The Road to Damascus

By Brett Moss

Ripped from the files of the CIA!
Valerie Plum, America's Top Spy©, is back and this time she's got Nancy Pelosi with her!
Join the dynamic duo on a "secret" mission in 2007 to Syria to Bring Peace to the Middle EastTM.
Meet ace State Dept. hand Hatton Hand, Middle East gadfly Green Helmet Guy, Asma and Dr. Bashar "Dr. Bashir" Assad, the Bill & Hillary Clinton of the Levant, along with a special guest appearance by the "Dean of White House reporters," Helen Thomas.
Can Val and the First Female Speaker of the United States House of Representatives® thwart the unholy machinations of the evil Dick Cheney and his puppet, the idiot-savant Bush, while overcoming the bad taste left by John Kerry?
Can they solve the riddle of the Sphinx? Untie the Gordian Knot? Get San Francisco-style crab cakes in Jordan?
This needs a woman's touch!
Now it can be told! It's Lucy & Ethel meet a Hope & Crosby road picture. Right from the horse's mouth!
The long-awaited second book of the Valerie Plum, America's Top Spy, series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brett Moss
• Release date: Mar 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310033209

Brett Moss

Valerie "Val" Plum, also known as "America's Top Spy," has spent almost three decades with the Central Intelligence Agency, in the field and in Washington. She has had access to the highest level of governments worldwide and is ready to tell all (CIA censors approving, of course). She is a graduate of Cornell and lives in Bethesda, Maryland, with her husband, Joseph Schmilson. They do not have children, a dog, a cat or a pet of any kind. They have no interesting hobbies either.Brett Moss is an inconsequential writer living in Arlington, Virginia, seeking consequence.

Book preview

The Road to Damascus

From the Memoirs of America's Top Spy

By Valerie Plum

with Brett Moss

Published by Kirby Sterling Publishing - Distributed by Smashwords

Copyright 2016 Brett Moss

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own or here purchase an additional copy for each recipient. We appreciate your support.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Going on a Mild Goof Chase

Chapter 2 Public Broadcasting

Chapter 3 The Conqueror Earworm

Chapter 4 Mission: Possible, Maybe

Chapter 5 Chinatown

Chapter 6 Leaving on a Jet Plane

Chapter 7 Burqasized

Chapter 8 The Godmother, Part II

Chapter 9 Damascus Steel

Chapter 10 Ass-Syria

Chapter 11 Dr. Bashir, I Presume

Chapter 12 The Wait

Chapter 13 The Homunculus From Hell

Chapter 14 Died in the Wool

Chapter 15 BANANAs

Chapter 16 The Santa Fe Trail

Chapter 17 As the Crow Flies

Chapter 18 Snake Eyes

Chapter 19 Indian Givers

Chapter 20 Dinner Reservation

Chapter 21 Land of Enrichment

It is the spring of 2007. Rep. Nancy Pelosi has assumed her duties as the first woman Speaker of the United States House of Representatives - one of those moments in history like Martin Luther King’s I Have a Dream speech, the Roe v Wade decision, giving women the vote and Lincoln's freeing of the slaves.

Chapter 1 Going on a Mild Goof Chase

In my rearview mirror I could see the dark SUV dodge back behind a gray SUV, maybe a Mercedes or Lexus or something.

With tinted windows it was hard to see who was driving. Weren't windows that dark illegal, even in Maryland? It must be impossible to drive at night.

Ooh, there it is again in my passenger side mirror!

Wait, is that it? There's like a hundred of them around me. Big, intimidating SUVs, black or gray, are probably the single-most popular vehicle in the region.

OMG! There's one right next to me! Are they going to roll down their window and shoot me!?!

I sped up a little to get ahead, keeping my eye on them. It probably would have been easier to slow down but I'm not that kind of person.

They bailed at the MacArthur Blvd. exit. No sweat.

Holy crap! There's another tailgating the car in front of it trying to get even with me on my side! Luckily, I'm going to pull over one lane, because my exit is the next one after I finish crossing the Legion Bridge.

