Spin Masters

9781626750043

CHAPTER ONE

The Boeing 737 took off from Reagan International and powered its way over the Potomac River. The lights of the capital city were soon left behind as the plane climbed into the clear night sky and headed north.

No one in the half-empty plane that Saturday night was aware of the body which had floated to the surface along the banks of the Potomac not far from the airport. And few would recognize the name of this White House staffer when a short article about the man’s death appeared in back sections of the Washington DC papers later the next week.

The giant tires screeched as the plane touched down at LaGuardia Airport. Katie Norris was relieved to be on the runway. Frequent trips for the past year between New York and Washington did not alter how she felt. To her flying was a necessity not an enjoyable experience.

Katie retrieved her carry-on bag from the overhead and quickly headed to the taxi stand in front of the aging terminal. At 10 PM, the cab trip to Manhattan took less than a half-hour. This was scarcely enough time for her to prepare for the conversation she feared having with her father. But she knew it must happen, and the sooner the better.

Good evening Miss Norris, the doorman said when she exited the cab at the historic and very fashionable Fifth Avenue condominium building across from Central Park.

Do you know if my father is home? she asked while he escorted her across the massive, ornate lobby.

Yes Miss. He and Mrs. Norris came in about an hour ago. Shall I let them know you’re coming up?

That’s all right, I have my key.

Very well. He placed Katie’s overnight case on the elevator next to her and pushed the button.

As the car ascended so did her anxiety level. The sharp bing indicated the elevator had reached the penthouse. The sound startled Katie who was rehearsing what she was going to say to her father.

The apartment door swung open before she could put her key in the lock. Ben Norris stood there with welcoming arms. Obviously the doorman had called to announce Katie’s arrival.

Glad to see you, Ben said as he hugged his daughter and kissed her cheek.

It’s good to see you too, Daddy.

Bet you’re exhausted.

I’m sorta pooped. Busy week plus meetings all day and then flying here tonight. But, if you’re not tired, I’d like to have a daughter-to-father chat with you.

Your call, saying you wanted to talk, sounded ominous.

There’s something important to discuss. Don’t worry. It’s good. Really good.

Okay. Drop your things in your room and I’ll make some Jacobs Brothers coffee. It’ll be decaf at this hour.

Always the adman. Can’t you just say coffee without including the brand name?

I wouldn’t be the head of New York’s top ad agency if I did. And as an up-and-coming adwoman, you should do the same. Don’t you remember anything I taught you? he said with a chuckle.

Katie left thinking his reference to her being an up-and-coming adwoman might make the talk a little more difficult than previously anticipated. She joined her father in the kitchen ten minutes later.

Molly says ‘hello’ but went to bed so we could have a private conversation. She’ll see you in the morning, Ben said and handed his daughter a cup of coffee. Now what’s this important matter you want to talk about with dear old dad?

Katie added cream and sweetener to her coffee and slowly stirred the mixture, giving her a few final seconds to collect her thoughts.

You know how excited I am about working to bring a new beginning to America. She began with a rhetorical statement to avoid being interrupted. The last election was only the first step in making this happen. The president has been working hard to put his promises into action. But it’s taking longer than anticipated, so we have to be sure he gets elected for another term. The preliminary work for this started when he was inaugurated. That’s why, on top of my job at the agency, I’ve been helping the re-election campaign from New York. I also went down to DC earlier this week to work with some of the White House communications staff. That’s when the president’s top communications guy asked me to come on board full-time. I’d be part of the team to re-elect the president. This is a real job with real responsibilities and a pay check as well.

And what did you say? Ben asked the moment his daughter took a breath.

I said ‘yes.’

I knew you would.

You know about it?

I didn’t, but I knew what you would say if they ever asked you to join them. You’ve never been so committed to anything as you were during the last campaign.

It was quite an experience, Katie acknowledged.

By the way, whose idea was it to start campaigning so long before the next election? I remember when nothing happened until after the political conventions, and Labor Day was the official start of the campaign. That gave the candidates just two months to sell the public on them, and we were spared months and months of political promotion.

"Daddy, that was in the days of three television networks with no cable, no personal computers, no Facebook, no Twitter, no Smart Phones, no nothing. It was the Dark Ages of communications."

It wasn’t that long ago.

The world’s connected now, and news moves with the speed of light.

People can’t absorb all the information that’s available. There’s no time to think about what’s being thrown at us from every conceivable direction.

