Directive 51 Read Free Page B

deciding, official government meetings ratify pre-made decisions and avoid ever saying anything unexpected.
    To achieve such perfect official meetings, there has to be a “meeting before the meeting,” where the people involved caucus about what is going to be said. Disclosure laws and media scrutiny force any bureaucrats who need to think freely to do it in a place and time that is not official in any way—and thus those coffee shops and hole-in-the-wall cafés are vital.
    Heather O’Grainne knew all that as well as birds know breezes; as she rounded the corner, finishing her morning run around the Capitol area, it compressed to time for the meeting that can’t be a meeting . This year marked a milestone: At age thirty-nine, she had now been a desk bureaucrat for eight years, one more than she had been an active Fed cop in her younger days. It tasted sour that she knew these bureaucratic games better, now, than she knew current procedure for arresting a suspect or obtaining a warrant.
    This was bound to be a big, messy, uncomfortable meeting-before-the-meeting. As Chief of Staff, Allison Sok Banh was one of the few people in the Department of the Future who could make Heather jump on command. She had “invited” Heather to an “early breakfast” to “talk things over” at the Angkor Coffee Shop, which happened to be owned by Allie’s Uncle Sam, and had a convenient back eating area that wasn’t open during the mornings. Translated from bureaucratese, Allie had summoned Heather to an urgent emergency meeting, and whatever was up, Allie really didn’t want it to leak.
    Sam, in his seventies, stooped, face deeply lined, had to be a foot and a half shorter than Heather’s six feet. He greeted her with a bow and a grin. “You’re here to assess my cooking?”
    “Only if it’s a threat.” It was their inside joke, ever since Allie had explained that Heather headed up the Office of Future Threat Assessment.
    “Allison is already here, in back. Your usual order?”
    “Yes, Sam, thanks.”
    The food here is so good I even eat here when we’re not skulking around on some piece of intrigue and politics, Heather thought. I guess that enhances the cover for days like today. The thought seemed slightly paranoid, but Remember, paranoia is one of the leading signs of having secret, all-powerful enemies.
    She found Allie at the sunny table by the window; the curtains were drawn. Arnie Yang was with her, and that was more bad news. First of all, Arnie was Heather’s senior analyst in OFTA’s communications-monitoring program, and Heather should have been the one to bring him if he were needed. But coincidentally, he was also Allie’s boyfriend, and maybe her spy. And worse yet, his area of investigation was the last thing Heather wanted to talk about.
    Allie and Arnie were eating already. Heather had barely sat down when Sam served her a Cambodian Breakfast Number One—chili-flavored pork, rice, and pickles, plus a big mug of chicory coffee with condensed milk. He vanished, carefully closing the door before Heather quite finished saying “Thank you,” and in the outer, public room, the music was abruptly much louder.
    Heather relished her first swallow of the sweet, thick coffee. “You’re gonna make me fat with these meetings here.”
    Arnie smirked. “I know you’re mostly muscle, boss. Bet your dad had to buy a tractor when you left the potato farm.”
    “Do they farm potatoes with tractors? I’m an LA city chickie.” She sipped again at the rich brown coffee and then dug into the pork and rice; once Allie started into business, Heather knew from past experience, there wouldn’t be much time to eat.
    When they had all finished wolfing down the food, Allie put her iScribe on the table.
    “You’re recording this?” Heather said, shocked.
    “Thought I’d better. CYA for all of us.”
    “So, as soon as I saw you here, Arnie, I knew it had to be about Daybreak.”
    “Heather,” Arnie said, “I