Ack! There's one following me off the exit onto the George Washington Parkway (AKA GW Parkway). And there's another coming up on my side! Are they going to box me in and run me off the road?

But Fortune smiled upon me again as traffic congestion jammed us up and so it was start and stop all the way to my Chain Bridge Road exit. It was less stressful from there to the CIA.

In case you just joined the story and don't know who I am, I'm Valerie Plum, proclaimed America's Top Spy by all sorts of experts in the Washington Post, New York Times, newsmagazines, intellectual publications like The New Yorker, The Atlantic and Mother Nation, PBS and TV news shows, CNN, Democratic National Committee fundraising emails, and so much more. (You know, I need to get that America's Top Spy phrase registered before some filthy capitalist steals it and makes millions off of it. Or would that be trademarked? Copyrighted?)

And I work at the Central Intelligence Agency. You'd know all that if you'd bought my international best-selling book, Seven Days in September.

* * *

Dear reader, who would be following me? Admittedly I've probably made a few enemies from my days in the field, lo, those many years ago. But I've been tasked to the Langley HQ over five years. Can people hold a grudge that long?

Maybe it's Vice President Dick Cheney. He hasn't forgiven me, and my husband Joe, for exposing the lies of the Bush administration and its illegal Iraq War! To refresh your memory Joe wrote an op-ed in the L.A. Times explaining that he had gone to the west African country of Upper Soowage and discovered that Iraq had been trying to buy uranium from them... er... wait, that's what he wrote in his report to Cheney on his mission (which I had, absolutely no involvement in getting him assigned to, no way, no how! Wink!).

Where was I?

Oh, yeah, in his op-ed he explained that he told Cheney that Iraq wasn't trying to buy uranium yellowcake but actually yellow onions. Tons of yellow onions for secret shipment back to Iraq through a series of shell companies. And, well, that's all you need to know on that. (I'm in the spy business, so there's a lot of those 'Need to know' thingies.)

Anyway, once Cheney was publicly exposed as a warmonger, he decided to expose me as a CIA agent in retaliation!

So, and I have to concentrate hard because I don't have my DNC talking points in front of me, one of Cheney's minions, Lewis Speedy Dole, mentioned to a guy at Time magazine that I worked at the CIA and that's how Joe got the mission. Or so the guy at Time magazine thought he remembered being told that. He wasn't sure because he was packing for a vacation when he took the call... he might have heard it from someone else, read it somewhere or met me at a CIA event... and I think I'm departing from the talking points so I'll end it there. Except you are supposed to remember - Speedy Dole was found guilty of perjury because the Time magazine guy wasn't sure of what he remembered (I'm glad I'm not a lawyer because, frankly, I still find the whole series of events confusing. Only the lawyers, and only a few of them, seem to understand it.)

Oh, one final thing, Blew my cover because I worked at the CIA. Yeah, that's the talking point.

Boom!

Don't forget the important takeaway, Cheney = bad.

So, ipso facto, maybe it's Cheney following me, or rather one of his other minions, or henchmen. Yeah, that's better.

Though I'm not sure why he's following me.

I mean everyone knows where I work. I've been driving to Langley for years. All my neighbors and friends know. About a jillion people who work with me at CIA HQ know. I put my place of employment down on all sorts of official papers like car loans, and deviating from DNC talking points, again...

Okay, back to the important question, what should I do!?!

It wasn't like I was on a European city street where I could just slip into a store or an alley and lose them. I'm in a car going about my normal business. I'm not trained to handle these things.

I didn't know who to call; where to turn.

Ironically, I needed to get in touch with Lizzie O'Leary (to cancel our lunch date because I needed to do some shopping) but accidentally rang Liz Chang. As soon as I saw her name pop up on the screen I let out a curse. I couldn't hang up because she would see my name on her screen. I'd just tell her that I accidentally dialed the wrong number and hang up. Then it hit me. Liz, the Chang one not the O'Leary one, might be able to help me. She's famously competent, always getting things done.