That’s why the president needs the workers from my generation to help him get the word out.

He wasn’t my choice. Not business-friendly enough for my liking, but you think he’s hot stuff and plenty of Americans did as well. After all, they elected him. Maybe being on the inside you can get the idea across that capitalism is the answer to our problems.

There you go again, Daddy. People can’t buy their way out of a bad economy.

And the government can’t spend its way back to full employment and a healthy economy. Businesses create products, this allows people to work, and these folks buy the products made by other companies and so on. That’s what makes America strong, not a bunch of handouts.

Are you going to preach to me again?

Sorry, Katie. I have my point-of-view and you have yours. Guess I let you spend too much time in the creative department.

She did not respond, so he continued.

I can only dream of what might have been, Ben said with a smile and reached for his daughter’s hand. Katie, do what you feel is best for you. If this is where you want to apply your talents, go for it. I’ll support your decision, but don’t expect me to agree with your political philosophy. I’m satisfied with my own beliefs. Besides, I’m too old to change.

Daddy, you’re only sixty-one.

Not until the fifteenth of November, but who’s counting? I’ve spent nearly four decades on Madison Avenue. In dog years I’m a couple of centuries old. Ben laughed. Speaking of that, I want you back at the agency after this Washington stint, so I can retire one of these days.

Who says I want to be in the agency business?

It’s in your blood, or at least it was until you got mesmerized by those slick talking political types.

As opposed to those slick talking agency types?

You may have a point there. Anyway, how long is this particular project?

Through the upcoming election.

So you’ll be gone for a year?

Could be more if they like me as much as I think I’ll like it there.

Well, let’s not make a career move so fast. Do your time and see what happens. For now, I’ll tell everyone Washington can’t live without you, so Katie Norris will be working down there for the immediate future. That ought to play well around here. Besides it’s good for business to say we know someone in Washington.

Let me know what story you tell, and I’ll swear to it. And thanks for understanding and letting me do what I believe in, even though we’re a hundred and eighty degrees apart. Katie was pleasantly surprised at how supportive her father seemed to be.

Don’t give me so much credit, I’m hoping you’ll soon tire of the bureaucracy and back stabbing and come back to the agency business where you belong, Ben said.

Let me start the job before you have me returning to the bastion of integrity, Madison Avenue.

Nobody’s totally clean these days whether it’s the public or private sector, we all need to get our respective houses in order, he acknowledged.

Ben realized his daughter, at thirty-three, was trying to get out from under his protective wings and search for her own identity. Until now Katie seemed satisfied with the life her father worked so hard to establish for her. This change brought Ben both joy and sadness.

CHAPTER TWO

The next several days were far from restful for Katie. She had to tell both friends and business associates about her assignment and why she decided to take the Washington job.

Most of her younger friends applauded the move, as did many people at the office. Her mother, who divorced Ben when Katie was only eight, was excited as was Molly, her father’s business partner and wife of fifteen years.

Fortunately for Katie it was easy to sublet her Greenwich Village apartment. For the time being, she would move in with a friend living in DC’s DuPont Circle area. It was where Katie stayed whenever she was in town. She needed to find a furnished apartment of her own, but this could wait a couple of weeks until she settles into the job. When in New York she would make her father’s spacious penthouse her New York headquarters. Everything seemed to be falling in place.

All that remained was to show up the following Monday morning at the communications director’s office and be introduced to the people she will be working with. Since she expected to be extremely busy in the months ahead, Katie decided to take the train on Sunday and relax with a good book. Not having to fly was an added benefit.

When Katie arrived at the White House communications office she was ushered into the conference room where three men were seated, two of whom she did not recognize. The head of communications rose to make the introductions.

Katie Norris, I’d like you to meet Aaron Stewart and Myles Crawford. The work you did on the last campaign, as well as what you’ve been doing lately, has come to the attention of these gentlemen.

Not to mention your experience in the advertising agency field, Stewart said.

Few people have these credentials at such a young age, Crawford added.

Thank you, Katie said, somewhat embarrassed but pleased by their compliments.

I have some things to attend to, so I’ll leave and the three of you can talk, the director said.

But I was under the impression that my new assignment called for me to work directly with you and the White House communications team, Katie stated.

Listen to what these gentlemen have to say. I believe you’ll like this opportunity better, he said and closed the door behind him.

That’s strange, she thought out loud.

