Harry Kingston was working late preparing for a debate on the Senate Floor that was scheduled the next day. The issue of regulating the internet was the hot topic of the day, and Kingston had been one of the big proponents of the web needing more safeguards.

On the opposite side were those who felt such activity by the government infringed upon free speech. Their champion was a Libertarian Senator from New Hampshire, Dale Michaels. Of course, it all amounted to politics and very little legislation actually got done, but Kingston's poll numbers showed that his constituency favored greater restriction, so that is what he was going to advocate.

Adrian and Natalie walked into his office suite and sat with three twenty-somethings that Harry had brought in as a focus group to craft his message. He didn't want to lose the Millennials so he needed to make sure that his speech from the floor would have a sufficient balance of factual analysis and emotional pull without being offensive to their sensibilities. This was not terribly difficult for a guy like Harry who had been in politics long enough that he was often referred to as "The Chameleon" for his ability to mold and make his image any way he felt his audience wanted to see it.

It was an aide who let Harry know that the Monks were out in the waiting room, welcome news to the older gentleman who was ready for a break.

"All right, let's take a ten minute break. I need to visit with my friends, the Monks." he announced as a separate group of three left his office.

"Who are the Monks?" asked one of the young people leaving the room "Some sort of religious group?"

"No, idiot. Adrian Monk, the Associate Deputy Director of the FBI. Are you sure you live in D.C.?"

Showing Adrian and Natalie into his office, Harry offered them both a drink, which they declined, before sitting down at his desk with a glass of scotch.

"So, what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked.

"Mr. Kingston." Adrian began. "We are looking into some matters for the Department, and we've run into some conflicting information concerning former Director Grier that we hoped you might clear up."

"Grier? Poor woman." Said Harry. "What about her?"

"Well sir," Natalie said, showing him some documents. "We were just trying to scope out whom Sharon may have known that might have wanted her dead, and were doing a basic history of her life. It seems we can't find anything about her before she worked for you. We were wondering if you could give us a little information about her background."

Kingston took a sip from his glass and then looked at both of them.

"I really don't know anything about her. Never did. She was recommended to me by the Party Chairman who said she had impeccable credentials. If she was good enough for her, then she was good enough for my office I guess. Anyway, she only worked for me for about six months when she got a job working for the FBI. She started as a lower level assistant to the director of human resources for the Department, and I know she had at least three or four other positions before being elevated. Smart woman. Friendly. Reputation of being a little 'too friendly' at times, if you catch my drift. But I suppose it worked for her – at least for a while."

"So am I to understand that she didn't have to go through any sort of clearance procedure while working in the Senate with you?" Adrian asked.

"Not in the role she had. My Party held all three branches at the time and personal recommendation went a long way." Harry responded.

"This party Chair, where is she today?" asked Natalie.

"Wilma Erdman. She passed away, oh…three or four years ago, complications of Alzheimers." Said Kingston.

"That's too bad." Said Adrian. "Do you know anyone else who knew Grier at the time? Any relatives? Friends?" he asked.

"I remember Sharon, those days, was all work, work ,work. Ambitious. I would say she hit the floor running because she probably knew everyone else's job better than they did by the end of her six months here." Kingston answered. "However, now that I think of it, she was friendly with Damon Brown."

"The former intelligence chief?" Adrian asked.

"Yes. I remember wondering if the two were dating. Just a passing thought as I saw them eating dinner together one day. I think he might have had something to do with her being offered a role in the Intelligence world." He said.

"And where is he today?" asked Natalie.

"He went back into law. Works out at Berkeley Started a tremendously successful consulting firm. You will see him a lot in Forbes top 100 richest men in the country." He said. "I think I heard recently that he has slowed down a bit and might be teaching out there now."

"Good to know" said Natalie.

"Glad I could be of assistance. Now, if you two don't mind, I am trying to prepare for my debate with Michael's tomorrow. Do you think I should go with a red tie or a blue tie?" he asked.

"Which side of the debate are you taking?" asked Natalie.

"Pro-regulation." Said Kingston.

"Oh, then definitely blue." She said, with no explanation.

"Blue it is. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my college kids. I'm paying them by the hour."


On the way to the car, Adrian asked Natalie about why she chose the blue tie over the red one.

"It's a reference to 'The Matrix.'"She said.

"The Matrix?" he asked.

"That movie with Keanu Reeves in it. Red Pill/ Blue Pill." She said.

Adrian looked confused.

"In the movie he is given a chance to decide on if he wants to see life as it really is with all of its ugliness and beauty. You know, the harsh reality of things. That is the red pill. Or, does he want to live a life of blissful ignorance. Sheltered from that reality. That's the blue pill." She said.

"So, by saying he wants to regulate or sensor, you're saying Harry's trying to give a 'blue pill' to the populace?" he asked.

"Exactly." She said.

"You know, that wouldn't be all bad. There is a lot of harsh reality that I wish I had never seen." He said.

"True. But, then you wouldn't have lived life. A wise man told me that I shouldn't let fear rob me of life. I would add that you shouldn't allow any of the potentially bad things that might of might now happen ruin it for you." She said.

