -- Bonds, Anderson and Conte. They can't believe it.

"You're in on him!" exclaims an ecstatic Novitzky. "Buy some drugs from that fucker and I'll buy you a steak."

"Don't worry," whispers White.

White hands his wire to the drug agent and takes a look at the magazine article. "I'm just shocked by what they've been able to do for me," Bonds declares in the article without a hint of irony. "I visit BALCO every three to six months. They check my blood to make sure my levels are where they should be.... Maybe my zinc and magnesium intakes need to increase and I need more ZMA."

White looks up from the article and drawls, "Do you have a problem with me going to the park with this guy?"

"To see Bonds?" asks Novitzky.

"Yeah."

"Hell, no."

White never gets his chance to go to Pac Bell Park. The night of June 7 he wakes up paralyzed. His wife calls for help, and within seven minutes two firemen are standing in his bedroom. In the intensive care unit of San Jose's Kaiser Hospital doctors tell White he's had a stroke.

Three hours after the incident he slowly begins to revive. He can move his limbs slightly, though he feels as if he just ran a marathon. I'll be back in the gym by Tuesday, White thinks. It can't be that serious. Then he slumps back in the bed, stricken again.

Terror sets in. He's trapped inside his body and feels as if he is underwater. He can see his family and doctors. He can even hear them exhorting him to hang in there. But he can't move the right side of his body or speak. His mother anoints him with holy oil.

He lies in his hospital bed, wondering whether he'll ever be able to move again. Hours blur into days. On the fifth day, Friday, June 13, White wiggles his right toe. A little later he manages to shift his leg ever so slightly. By the eighth day he can move most of his body and speak.

White has been moved to Kaiser's rehabilitation center in Vallejo. He refuses a walker. Slowly balancing on his stronger right leg, he begins to shuffle along. Doctors tell him he must have torn a muscle while lifting, and the blood clot traveled up his left side and lodged in his brain. They show him an X-ray of the stroke, a dark spot a little bigger than a poker chip.

Two weeks have passed, and the task force is in shock. It's become clear that White won't be able to return to the case. The drug investigators push for a new undercover agent, but the IRS wants to bring in its own operative. When a couple more weeks slip by, the investigators repeat their request. They even offer to get someone from out of state. No, says Novitzky, the IRS has someone.

The tap on Anderson's cell phone is never initiated. There are no intercepted calls of what the trainer had described to White as his "consultations" with all sorts of star athletes. The IRS says it won't support a wiretap application, a response that stuns the investigators. A request to bring in the FBI or the DEA to sponsor a wiretap is denied -- Novitzky doesn't want to bring in another federal agency. Given no explanation, the agents remaining on the case begin to feel squeezed out.

Then there's a plain old-fashioned screwup. The swiped BALCO trash finds its way to another company's Dumpster, leading to a complaint from that company. BALCO replies that it didn't move the trash and files a report with the Burlingame police department. Agents fear Conte has been tipped off to the entire investigation.