Did you report it to security? she immediately asked.

Well, you see, I'm not 100 percent sure. And I don't want to approach them unless I'm sure. I don't want to waste their time, ya' know, I confessed.

You're on their shit list again, aren't you? Liz blandly asked.

Yes, I moaned and looked down at my Jimmy Choo loafers. But it's not my fault…

There was silence on the other end.

Anyway, I said restarting the conversation. What can I do?

Come down to my office, Liz said.

* * *

After a few diversions, distractions and an insane sale at Macy's at Tyson's Corner, I went to Liz Chang's office. I had never been in her new office before. It's in the Asian pod. She's the supervisor for the China desk. Actually, what we call a desk is much larger than one desk. It's a whole section with many desks involved. The terminology is left over from the old days when the CIA was much smaller.

I expected the office to have an Asian flavor, if you know what I mean. You now, some red and gold wall paper with dragons. Maybe some dark wood and Fu dogs.

Not that I'm stereotyping her. However it looked like any other office except there were lots of pictures of kids. Different kids. Several of them seemed to be Disney-oriented…er… I mean taken at a Disney theme park. Others looked like campgrounds or family outings.

I guessed they were her kids. They didn't really look like her, you know, I mean they weren't… uh... who knew she had kids? I mean practically every woman I knew at Langley couldn't shut up about her kids. You'd barely meet them and they'd be bleating about their kids. Soon you knew the names and ages of every Grant, Brittany, Jackson, Kayla, Dylan, Brianna, Carson, Tyler, Taylor, Tiffany, Tristan, Austin, Jordan/Jordon, Ryan, Lindsey, Ethan, Carly, Brandon, Brandy, Madison, Jared, MacKenzie, Cody, Maya-Mia and Justin or Dustin; where they went to school; all their little activities; how incredibly talented they were; what allergies they had; what they did on vacation; and so on.

I had to say that apparently Liz can be tight-lipped.

OMG! Could she be a pedophile? Could these be her victims? A serial pedophile (Was there any other kind? I mean, kids grew out of being kids and if you're in it for the kid-factor then if you're a practitioner you'd have to move on to another after the original kid got older and was less kiddy. Of course there is the judgmental factor? Who am I to judge, right? Of course pedophilia is still bad, right? Yes, judgment okay!)

Have you asked one of the Mustache Petes for help? she asked snapping me out of my introspective investigating. The Mustache Petes were what we called some of the older (usually white) men at Langley. Most of them had field experience, sometimes serious field experience (if you know what I mean). They tended to have a reputation for getting things done (as if the rest of us were supposedly sitting around filing our nails - which reminded me that I did have to pop by the CIA day spa - I broke a nail trying to jimmy that vending machine that's always stealing my money.).

Mustache Petes for various reasons had been brought in from the cold so they were no longer covert but just doing desk jobs, puttering around Langley… some of them looking for action, a few installed in other jobs, others ticking the clock until retirement. Obviously, anyone working at Langley couldn't be in covert ops anymore, that's just silly How covert can you be if you've bee working out of Langley for a few years?

Not all of the Mustache Petes have mustaches however. Nor were they all named Pete.

No. I don't think any of them like me… I groaned.

Oh, yeah, Liz replied, apparently agreeing. Well, we'll get some involved. They know all about these things.

She immediately picked up her phone and dialed an inside extension.

Hey, it's Liz. I might have some extracurricular fun for you… Yeah, my office. She put the phone down. He's probably bounding down the stairs right now… Who do you think was following you? she asked, seeming to get excited. She probably thought this was a Nancy Drew Mystery. I have to confess that I kind of liked those books when I was a kid. I know they're politically incorrect and I've outgrown them but I get a fuzzy and warm feeling thinking about lazing away a fall afternoon sipping some chamomile tea and reading The Hidden Staircase, that one was my favorite I think….

