tell, they didn't get much worse than Reys.
He was a humorless, lifeless, company man, completely devoid of imagination and personality. His only qualification for his job seemed to be a naturally mean spirit and an inexhaustible fervor for poring over mundane government documents. He had a peculiar talent for taking anything anyone had accomplished in life, processing it, and finding some obscure reason to attribute that success to luck, nepotism, or cheating.
Not surprisingly, his investigation into Beamon had quickly degenerated into an inexplicable vendetta, though they had never met before this inquiry and hopefully never would again.
Beamon didn't recognize the two rather serious-looking men flanking Reys as he came through the door. Normally, he would have at least stood and introduced himself, but he just couldn't summon the will to care who they were. He just wanted to get his job back and leave with his tail between his legs. In situations like this, brevity sometimes could be mistaken for dignity. Hopefully, this would be one of those times.
"Mr. Beamon."
Reys looked dangerously confident as he laid a manila folder down on the table. He looked at it, and not Beamon, as he spoke.
"I've come across a document that's generated a great deal of interest in my office."
Beamon put his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands.
"This is a rubber-stamp meeting, Gerald. You don't have anything.
There's nothing for you to have--there never was. Come on, I promised my girlfriend I'd take her out for dinner."
"I have to apologize for the last-minute nature of this line of inquiry, but this document just came to my attention." He always talked like that.
Like he was reading from a government study.
Reys pulled a thin stack of papers from the folder in front of him and slid them across the table.
"I have to ask you if you recognize this report." Beamon sighed and calmly pulled a pair of reading glasses from his pocket. Just a minor delay, he told himself. He'd still get out of here, employed and in time to make his dinner reservation. He flipped through the papers, reading every fifth word or so. Three pages into it, he honestly didn't remember having ever seen it. Toward the end, though, there was a faint glimmer.
"I think it may be a report someone in my office wrote on the church investigation. I wouldn't swear to it, though."
"I'm sure you wouldn't,"
Reys said, letting a condescending smile pass his lips.
"In fact, it is a report written about your investigation. A some what negative report."
Beamon had made it to the end of the document by this time and the faint glimmer was getting brighter. He looked behind Reys at the two men standing against the wall, wondering again what their place in all this was. He was ninety-percent sure that he'd never seen either one of them in his life.
"I don't mean to seem like an asshole here, Gerald, but so what?"
"You were asked to sign off on this document. Do you recall what you did?"
Beamon searched his memory again. As an SAC he was asked to sign off on what seemed like a thousand pieces of paper a day.
"Unless I'm confusing this with something else which is very possible I vaguely remember it being inaccurate and leaving out almost two weeks of the investigation a generally shoddy piece of work. I think I told the guy that wrote it to go back and do it again."
"And then what?" Reys probed.
Beamon felt his frustration growing again, but pushed it back. No fire works today.
"What then? I don't know. I went to lunch?"
Reys scooped up the document and handed it to one of the men behind him as though it needed to be protected.
"You destroyed it, Mr. Beamon."
Beamon stared at him for a moment, then let out a short laugh. Reys's choice of words and dramatic delivery conjured a wonderful image of Beamon huddled over a shredder in a dark office in some forgotten corner of the Pentagon.
"You mean I tossed it in the garbage?" Beamon shrugged.
"Yeah,
He was a humorless, lifeless, company man, completely devoid of imagination and personality. His only qualification for his job seemed to be a naturally mean spirit and an inexhaustible fervor for poring over mundane government documents. He had a peculiar talent for taking anything anyone had accomplished in life, processing it, and finding some obscure reason to attribute that success to luck, nepotism, or cheating.
Not surprisingly, his investigation into Beamon had quickly degenerated into an inexplicable vendetta, though they had never met before this inquiry and hopefully never would again.
Beamon didn't recognize the two rather serious-looking men flanking Reys as he came through the door. Normally, he would have at least stood and introduced himself, but he just couldn't summon the will to care who they were. He just wanted to get his job back and leave with his tail between his legs. In situations like this, brevity sometimes could be mistaken for dignity. Hopefully, this would be one of those times.
"Mr. Beamon."
Reys looked dangerously confident as he laid a manila folder down on the table. He looked at it, and not Beamon, as he spoke.
"I've come across a document that's generated a great deal of interest in my office."
Beamon put his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands.
"This is a rubber-stamp meeting, Gerald. You don't have anything.
There's nothing for you to have--there never was. Come on, I promised my girlfriend I'd take her out for dinner."
"I have to apologize for the last-minute nature of this line of inquiry, but this document just came to my attention." He always talked like that.
Like he was reading from a government study.
Reys pulled a thin stack of papers from the folder in front of him and slid them across the table.
"I have to ask you if you recognize this report." Beamon sighed and calmly pulled a pair of reading glasses from his pocket. Just a minor delay, he told himself. He'd still get out of here, employed and in time to make his dinner reservation. He flipped through the papers, reading every fifth word or so. Three pages into it, he honestly didn't remember having ever seen it. Toward the end, though, there was a faint glimmer.
"I think it may be a report someone in my office wrote on the church investigation. I wouldn't swear to it, though."
"I'm sure you wouldn't,"
Reys said, letting a condescending smile pass his lips.
"In fact, it is a report written about your investigation. A some what negative report."
Beamon had made it to the end of the document by this time and the faint glimmer was getting brighter. He looked behind Reys at the two men standing against the wall, wondering again what their place in all this was. He was ninety-percent sure that he'd never seen either one of them in his life.
"I don't mean to seem like an asshole here, Gerald, but so what?"
"You were asked to sign off on this document. Do you recall what you did?"
Beamon searched his memory again. As an SAC he was asked to sign off on what seemed like a thousand pieces of paper a day.
"Unless I'm confusing this with something else which is very possible I vaguely remember it being inaccurate and leaving out almost two weeks of the investigation a generally shoddy piece of work. I think I told the guy that wrote it to go back and do it again."
"And then what?" Reys probed.
Beamon felt his frustration growing again, but pushed it back. No fire works today.
"What then? I don't know. I went to lunch?"
Reys scooped up the document and handed it to one of the men behind him as though it needed to be protected.
"You destroyed it, Mr. Beamon."
Beamon stared at him for a moment, then let out a short laugh. Reys's choice of words and dramatic delivery conjured a wonderful image of Beamon huddled over a shredder in a dark office in some forgotten corner of the Pentagon.
"You mean I tossed it in the garbage?" Beamon shrugged.
"Yeah,
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