It is not as strange as it is different, Stewart said. His demeanor was more like an attorney or a law enforcement officer than a marketing or advertising executive. And by the way he took control it was obvious Stewart was the senior man even though he was the smaller of the two.

I don’t understand, Katie protested.

You have been selected to work on a very special communications assignment. It is extremely hush-hush, and you are uniquely qualified to help your country, Stewart said and tugged at his French cuffs to be sure they were a half-inch longer than the sleeves of the suit jacket.

You’ve already been cleared by security, Crawford added. This remark prompted a scowl from his superior.

What are you talking about? I’m not going to work with the FBI or CIA, I’m just an adwoman, she responded, thinking that her father would have been pleased that she described herself as an adwoman.

Let us not get ahead of ourselves, Ms. Norris. Changing times call for changing communications strategies and tactics. You have been trained by some of those on the cutting-edge of advertising to use or be ready to use the new media as well as apply the latest persuasion techniques to the traditional forms of communications.

There are people who have more specific skills in these disciplines than I have. Katie still wanted the job she thought she was offered the previous week.

Yes, but you have a broader understanding from working in all the departments at your father’s agency.

What does my father have to do with this?

Nothing. Nothing at all. I was simply pointing out that we are aware of your experience. And we are looking for a generalist with hands-on knowledge of all aspects of communications. This is necessary because the unit you will be joining is a small elite band of professionals, Stewart said, his pronunciation became more precise, lack of contractions more apparent, and the Mid-West accent more distinct.

Stewart reached for the coffee carafe in the center of the table and offered Katie a cup. She declined.

You are familiar with subliminal advertising? he continued, fully aware of what her answer would be.

Katie nodded.

While hidden messages are not uncommon, there have been certain restrictions on their use, particularly in our most important medium television. Fortunately, the Internet is not under such scrutiny. That is the ideal place to test these silent persuaders, determine how well the messages are received, and see if a positive attitude can be created in the minds of the public. With success here we will be able to incorporate subliminal messages in all visual media.

I thought part of the change in Washington was more transparency. she stated. Immediately Katie wished she had remained silent.

"Of course, but we ought to be able to use media more effectively in order to promote policies and programs that are good for Americans. It is a way to make the communications playing field tip in our favor and out-maneuver the competition, so to speak. That is why we established a separate unit dedicated to this subject. And we want you to be part of the Special Advertising Management team, fondly known as SAM." Stewart adjusted his shirt cuffs again.

What does that mean? Katie was confused.

"Nothing really. But for those of us on the inside, the acronym SAM stands for Subliminal Advertising Motivation. Are you on board?" Stewart asked with the utmost confidence.

Without waiting for her answer, he continued, Please take this packet of forms, fill them out, and sign where indicated. Use the empty office next to the conference room. When you finish, bring everything back and we will get to work. This is a wonderful career opportunity for you Ms. Norris.

Overwhelmed, Katie took the materials and followed the large and rather sloppy Crawford to the room next door. She wished her father were there to give her advice. On second thought, she concluded it was time to make her own decisions.

Think she bought it? Crawford asked his boss.

Sure. She is sold on the president and his vision for the future of America. Like most of her generation, she is filled with the emotional need to do something worthwhile for mankind.

And the White House is removed from our activities so the president won’t be brought into the fray if problems crop up.

Right, Stewart said. Nonetheless, the work we do must remain well below the radar. Impress this upon Ms. Norris.

I’ll make sure she gets the message.

Keep her on a short leash. Put her under surveillance. Let her know only what we want her to know. It is of the utmost importance to safeguard what we have. Because, it could be the most revolutionary tool ever used in a political campaign.

CHAPTER THREE

Katie arrived at her friend Linda’s apartment a little after six. Although she often worked long hours, today’s interview seemed like an interrogation. She was exhausted.

Linda worked for the Federal Communications Commission and left that morning for a three day seminar in Atlanta, so Katie had the place to herself.

Katie’s plan for the evening was to have a glass of wine, shower, pop a Lean Cuisine into the microwave, and have another glass of wine to liven up the meager dinner. Then she would watch CNN and read the week’s worth of newspapers piled up on the living room coffee table.

By the time Katie got to Wednesday’s edition of The Washington Post, she was beginning to feel the effects of the day and the wine. She aimlessly turned the pages and was about to doze off when a picture and headline caught her attention: Body of White House Staffer Found in Potomac.