I have no idea? I pleaded when I remembered I was in Liz's office and not curled up in my room. I wasn't sure about mentioning Cheney. I wasn't sure of Liz's politics. Like most government workers she was probably a Democrat but it was the CIA so she might be a secret Republican. She did have a reputation as a hard worker, dedicated to the cause not just mere permanent government employment and time-serving until retirement. But she was of Asian descent so back to Democrat...

You aren't having an affair or anything? Maybe it's your husband? Liz asked, her eyes getting wide. She was definitely excited.

No! No way! I insisted.

Yeah, Joe, probably not a likely temptation to other women... she mused.

My jaw began to drop...

Are you working on anything hot here? She then asked, looking a little skeptical.

No, I categorically denied.

Yeah, I didn't think that could be it, Liz replied.

All these all your kids? I asked, not sure if I wanted the answer but wanting to change the subject.

Uh… she changed her body language and facial expression. A dead giveaway of suspicion or defense of something wrong. I learned that at Spy U.

Uh, no. Well, yes but not forever. I'm a foster mother, she explained, And these have been my kids. Those two over there are with me right now. She pointed somewhere.

You could have knocked me over with a feather. That's just bizarre, I thought. Was she running a scam to chisel money out of the government? I mean who would ever do that voluntarily? She must be insane! They weren't even Asian kids. Is that legal? Didn't the Clinton administration make it a law that foster kids had to be placed according to their skin colors? Is it ethical? How could those kids identify with their heritage? And she could still have been a pedophile. Foster parenting is a known haven for them. Just like priest, scout leader, sports coach and teacher. Not that I'm making a judgment... Wait! I can make a judgment on that, still, right?

About that time a gentleman entered Liz's office. Surprise! He had a mustache.

He gave me the once-over.

Bill Tillman, Valerie Plum, Liz made introductions. Bill, of course. What else would be his name? They always seem to have a name like Bill, Pete, Mac, Del or Bob… Something simple, easily remembered, yet not memorable. Never something cool like Cody or Dylan or Brandon or Tristan. Can you imagine, Tristan? That would be so great! But they'd probably ruin it by calling him Tris. I guess those Neanderthal throwbacks needed their monosyllabic grunts to remember each other.

Tillman clearly recognized my name, stiffened up but nodded acknowledgement.

I started to stick my hand out but pulled it back and waved, Hi.

Bill! Liz snapped.

He changed his body language and reached out, Nice to meet you, ma'am.

She thinks someone is following her outside the office, Liz informed him.

He looked at me. Internal security?

Oh, I hadn't thought about that, said Liz. Val, are you in trouble or being investigated?

No! I shouted and then muttered, I don't think so… It's not like they'd tell me if I was… Would they?

Okay, let's pretend that it's not us. What should she do? Liz asked Tillman.

Well, we need to get some eyes on the tails, if there are some, and identify them. Have you seen them or is it just a feeling? he asked me.

I think it's like the same dark SUV, with tinted windows so I can't see inside, I explained, realizing I sounded stupid and paranoid. I know that sounds paranoid.

Like Henry Kissinger said, Liz said. Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you, right, Bill? She seemed to know a lot about Henry Kissinger... One check in the Republican column.

Yes, ma'am, Bill agreed. Where do you live?

Maryland, I replied wondering what that had to do with anything.

Inside or outside the Beltway? he followed up.

Bethesda, inside, I replied still not following the line of questioning.

When did you first notice this? he asked.

A couple of days ago, I said.

Do they follow you to work or from work or both? Tillman queried.

It seemed like they were following me home on the Beltway mostly but I usually lose them at my exits, I elaborated. And in, too. This morning it was like they were everywhere.

Do you follow the same route everyday? he asked.

Of course, I said, The other ways are just too thick with traffic. It'd take hours to get here.

He nodded. I see. Yeah, travel options between here and Bethesda are limited.

Whaddya think, Bill? Liz asked, wide-eyed.

