By habit, He Who Remains Classified rose early and walked from his Capitol Hill bachelor’s apartment to the State Department Building on C Street. A recent promotion to group director—thanks to his mentor in counter-intelligence, James Jesus Angleton—secured him a bigger office.
Glaring kilowatts of sunlight coruscated on the walls. Renovations and debugging were still in progress. He’d ordered Venetian blinds to replace the thick drapes. The bright sunlight bombarded his corner suite like a giant interrogation lamp. He Who Remains Classified plucked his sunglasses, always at the ready, from his breast pocket. The dark aviators hid his baby-blue eyes.
He lowered himself down to the floor for fifty push-ups, his way of staying vicariously connected to his grunts in the field. From floor level, he noted that none of his new desk drawers were tall enough to contain a handle of Scotch. He sat up, breathing heavily, and poured a short one into his thermos cap.
Mr. Angleton advised through-the-day pacing. Mr. Angleton’s renowned morning ritual included spinning once around in his leather chair, opening a drawer with his left hand, whipping out a bottle, and bringing it down with a decisive thump on the desktop, precisely as the wall clock struck eight bells.
He Who Remains Classified started his workday with a glimpse at the Wangert file. It was like scanning the funnies in the Post, before getting down to the serious business of supervising his stable of PsyWar scribes, currently stirring things up in Guatemala. Also, as a member of the advisory committee on the design of the Agency’s fallout bunker in rural Virginia, He Who Remains Classified appreciated reading the details of the Wangert bomb shelter décor.
Except that lately, with Mary and Ward’s removal to Maine, the Wangert reports were thinner. Sketchy notes on Ernesto’s UFO sightings and Loretta Stark’s tomato harvest. The local Indianapolis source seemed blind to the fact that Mary and Ward’s so-called honeymoon was lasting a lot longer than was typical.
He Who Remains Classified buzzed his assistant and ordered a replacement. He also demanded a fix for the island blackout. It would be harder to locate a source in Maine, but not impossible.