The Strategist Read Free Page B

down again, but instead pushed her way through the concourse. Since she didn’t bother to take Wendy up on her exotic coffee blend and was in desperate need of caffeine, she made a quick trip to Starbucks for a green tea.
    She skimmed through a Denver Post while she waited in line. The front page read like the front page of every other major news daily. Crime stories that once occupied prime space were now relegated to the second and third sections in favor of the more pressing issues of high unemployment and depressed housing markets. But the grim economic forecasts didn’t bother Camille in the least. She certainly preferred that to the story about the latest missing toddler or shooting rampage that she was bound to see had she kept reading.
    The last such story to capture the nation’s attention involved her and it had been only a couple of weeks since her name last appeared in the Washington Times-Herald. Camille’s fifteen minutes were particularly infamous, and at its height, the D.C. field office was handling some fifty interview requests for her per day. Very few were granted. But that didn’t stop her picture from ending up in virtually every printed news outlet in the country. By the time she finally decided to leave Washington, she would have been hard-pressed to walk the streets of the city without being recognized by someone.
    So far no one here had given her a second glance, and she had every intention of keeping it that way. Her pace quickened as she walked out of the Starbucks, up the escalator and into baggage claim. Even though she took great pains to keep herself from being noticed, she still felt anxious. In one of the many worst-case scenarios that played out in her mind before she got here, she imagined that some enterprising investigative reporter who had gotten wind of her arrival would be waiting with her luggage - notepad, microphone, and a thousand difficult questions in tow. 
    What Camille saw instead as she rounded the corner to baggage carousel number six brought a smile to her face so broad that it physically hurt.
    The sign was written on red poster board, with a meticulous script that she instantly recognized.
     
    BREAD LINE FOR DOWN AND OUT FBI AGENTS BEGINS HERE
     
    There was only one person Camille knew who had the audacity to write such a thing. And because it was her best friend, she was also the only person in the world who could actually get away with it.
    “For once in your life you’re actually on time,” Julia bellowed as she lowered her sign. “Unfortunately the bread won’t be out of the oven for another twenty minutes, so I’ll need you to wait behind the white line.”
    Camille’s eyes welled up as she choked back laughter. “Giving up law for comedy?”
    “It wouldn’t be much of a stretch. Some people think they’re one in the same anyway.”
    “I have yet to meet a lawyer who knew squat about being funny. I give you credit for trying though.”
    “It’s better than being the ruthless witch that everyone always expects me to be.”
    “Who on earth would call you ruthless? That’s just flat-out rude.”
    Julia laughed. “Look who else thinks she’s a comedienne?”
    “Better than being the loser former FBI agent that everyone expects me to be.”
    Julia’s smile faded as she pointed to her sign. “Down and out FBI agent. Get it right. Loser doesn’t apply t o you. Never has, never will.”
    “If you say so.”
    “I do say so. Now shush up and give Auntie Jules a big ol’ hug!”
    Camille chuckled at the ridiculously bad West Virginia accent that Julia was fond of speaking in when she felt the random need to channel her Appalachian ancestry. “You are such a geek.”
    “I love you too, Cam.”
    As Julia approached, Camille could see that her eyes were beginning to water. “Oh Jesus, I don’t need you getting all hysterical on me.”
    Julia dabbed at her damp eyes with one hand and reached out to Camille with the other, discarding the sign as