I dunno, he responded. Dark SUV with tinted windows, just about the single most popular vehicle in this area. All those green fanatics, driving gas guzzlers, he sniffed.

I started to feel foolish.

Have you been receiving any strange calls lately? Tillman asked.

I don't think so, I answered.

Any strange vehicles watching your house? Bill continued his interrogation.

I hope not! Maybe I should ask Joe, I responded, trying to think if I had seen anything unusual. Well, beyond the local teenage boys eyeballing me and, I think, one of them having a telescope on the master bathroom window. But all they really get for their troubles were mostly Joe prancing around naked. Serves them right! I thought it better to keep that info private.

When are you leaving today? he asked.

I looked at him askance.

I may have you shadowed to see if someone is following you, Tillman explained.

Oh! Do I feel silly! I can leave right now, I said.

It's 2:30 in the afternoon, Liz interjected.

So? I responded to her pointless point.

You leave at 2:30? she and Bill chimed.

Oh, yeah, I see your point… No, never… hardly at all… just occasionally… after I've finished all my work… like maybe just once a week… or twice sometimes if there are some good sales…

* * *

After killing almost two hours... as I pulled out of the CIA lot and headed down the George Washington Parkway towards I-495 on the way home I kept looking in my mirror trying to see if someone was following. By following I'm referring to one of Tillman's men not the other guys. And you know it's guys because no woman would ever follow anyone… It'd be too weird. We're just not like that. Except, of course, if we think our guy is cheating or some tramp is trying to steal him away but that's only natural, right? You know, finding out where they live and work and eat and shop and where their hairdresser is and smashing a tail light out as a warning or scrawling Stay Away From... Or Else!!!!! in bright red lipstick on their bathroom mirror... Right?

Fortunately, I didn't see anyone. They must be really good. Or maybe Tillman just said someone would follow me, just to make me feel safer… Or maybe they were just humoring me… Maybe it was a placebo.

Or maybe they were laughing their asses of right now at me at their pedophile meeting! Ah, we fooled her, Bill! Liz would cackle.

Yes, we did, Liz! Pass another cherub!

Okay, calm down, Val. The Xanax will kick-in in a few minutes and if not that, the vodka chaser will take some edge off.

I wondered why there weren't any girl Mustache Petes? I mean women can get things done as well as any man. I could certainly get things done, assuming they aren't too difficult or illegal that is. Why should the guys have those great reputations. Maybe a little affirmative action is needed to create some role models for female Mustache Petes.

Obviously they'd be called Mustache Petras or Petas. Mustache Val… We might actually not want to be called Mustache anything. Women are often sensitive about such things. I'm not of course because there's nothing at all on my upper lip to be ashamed about… at all. That reminded me… wax appointment at day spa…

My phone rang. I thought it might be Joe. He often calls when I'm on my way home so we can arrange where to meet for dinner.

It was Bill Tillman. How'd he get my number? I dang sure didn't give it to him…

You're approaching the Clara Barton Parkway exit, he said.

Indeed I was. Maybe he was watching.

Exit onto Clara Barton, heading east into the District. Don't use your signal just do it, he instructed. Use my signal, as if I was a Virginian. I'm a Marylander! We're the Free State! We're independent! We're rebels! We never use our signals!

Crap! I had to whip over fast to catch the exit before I blew past it at the end of the Legion Bridge. It's hard to veer over across three lanes when you're doing almost 80 (and for any law enforcement officers with authority in Maryland, I meant 55 mph… as a fellow law enforcement person [sort of] I am in complete understanding of how difficult your job is and I never want to make it more difficult by wantonly breaking the speed limit. Which I never do, honestly, unless it's a big emergency... like having a pregnant woman aboard...).

I continued down the Clara Barton Parkway into Georgetown. Finally the phone rang again. Turn right onto Chain Bridge and cross back into Virginia and continue on North Glebe, Tillman said.

I'm not sure where that is, I confessed.

Just go straight. If you get off course we'll get you back on it, he assured me. I felt a sense of relief that he had a plan of some kind.

