Run Deeper

Economist Luciano Talaverdi hadn't written a book report since he was in the seventh grade, back in Italy.  That book was on the "The Little Prince", by Antoine de Saint-Exupery, and the report featured words like "bellissimo" and "preziosissimo".  Now the book was "Bull by the Horns", by Sheila Bair, and his report featured words like "hideous monster" and "evil queen".  He sipped more coffee from his Federal Reserve Board mug and asked himself what mark his seventh grade teacher would have given him for this report.  Well, he couldn't read English, anyway.  He checked the time on his cursed Rolex again, then glanced at the list of FRB tasks he was supposed to be working on instead of this book review, then picked up the book again.  Homeowners!  She worships them like golden idols.  And they're not home-owners, anyway!  They are home-borrowers!  He typed up something resembling those thoughts.  She talks like Tim Geithner is a mafia boss!  "He made them an offer they could not refuse!"  Talaverdi gave an Italian salute to the book, then adjusted the cursed Rolex because it had slid a quarter-inch down his wrist.  Hmmm....Maybe I shouldn't write anything about Geithner--maybe I should just write about the Fed.  He frowned and sipped more coffee.  But how can you defend the Fed without defending Geithner?  He went back to page one of his book report and started rewriting.  It's not like I think the Fed is perfect, but Sheila is wrong, wrong, wrong!"

Several miles to the east, Ann Bishis was enjoying a quiet morning in the offices of Congressman Herrmark--who was back home campaigning for reelection.  She was enjoying her interim status as Chief of Staff because now she actually got letters and emails addressed directly to "Ann Bishis, Chief of Staff".  Wrong, wrong, wrong!  And since they were directly addressed to her, she could directly trash them if she wanted to.  Don't care, not interested, waste of time, when pigs fly--.  She looked up at the receptionist standing in her doorway.  "What?"

"There's a potential campaign donor here who wants to talk to you about hydrofracking."

"Congressman Herrmark is not going to support hydrofracking no matter how much money he has to offer," replied Bishis.

"It's a she, and she wants to donate money because of his opposition to hydrofracking," said the receptionist.

"Really?!  Well, send her in!"

A moment later, Henrietta Samuelson walked into Congressman Herrmark's inner sanctum.  She had Heurich Society money, but introduced herself as the president of a new SuperPac called Still Waters Run Deeper.  "It's time for Congressman Herrmark to step up his game," Samuelson said.

"Actually, it's campaign season--"

"Actually," interrupted Samuelson, "campaign season is the perfect time for the Congressman to talk about some confidential information we have about water polluters in his home state--including the hydrofracking company responsible for blowing up his parents' vacation home."

"How did you get that information?" asked Bishis (who couldn't help herself because there was still a lawyer inside of her).

"We cannot reveal our sources, but trust me, there will be no retaliation for using this information."

With that, Samuelson handed over a file for Bishis to peruse, and it was time for Bishis to earn her raise.  But Bishis hadn't forgotten the first rule Congressman Herrmark had taught her about working on the Hill:  "Never trust anybody who says 'trust me.'"

Several miles to the north, Mia was violating Charles Wu's trust by calling Wu's father in England--on Skype, with baby Delia sitting in Mia's lap.  "Charles is out of town right now," she said, without mentioning his whereabouts at the United Nations session in New York.  "I am his nanny, and this is your granddaughter."  She saw Charles Wilkinson Montgomery's eyes bug out of his head.  "Her name is Buffy Cordelia.  The mother chose that name, but Charles just calls her 'Delia.'  Isn't she lovely?"

"Why didn't he tell me?" asked Montgomery.  "Does his mother know?"

"He hasn't told her yet--he didn't want her to move in here.  Maybe you can help him figure this out?"

Several miles to the south, the State Department's Assistant Deputy Administrator for Hope also needed to figure some things out--in particular, why he was getting Project R.O.D.H.A.M. telexes warning that a rogue operator was out to assassinate the Iranian President in New York City.  First of all, shouldn't Project R.O.D.H.A.M. be supporting that?  Second of all, who warned Project R.O.D.H.A.M.?  And, like the ninety other telexes he had gotten since Monday, these needed to be repackaged into some kind of briefing for the Pentagon--unless they were too sensitive for the Pentagon, in which case they needed to be drastically rewritten for the Pentagon.  Why don't I ever get to go to New York? he fumed, resentful that no matter how hard he worked, he never got to go anywhere.

Not far away, former Senator Evermore Breadman was out for a post-lunch stroll because he had recently concluded the same thing:  no matter how hard he worked, he never got to go anywhere.  He approached the Lincoln Memorial reflecting pool, eager to see up close the botched renovation job.  Two years and $34 million, and it's a cesspool covered in algae!  Breadman laughed to himself.  Still waters run fetid in this town!  Oh, Congress, can you ever stop wasting taxpayer money!  Breadman smiled as a dozen ducks flew in for a landing and started chowing down.

What Breadman didn't know was that Ardua of the Potomac had sent the poisoned ducks, and they were the ones fouling the waters.  Out in the river, she swatted away the pesky pink dolphins and plotted her next move.