The photo was that of a man Katie knew when they both attended Brown University over a decade ago. His name was Brandon Turner. The article went on to say that his body was fished out of the river on Sunday and identified on Monday. He worked for the communications director and had been part of the White House staff for the past eighteen months. Prior to that the man held a position at a leading New York advertising Agency where his father was the head of research.

Now wide awake, Katie picked up her cell and pressed Scott McFarland’s number.

Hi Katie, Mac, as friends called him, said after checking the caller ID. I was wondering when I’d hear from you."

The phone works both ways, she quipped.

Yeah, but I don’t have your new office phone number. I don’t even know where you’re working these days. Are you at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue?

I’ll get to that. But first I was wondering if you could get me more information about a story I read in your paper.

"If you’re referring to the Post, it’s not my paper; I only work there." He laughed.

Be serious. You know what I mean.

It sounds as if someone’s had a tough day. I’ll try to keep my wise-cracks to myself.

"Thanks. Here’s the story, on Wednesday the Post reported the death of a fellow I knew in college. It’s sad enough for a young guy to loss his life, but I guess he was murdered and dumped in the Potomac."

So you think someone is going after Brown graduates? Mac realized his mouth was getting him in trouble again, but it was too late to retract these frivolous words.

Don’t even go there with that serial killer stuff. I told you about that madman who killed all those ad agency people, kidnapped me, and then went after my father. So take it easy on me, please.

Katie, hold on. This man’s death has obviously hit you on a personal basis. Why? What’s the connection?

He worked for the communications director. In fact, I saw Brandon when I left the White House the Friday evening just before his death. He asked if I wanted to join him along with some other people from the team who were going to a party here in DuPont Circle later that night. I told him I had plans.

"Is that what I have become, plans?"

Silly. I don’t tell everyone what I’m doing when I’m in town. It’s none of their business.

So it’s not the college connection, it’s the work connection?

Ah, the deductive reasoning powers of an investigative reporter are finally showing through.

I may be slow, but I get there sooner or later.

Can you get me the details on Brandon’s death and find out what the police think happened? You know, motives, suspects; those sorts of things?

Your wish is my command. Mac laughed. I’ll get you the facts if only to keep you from obsessing on the notion that you and this poor guy Turner had more than a couple of things in common. Ready to answer my questions?

What questions?

As I recall, you were going to tell me where you work as well as provide some contact info. Plus there was the report about what your day was like.

"Well the director wants me on the SAM team.

Never heard of it.

Neither had I. But it stands for Special Advertising Management.

Katie felt guilty not telling her would-be boyfriend what the SAM acronym really meant. She rationalized that until she had more information about SAM this was not really lying.

And what kind of a day did you have? he asked.

I dislike filling out government forms almost as much as I hate the interview process. Since my entire day was spent doing both, there was nothing rewarding about it.

But you got the job. Now, the next question is, when am I going to see you?

How soon can you get me the information about Brandon?

By the end of the week, easy.

Make it Wednesday and I’ll come over to your place and cook dinner for you.

Consider it done.

Katie disconnected and went through the remaining papers but found nothing more on the death of Brandon Turner. An Internet search brought up a few more details of the case but nothing meaningful. So she made a cup of tea to unwind from this troubling matter.

An hour later, Katie retired for the night. It was not long before she fell asleep. Then, for the first time in years, the nightmares returned.

Katie relived the ten horrible days after she was kidnapped by the man who killed eight agency people and used ad slogans as his calling card. The indescribable fear Katie felt during her captivity was only exceeded by the terror that gripped her when the man nearly succeeded in consummating his plan to kill Ben Norris as a way to avenge the loss of his own father. They were rescued when the police came crashing in and disposed of the murderer before he accomplished his grisly goal.

It was eleven years since this occurred, but the scene was as vivid as if the event took place yesterday. She attributed the nightmare to her anxiety about the new job coupled with the Brandon Turner story.

Katie was up at seven, more tired than when she went to bed. And since this was the first day at her new job, she wanted to be sharp. Instead, Katie hoped she would not fall asleep at her desk.

Overwhelmed by her initial exposure to SAM, Katie wondered what revelation today might bring. The secrecy surrounding the operation was both troubling and exciting. Nonetheless Katie intended to move forward believing the future of America was at stake, and this was her chance to make a difference.

CHAPTER FOUR

Katie took a cab to the address given to her by Crawford the day before. The office suite was small and unimpressive. She was escorted to a tiny private office that was to be her new working home.