So what's the plan? I asked.

Just drive, he said.

I knew we were making our way through North Arlington. I had been to a few parties there amongst the large suburban houses there. The neighborhoods were similar to ours in suburban Maryland.

We crossed Lee Highway. So many Virginia roads still have names of Confederate Civil War generals and so-called heroes. I can't believe the Dept. of Justice or someone hasn't made them change them. What must an African-American feel when they travel on Lee Highway?

The phone rang. I thought, Wow! This was like a spy movie!

Hang the next right, the voice said. Stay on the line.

So I did. I continued down a short street. Parts of Arlington were famously chopped up and newcomers often complained of travelling down the road that the address they were going to was on only to find the road abruptly ended. They could see where it picked up in the distance but there might be a house or another road between them and the remaining part of the road. I was on one of those streets and I was approaching a dead end.

Go to the end and stop.

So I did. I looked in my rear view mirror and there was another car that had turned onto the same street and was quickly slowing down. Behind it two cars followed and then they stopped and blocked the entrance/exit. The closer car was a nondescript car, maybe an older Toyota or a Honda…

I watched through the rear view mirror.

I could see a couple of guys getting out of the cars… We're the going to shoot?

You should head on home, I'm sure Joe is wondering about you, the voice on the phone said. I understood the message. Joe's my husband and he is some kind of assistant something or other at the State Dept. I can't remember what specifically he is, they hand out job titles like they're plastic cups of beer at a frat party.

* * *

As soon as I got home I ran in and told Joe all about what happened.

Did you remember to turn the car off when you pulled into the drive? was all he said when I breathlessly finished. He didn't ask how I was or anything, the heartless, uncaring bastard.

So when I came back in from turning the car off and remembering this time to bring in my keys I asked him, Aren't you worried that I was being followed by who knows what?

It's just more CIA hijinks, he groaned. I'm sure it was nothing but an attempt to justify their outrageous budget.

You're just jealous because nothing like this ever happens to State Dept. employees, I said triumphantly.

How do you know it doesn't? he countered projecting a smugness to bolster his case.

Yeah, right, I said with my own sense of self-assuredness. If something like that happened to you I'd never hear the end of it…

Wait! Joe eructed. They didn't follow you, did they?

Hello!?! That was the whole point of the story! Weren't you paying attention? I responded, exasperated.

No, not that insignificant event, Joe replied. They didn't follow you HERE, did they? he stressed here.

I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head. He didn't look bombed. No, they AREN'T following me anymore, I emphasized.

Maybe they are using you to get to me, he took a deep breath and began looking around. I've made plenty of enemies, you know.

I snorted. This isn't about you, I informed him. This is about me and these are MY enemies, mister.

He peered out one of the front windows. He seemed satisfied.

Perhaps you are right this time, he acknowledged closing the curtain.

This time? No matter.

Ah, sweet victory. It smells like… A wet dog?

Oh, by the way, honey, the Wilkes had to leave Chelsea with us. Marjorie went to some women in accounting shindig in Philly so John took the kids to their beach house in Myrtle Beach, he informed me.

Isn't it a school night I asked. Joe shrugged his shoulders.

What's that smell? I asked smelling something else.

Chelsea is apparently getting on in age and bowel control is lacking. I think the special Hill's Science Diet high-fiber food they have for her isn't helping. She seems to have gotten poop on the living room carpet and then rolled on it so I had to give her a bath. Your turn next time. By the way, the living room carpet needs cleaning… Oh, flip you for who gives her the organic suppository.

* * *

I hadn't been in my office two seconds when Tillman appeared at the door slightly startling me.

Once I caught my breath, Well?

Yeah, that was your tail alright.

But that wasn't a big dark SUV like in the movies, I groaned. It was just some old crappy car that I had never seen before.

I think you were being paranoid about that one. We followed you home and into work this morning, he began

You did? I spouted out, surprised. (And what thorough service too, I had to admit. These guys do get things done.)

Yep. Nothing.

