Taylor Smith - Liar's Market

And what was stopping him?

As I say, bureaucracy. It seems there was some big organizational review underway—still the fallout from September 11, I gather. You know—trying to decide what the Agency did wrong, coming up with recommendations on what they might do differently in future. When Drum got back from London, the Director asked him to take on the running of that task force for a few weeks. Said it needed a little fire put under it. Drum felt he couldn’t say no, especially when the Director stressed how high profile it was, and how important to the Agency’s future. But Drum was more and more frustrated with every passing week. Said he was spending his days pushing paper around, chairing endless meetings—except not the ones he wanted to be in on.

And which were those?

The ones dealing with day-to-day operations, I suppose.

And so?

So, nothing. What could he do? He had to get the damn job finished, he said. That’s what he was trying to do. All I know is, we hardly ever saw him. Most days, he left home before Jonah was up and came back long after he was in bed. After I’d gone to bed, too, for the most part.

He left at what time in the morning, generally?

About seven. He liked to beat the traffic and be at his desk before seven-thirty.

Always?

Whenever he was in town, yes. As I say, he was almost always gone by the time Jonah came downstairs for breakfast.

So, he had a routine that never varied.

Not really.

And then two days ago, something changed. Right, Carrie?

You know it did. That was the day everything changed.

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