Wanamaker’s attitude irritated the Attorney General. He released a cloud of vile-smelling smoke into his face. “I don’t see what there is to laugh about,” he snapped. “You plugged the leak, but not before the Russians found out what you were up to.”
“It could take a while,” Wanamaker ventured, batting feebly at the smoke screen, “but we can get Stufftingle back on track.”
The Attorney General appeared interested. “What do you have in mind?”
“With any luck,” Wanamaker said, “we ought to be able to find out where the Iranians have set up their germ warfare shop. We ought to be able to smuggle in enough contaminated microbes in a year, a year and a half on the outside, to set off an uncontrolled biological reaction, otherwise known as a plague.”
“Frame a proposal,” the Attorney General suggested, “but be careful not to leave a paper trail.” He caught sight of Fargo escorting Snow toward the emergency exit. “What about the girl?” he asked.
“She’s no threat to us,” Wanamaker replied. “She’s convinced the asshole is a raving lunatic-she’s convinced he invented us.”
The idea that he might be a figment of someone’s imagination seemed to amuse the Attorney General. “Wouldn’t it be funny if she were right?” he said, and reaching into his pocket, he began to turn down the hearing aid.
Robert Littell, The Once and Future Spy
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