Oh, I moaned, sort of disappointed, though I wasn't sure why

I'll have the boys look out for you for a few more days, just in case, he then reassured me.

Okay, I guess...

We've heard about this type of stuff, he resumed, suddenly cryptically. He's been following you for a few weeks.

Oh, my god! Is he a stalker?! I screamed feeling a chill course through me.

What?

Does he have a shrine of surreptitiously-taken photographs of me in his shabby apartment in a seedy part of town? I shuddered.

No, Bill answered unexcitedly. The clown we cornered is a poli-sci major from Georgetown working as a flunkee for ERAWCSUN. He was assigned to you by some law professors at Georgetown Law.

ERAWCSUN was an activist group - End Racism And War Create a Socialist Utopia Now! They were formed after 9/11 to protest the invasion of Afghanistan by the usual permanently upset groups: Code Pink, Condition: Yellow, NOW, the New Weathermen, ANSWER, the New Black Panthers, SIEU, et al.

As you can also guess they were certainly miffed about the Iraq invasion. Along the way they had taken up the usual progressive positions - some of them maybe a little extreme - pro-North Korea, pro-Palestine, for nationalizing banks and the energy industry, increasing corporate taxes, outlawing multinational corporations, taxes on the wealthy - obviously their hearts were in the right place.

He says he's an investigator for the People's Court, Tillman let out a little snort.

Is that still on TV? Didn't they used to handle like small claims stuff? This would seem to be out of their jurisdiction. Isn't Judge Wapner dead? I asked.

Oh, it's still on. It's syndicated, Tillman informed me. But that's different. This is some goofball ad hoc kangaroo court of wacko activists that wants to put everyone they disagree with on some kind of show trial. They're developing a dossier on you.

Oh… Me? Why me? I wondered. What had I done? Why were they looking at me? Had someone said something? I didn't want to be on their list. Once you're on their list they never forget. Lefties are like that, I should know. They are very committed. They never forget. Gosh, I hope they don't include pictures in their dossiers. That could be really embarrassing.

You didn't hurt him did you? I asked. I don't know why I asked but I did. I'm pretty sure if he was hurt investigating me, they'd blame me. Probably consider me some kind of war criminal. My name would be on flyers and I'd be spoken ill of at conferences and on campuses… I might appear in ersatz histories and even see my name on The Charlie Rose Show where the author would say awful and untrue things about me and Charlie wouldn't be skeptical at all but just take it as a given. Suddenly, I felt like a Republican. People might think I'm a Republican! Oh, this was terrible!

Nah. Then Bill grinned, Not much… he said but I think he was just pulling my leg. I hoped he was pulling my leg. We figured he was an amateur after he chased you off the Clara Barton exit. A pro would never fall for such an obvious tell. He'd have passed by and let you go.

Why was he following me? I asked, completely puzzled.

Oh, um, the FBI put out a sec release recently. It seems these guys along with some unions like SIEU, the Communications Workers and the usual collection of lefty groups like International ANSWER, Coalition for Peace in Iraq, Condition:Yellow, Code:Pink, Sierra Club, Public Interest Research Groups, others like that, are organizing a day they are calling a 'National Day of Justice.' This guy said they would break away in 'mobile' groups to protest at the homes of CIA personnel. They seem to think you are a Guantanamo torturer. Where'd they get that idea?

I have no idea, I informed him.

I strongly advise that you get Langley security involved. You should probably notify your supervisor and the Director's office, Tillman said.

* * *

Joe had abandoned me for a trip to Jamaica on State Dept. business. It was actually one of those admin pow-wows for senior personnel - the ones that always seem to happen at nice, warm, golf-friendly luxury resorts (especially in the winter). You can't make this stuff up. All the agencies have them. Poor boy and the other poor boys and girls were living it up at taxpayer expense at the Ritz-Carlton Rose Hall Resort on Montego Bay.

