"Of course, a simple slip of the tongue."
"Right." Miles snapped sarcastically.
Homosoto ignored this last comment. The insincere smile left his face, replaced with a more serious countenance. "Why did you leave your post with the National Security Agency, Mr. Foster?"
Another inquisition, thought Miles. What a crock. Make it good for the gook.
"'Cause I was working for a bunch of bungling idiots who insured their longevity by creating an invincible bureaucracy." Miles decided that a calm beginning might be more appropriate. "They had no real idea of what was going on. Their heads were so far up their ass they had a tan line across their chests. Whenever we had a good idea, it was either too novel, too expensive or needed additional study. Or, it was relegated to a committee that might react in 2 years. What a pile of bullshit, a waste of time. We could have achieved a lot more without all the inter- ference."
"Mr. Foster, you say, 'we'. Who is 'we'?" Homosoto pointedly asked Miles.
"The analysts, the people who did the real work. There were hundreds of us on the front lines. The guys who sweated weekends and nights to make our country safe from the Communists. The managers just never got with the program."
"Mr. Foster, how many of the other analysts, in your opinion, are good?"
Miles stepped back in his mind to think about this. "Oh, I guess
I knew a half dozen guys, and one girl, who were pretty good.
She was probably the best, other than me," he bragged. "Some
chicken."
"Excuse me? Chicken?"