Welcome aboard, Myles Crawford said with his slightly affected Southern drawl. His large frame blocked her office doorway.

We have lots of work ahead of us, he continued. So meet me in the conference room in an hour and we’ll get started on your initial assignment.

Sure. Anything you want me to bring?

A note pad and an open mind.

With the time available, Katie set about putting her office in working order.

Come on in, Crawford said when Katie knocked on the conference room door. Get your office ship-shape?

Enough to start working once this meeting is over.

Good. Before we begin I’ll say this one more time: everything you see here and hear here stays here. You signed a non-disclosure agreement, and the terms of the NDA are not to be violated in any way, or else.

Katie was tempted to ask, Or else what? But she was not ready to challenge her new boss. Instead she said, Yes, I understand.

Good communications in politics is vital to success. What you learned on Madison Avenue works in Washington.

That’s why I’m here. Katie said.

New media such as Facebook, Twitter and other social networks are a modern, effective and efficient form of word-of-mouth advertising. I’m sure the agencies have learned how to use these platforms to get sales messages across without them looking like advertising.

Yes, new media has become an important part of most campaigns, she agreed.

Younger consumers don’t read. Newspaper circulation is dropping like a rock and most readers are fifty and older, Crawford added.

Traditional media still drives the news.

Right, but for how long?

You have a point there.

Problem is new media is an ever-changing platform. Every time we get a grip on it, something comes along to stand the entire model on its head.

I told you yesterday, there are plenty of people who have a better grasp of the technical aspects and numbers side of new media, Katie said.

We’re aware of that. What we need is a person to help strategize campaigns as well as implement them in all media. And you are that person.

If you say so, I am.

Good. Now on to the fun part of your job.

And what’s that?

The subliminal part, of course. It’s more exciting than the advertising you’ve been involved with. Imagine being able to get inside people’s minds and lead them to think or, better yet, do whatever you want. And they won’t have any idea as to what’s going on. That’s the fun of it.

Crawford rubbed his hands together, almost gleefully. She hoped he was just acting but sensed he was not.

After all these years, the jury’s still out on the effectiveness of subliminal advertising. Katie stated.

We have research to the contrary.

There are legal issues.

A non-issue. The Internet has been given a free pass so far when it comes to regulation, and the rules for traditional media are not being enforced. Time to strike. That being said, Crawford had exhausted his knowledge of the subject - something Katie would soon discover.

Are you saying what I think I’m hearing? she asked.

You’ll become a believer in due time. But first you need to immerse yourself in the facts and fiction about subliminal messaging. Here’s an information file.

It’s heavy enough. Ought to keep me busy for a while, Katie said as she gathered the file and other papers in her arms.

Read the material. Reference books will be delivered after lunch, go through them in the order shown on the list, and we’ll meet here again at four.

Katie returned to her office. Her cell phone rang. It was Mac.

You busy? he asked.

Are you kidding? I just got my first assignment.

Developing a master plan to sway all voters your way? He chuckled.

I wish. Feels as if I’m back in college cramming for finals. There’s a months worth of reading to be done in a couple of days.

Welcome to Washington DC where the underlings are over-worked and the bosses under-deliver. Can I do anything to help?

"You wouldn’t have the Cliff Notes for The Hidden Persuaders, The Secret Sales Pitch, and Mind Programming would you?"

"Nah. I’m afraid you’re on your own. But I have a bit of good news about a bad subject. Seems that Brandon Turner was not murdered. He committed suicide.

You mean he took a bunch of pills and fell into the water?

No alcohol or drugs were found. He was jogging along the Potomac, apparently veered off the path, jumped into the river and drowned.

No way.

I got more. Want to have lunch and I’ll brief you?

Too much to do here. Let’s get together for drinks after work. Say six o’clock at The Pub?

Works for me. By the way, I called your cell because there’s no listing for a Special Advertising Management or SAM in the DC area. Are you working for a secret agency or something?

CHAPTER FIVE

The day flew by with Katie immersed in her reading. She had lunch at her desk but needed a couple of cups of coffee midway through the afternoon to fight off the effects of too little sleep the night before. At four she was ready to discuss what she read and ask a few questions. Crawford was waiting for her when she arrived at the conference room.

Enjoy your reading? he asked.

I gained a new insight into the world of subliminal messaging. Things I didn’t know before.

Keep reading. The election is less than twelve months away.

That being the case – and I don’t want to sound critical in any way – why didn’t you bring me into the project sooner?