Fortunately, he was also going to hook up with a former State colleague to work some possible Schmilson International Consultants business. SchmIntlCon, as we call it, is our side business, taking advantage of our international and Washington experience to help clients... uh... do something for a nice fee or retainer. Everybody of any consequence in Washington does it.

The compadre had retired and was living in Jamaica with his wife, a bigwig in the Jamaican Ministry of Tourism. They were working a number of deals with their own international business consultancy and might need a Washington contractor to help out.

It was only a bookended weekend - Friday-Saturday-Sunday-Monday, so Joe would be back soon.

I sat at a meeting of the Blackford Oakes Homeowners Association meeting talking with Winter Austin about health care costs. It just seemed like each time I went to the doctor (not one of the in-house CIA doctors) that I had to pay more, even though the government picked up most of the tab.

Winter is a health care consultant now but used to work for Rep. Fortney Pete Stark ('Talk about someone who needs mental health care - he's crazy as a bed bug,' she said). He's long been a supporter of nationalized health care. She also worked at NIH for several years in a number of jobs so she should know something about health care.

She explained her job as working with both the private and public sector on health care plans. I tell them that whatever you think it's going to cost, it's going to cost a lot more. Frankly, you can never budget enough because the costs will always expand to consume the budget. That's why we need national health care like in Britain. There they just tell the doctors and the hospitals, 'Sorry, that's all the money we have. Now get back to your jobs!' And no one can sue them because of sovereign immunity!

Wow! I had never thought of that. If we only had a king or a queen then everyone could have free health care.

And if there's anything serious they just go to the U.S. or Canada, Winter noted.

Nancy Pollock Carr called the meeting to order. One of the first items for business was a report from the Children's Nutrition Committee. Committee chair Martha Spears Marceau reported on the final drafting of the letter to be sent to Kellogg's, the breakfast cereal maker, concerning the military look of Pop (of Snap, Crackle and Pop fame). To have a character of military bearing staring down at children as they eat their Rice Krispies encourages a violent approach to life for our malleable children at such a young age. There are more peaceful ways to settle matters... sets a bad example in the court of nations... psychological studies have shown that... as Dr. Martin Luther King said at Selma... And so on...

There had been some initial precommittee debate that Pop was merely something like a drum major in a marching band but even the idea of drum major was too much and the issue sent to the committee for action.

It would be positive if you were to change the look of the character to set an example for other industries, especially those aimed at our most impressionable pre-adults, Martha read from their proposed letter. Then a 10-minute debate ensued over the word aimed. It was deemed too militaristic as well and was reinforcing the hidden militarization inherent in the cereal. Frieda Byrnes, a local school teacher/Montgomery County school administrator and Cassandra Frank, a local Condition:Yellow activist (our block captain) led that discussion. The Military-Industrial Complex's machinations are exposed for all to see! Cassandra declared. She also called for a national day of protest and cereal justice. Apparently there was such a project at a group called Breakfast in the Public Interest.

Now you might be thinking that these people are nothing more than complainers but that would be untrue. They suggested that Pop might dress in a rainbow suit, to reflect the diversity, long ignored in so-called American history, of the people of this nation. That bit was almost certainly Frieda's work.

There was some grumbling that one of the characters should undergo a gender change, Snap, was the preferred choice for this but that took us back to the earlier rancorous debate over revamping the whole group and racially balancing them as well. African-Americans have long enjoyed Rice Krispies so it is an injustice that we are not represented on the cereal box! In fact we are not represented on an cereal box anywhere. Just another example of white privilege. Imagine the burden our children of color feel as they walk down the cereal aisle without a friendly, familiar face looking down at them, Aisha Duval, an African-American, protested.

Maury Paulson didn't help matters by suggesting that Count Chocula might be a person of color.

Fortunately, cooler heads eventually prevailed by noting that few families in Blackford Oakes (our subdivision's name, if you recall from 'Seven Days in September') would actually let their children even eat cereals from Big Cereal; and the item was sent back to the committee.

For some strange reason, our neighbor Serena Josie Faraday, a lawyer at the