"He sounds like an optimist." Adrian said.

"He's your brother." She said with a roll of the eyes.

"Ambrose told you that?" Adrian said.

"Yes. We haven't gotten to talk about my visit with him. He's up for an award with the Booksellers again. It's next month. This time, the people who own the Allen Wrench patent want to give him a life time achievement award. Here." She said, getting into and unlocking the car, then fumbling through her purse and pulling out a piece of paper. "Here is the agenda."

Adrian buckled his safety belt and then took the paper and studied it, noting the events on Thursday night when the Awards Ceremony was to occur.

5:00 PM Greetings, 5:30 PM Special Speaker Barton Fosdyck, "The Art of the Short Story", 6:15 Paul Gleason, "Art Books, An Art Form in and of Itself", 7:00 Samuel Asbury "The Reformed Radical: An Autobiograhy", 7:45 Jenny Pauley, "Food for Life", 8:15 Ambrose Monk "The Future in Instruction Manuals", 9:00 PM Awards

"Ambrose is going to speak?!" asked Adrian with surprise.

"Yes." Natalie said, turning the corner. "And he specifically said that he wants his brother to be there."

Adrian smiled. "I wouldn't miss it. He…he's actually going outside?"

"Heather and he have been baby stepping it. She texted and said took him to a little league game this afternoon." Natalie said.

"How did he do?" he asked.

"Someone spilled a bottle of soda on him, but other than that, she said he did well." Natalie responded.

"I always told him he could do it!" Adrian said, proudly. "He just had to make his mind up!"

Natalie looked at Adrian and grinned. He was adorable when he was like this. So happily lacking in self-awareness.


After picking the babies up from the VP Residence, Natalie drove them to the grocery store to pick up some diapers. While she went in to shop, Adrian sat in the car and babysat their sleeping children and surfed the internet for the latest weather forecast.

As he sat there, a blue 1972 Chevy Impala convertible pulled up to the park spot at the end of the next row. Two people, he guessed in their early seventies, were blasting songs from their stereo system from the late 1960s/early 1970s, taking Adrian back to earlier times. In his mind's eye he was 13 years old and standing across the street from a similar store back in California. His father had already left, and his mother and Ambrose were refusing to leave the house, so he was pretty much on his own.

He remembered seeing a car pull up, not unlike the one before him, and it was covered in peace symbols and anti-war slogans. There were at least five people in the car, all with long hair, male and female. And, he remembered them smoking some reefer, hanging all over one another, and laughing as the strains of Barry McGuire singing On the Eve of Destruction, the same song that was playing in the Chevy at that moment, reverberated through the air.

The eastern world it is exploding
Violence flarin', bullets loadin'
You're old enough to kill but not for votin'
You don't believe in war but whats that gun you're totin'?
And even the Jordan River has bodies floatin'

But you tell me
Over and over and over again my friend
Ah, you don't believe
We're on the eve of destruction

At the time, the child Adrian watched the spectacle with solemn curiosity. Hippies, a car load of them, partying hard while rather dismal lyrics played loud for all of the world to hear – he marveled at the irony. His parents had told him to stay away from such people, and given their obvious use of drugs it wasn't a bad idea. But now, in his late 50s, having seen a lot of what the world had to offer, he was struck by the idea that they weren't entirely wrong. He was also struck by the fact that how no matter how much things change, things stay the same. He closed his eyes and thought back to those turbulent times.

…Yeah my blood's so mad feels like coagulating
I'm sitting here just contemplatin'
I can't twist the truth it knows no regulation
Handful of senators don't pass legislation
And marches alone can't bring integration
When human respect is disintegratin'
This whole crazy world is just too frustratin'

And you tell me
Over and over and over again my friend
Ah, you don't believe
We're on the eve of destruction

Think of all the hate there is in Red China
Then take a look around to Selma, Alabama
You may leave here for four days in space
But when you return it's the same old place
The pounding of the drums, the pride and disgrace
You can bury your dead but don't leave a trace
Hate your next door neighbor but don't forget to say grace

And tell me
Over and over and over and over again my friend
You don't believe
We're on the eve of destruction…*

As the song ended, the ignition to the car was shut up and Adrian opened his eyes, watching as the man got out of the car wearing a t-shirt and shorts which revealed the scar from his recent knee reconstruction surgery. The woman, with greying hair and a body showing the affects of osteoporosis, walked up to him and joined him as they walked slowly across the street. Well…maybe they don't stay the same after all.

Just then, Natalie broke into his thoughts by knocking on the glass of his car, passenger side. Snapping to, he jumped out of the car and helped her load the trunk with bags. In his head, the song was still playing and he was still back in 1972, that young boy being exposed to a different world. As these things percolated through his mind, he suddenly jumped back to the case, thinking of the various cities that were targeted. It was then that he had the thought that would eventually help the whole case to unfurl before him.


.

.

.

.

.

*Song Eve of Destruction - 1964 P.F. Sloan