The Devil's bed

Bo had breakfast at Afterwords, the cafe in Kramerbooks on Connecticut Avenue, a place he’d often eaten during the years he was assigned to duty in D.C. At nine o’clock, he walked through the door of the Old Post Office Building on Pennsylvania Avenue and took the elevator up. When he got off, he proceeded down a long, quiet hallway. At the end he came to a set of double, glass doors with NATIONALOPERATIONSMANAGEMENTpainted in white block letters across the panes.

The reception area was small and reminded him of the waiting room in a dentist’s office. There were a few magazines on a low table next to a love seat. Near the window was a fish tank with a lot of lazy-looking fish. Outside the window was a sunny view of Western Plaza with its crisscross of white lines that was a depiction of L’Enfant’s original plan for the capital city.

The receptionist was on the phone. She glanced up when Bo came in and flashed him a nice smile. She made a notation on her desk calendar, finished her conversation, and hung up.

“May I help you?”

“I’m sure you can,” Bo said. “I need some information.”

“What kind?”

“Pretty general, really. For starters, I’d like to know what National Operations Management does exactly.”

She laughed gently. “We don’t make the front page very often, do we?” She reached into a drawer of her desk and pulled out a brochure that she handed to Bo. “I think this pamphlet will give you a very nice overview of NOMan.”

“Thank you. Mind if I sit down and read it here?”

“Be our guest.”

Bo sat and read.

NOMan, as the text kept referring to the organization, was a division of the General Accounting Office. It had been created by an act of Congress on March 10, 1963. Its purpose, according to the pamphlet, was to “standardize, facilitate, and oversee the security of communications and procedures within and among the various branches of the federal government.” Headquartered in Washington, D.C., NOMan had regional offices in several cities across the country.

“Standardize, facilitate, and oversee the security of communications and procedures,” Bo read aloud. “In layman’s terms, what does that mean?”

The receptionist, a Ms. Hoeffel, according to her name tag, looked up from the computer on which she was working. She gave him another of her nice smiles. “We do forms mostly. Make sure all departments use the same, or at least similar, documentation. We design documents for interdepartmental exchanges of all kinds. Procurement, travel, you name it. Not the most exciting office in the government, but we like to believe we help things run more smoothly.”

“What about this security aspect?”

Although still friendly, she seemed to be growing a bit tired of Bo’s interruptions and questions. “We’re responsible for the design and maintenance of the security system that keeps secret documentation and communication, well, secret.”

“Sounds like pretty important stuff to me,” Bo said.

“I’m glad you think so. We certainly do.”

“Can I get a tour?”

“We’re not one of the more popular stops for tourists in the capital. We don’t really give tours.”

“How about a public relations person?”

“That would be Laura Hansen.”

“Could I speak with her?”

“Not without an appointment. She’s very busy.”

“I’d like to make an appointment, then.”

“Certainly. Just a moment.”

She punched in a number on her phone. “Dan, it’s Mary Jude. I have a gentleman here who’d like to make an appointment to see Laura.” She listened. “General interest,” she said. “Uh-huh. Hang on a sec.” She glanced up at Bo. “Your name, sir?”

“Bo Lingenfelter.”

She repeated the name over the phone, then she smiled again at Bo and asked, “Is now a good time for you?”

“Now? Really?”

“Really.”

“All right.”

“Fine, Dan. And thanks.” She hung up. “You’re in luck. Laura will be right out.”

While he waited, Bo watched the fish in the tank. They didn’t seem in any hurry, which was good because they didn’t have anywhere to go.

The door behind the receptionist opened, and a woman in a light gray skirt and matching jacket came out. She was a small woman, but a lot of energy seemed to be contained in that slight frame. She smiled broadly at Bo.

“I’m Laura Hansen.” She extended her hand.

“Bo Lingenfelter. From Pueblo, Colorado.”

“Really? You sound more midwestern.”

“Transplant,” Bo said.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Lingenfelter?”

“Truth is, I’m county chair for our party’s local committee. I’m trying to understand all the duties and responsibilities of our senators so that we can translate it for the voters back home. Now, it’s my understanding that among the other responsibilities he has, Senator Dixon also attends NOMan meetings. I’d like to know what that’s about.”

“Of course. Why don’t you come back to my office and we can talk a bit.”