"Valid question, Katie. You don’t mind if I call you Katie, do you?"

No, in fact, I’d prefer that everyone here call me that, being on the same team and all. She realized he intended to keep his distance, so she added, Mr. Crawford.

We were training someone to move into the unit the middle of this month. We would have had their services for a full year before the election, which is an eternity in politics. But that person left us unexpectedly, and you were immediately pressed into service. So you’ve got a lot of catching up to do.

I was your second choice?

No, the plan was to have you work in the White House for the communications director while you prepared yourself to help us down the road when the campaign heats up. But you’ve been thrown into the deep end of the pool, so you better start swimming.

I’ll try to catch up as quickly as possible. I realize we can’t afford to lose any momentum.

With that kind of attitude, I’m sure you’ll be everything we need and more. Moving on, do you have any questions about what you’ve read so far?

Yes, but I’ve made notes. So if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to finish the materials, because some of the questions may be answered in the readings.

Good thinking, Crawford said as if this would have been what he suggested. When will you be ready? Thursday morning all right with you? Katie asked.

Make it Thursday afternoon at two. Mr. Stewart and I have a meeting outside the office in the morning.

Katie appreciated the extra time, knowing she pushed the envelope to the edge again. The deadline was tight but doable. Two on Thursday it is.

Katie rushed into The Pub at 6:15. She was punctual when it came to business meetings but always a little late for social affairs.

Mac was nursing a beer in a booth across from the crowded bar. He watched the heads turn when Katie walked in. She stood an erect and slim five foot eight with streaked blonde hair, blue eyes and a pretty button nose. But Mac’s infatuation was deeper than Katie’s natural beauty; he was in love with her and had been from the moment they met six months earlier at a Washington party.

Sorry to keep you waiting, Katie said as she took the seat across from him.

Just got here myself. What’ll you have?

Chablis is fine.

Got some interesting stuff on your Mr. Turner, he said.

Mac pulled his steno pad from the worn corduroy jacket that hung on the hook next to the booth along with his Greek fisherman’s cap and a scarf sporting Georgetown University’s blue and gray colors.

I hope it helps, she said.

Katie, stop worrying about this. You have a job working for whoever it is. The police will take care of investigating Turner’s death. Besides, it’s almost certain suicide was the COD.

I don’t know how anyone could drown themselves.

Maybe he couldn’t swim or the cold water shocked his system. I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Let me tell you what I found out. Then you can tell me more about your new job.

Okay, fire away.

Turner ran along the banks of the Potomac everyday after work. Guess he did it to relieve the stress of working in the White House. According to friends, no matter what time he packed it in, a thirty-minute run was the final part of his daily routine. As best anyone can determine, he was on the trail about 7 PM on Friday night. And being early November it’s plenty dark at that time of night, so no one was on the path.

Anything else?

I’m coming to it, but you’ve got to know a little of the back-story for it all to fit together.

Sorry.

The cops think he simply walked over to the bank and fell in.

Or was pushed.

That has not been ruled out, but there were no marks on his body.

Is there more?

He must have listened to music when he ran because the plugs were in his ears, but the iPod or phone he used as a music source must have sunk to the bottom of the river and has yet to be found.

Are they dredging for it?

They’re not sure exactly where he went into the drink, but as soon as it’s confirmed I’m sure they’ll search for it.

I certainly hope so, but the police don’t seem to share my sense of urgency.

You are a skeptical one aren’t you?

This doesn’t seem right to me, that’s all. Has the autopsy report been completed? Katie asked.

As I said, preliminary toxicology findings are in, but the lab is going to run another battery of tests - going broader and deeper. If this doesn’t turn up anything then I expect the police will actually close the case.

Thanks, Mac. You’ll keep me informed. Right?

Yes, I’ll let you know as soon as I have more. Okay, I’ve done my job so are you cooking dinner tomorrow night at my place?

I could, but if we move it to Friday I’ll make something really special and I won’t be so overwhelmed. I promised my supervisor that I’d have all the assigned reading done by Thursday.

Let’s move it to Thursday.

We have a big Q and A scheduled for the afternoon, so I won’t be in any condition to prepare dinner after that.

Okay, Friday then.

Thanks for understanding.

Speaking of understanding, why all the secrecy surrounding the agency you work for? It’s not listed anywhere. Are you telling me everything?

"I told you it was a special taskforce. Not directly associated with the government, the administration or the party. We’re