"And that Solution Two has within itself another unsolved problem; who watches you, and who watches the watchers?"
That didn't matter to me, and I said so.
"I suppose not to you, but it would matter to the army, and it would matter to the navy, and when J. Edgar Hoover gets around to thinking about it, it will matter to the FBI."
"So what? Would I get a choice?"
* * * * *
He was curious for a moment. "Would you want one?"
"Maybe, maybe not. I had a uniform once. The FBI go to college and take off their hats in the house, but they're still cops, and I don't like cops. Don't look at me like that; you wouldn't like cops either, if you made less than a couple of hundred a week. Nobody does. So I'm prejudiced against everybody, and just what difference does it make?"
"Not a great deal. I was just curious." He was honest, anyway. "But you can see the possibilities, or the lack of them."
"Look," and I got up to take as many steps as the cabin would allow. "This is where we came in. We could talk all day and get no further. All I want to know is this-what's going to happen to me, and when, and where?"
He followed me with his steady eyes. "Well, at the immediate moment, I'm afraid that-" He hesitated.