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http://indyweek.com/durham/current/cover.html<snip> It was a sleepy afternoon in June, and in the Atlanta office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, agents were amusing themselves the best they could--shredding obsolete field reports about strange Arabs in Florida flight schools who didn't want to learn how to land, or reframing pictures of J. Edgar Hoover in his prom dress. Maybe playing cassettes of Efrem Zimbalist Jr. outwitting communists on the bureau's old TV show, or screening highlight tapes of Waco, Ruby Ridge, or the non-capture of Eric Rudolph. No, seriously, I hate to come down too hard on the FBI. Like me, the bureau has been despised almost equally by extremists of the Left and the Right. That might be the result of terminal incompetence, in either case, but more often it's a sign that we're doing something right. The Atlanta office may be the pride of the bureau, for all I know. But on this particular sleepy afternoon, near the end of Year Two of the Constitution-strangling USA Patriot Act, the phone rang at last and lured a pair of underworked agents to an assignment that was not their finest moment.<snip> http://indyweek.com/durham/current/cover2.html<snip>
"Two FBI agents. They say you're not in trouble, they just want to talk. They want to come to the store."
I work in a small, independent bookstore, and since it's a slow Tuesday afternoon, I figure, "Sure." Someone I know must have gotten some government work, I think; hadn't my consultant friend spoken recently of getting rolled onto some government job? Background check, I think, interviewing acquaintances ... No big deal, right? Then, of course, I make a big deal about it in front of my co-workers. <snip>
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