KOSOVO

CHAPTER Five

The Washington D.C. Postal Processing facility is a constant hub of activity. Any letters or packages addressed to the White House are X-rayed, checked against a list of expected incoming mail, and the sender's name and address entered into the FBI database and checked in a myriad of ways. Packages that do not appear suspicious but are not on the expected incoming list are set aside, to be opened and inspected before their destination is determined.

Security assistant John Bartle loaded the last of the packages onto the cart and wheeled it through the double doors. As he approached the desk, he handed his clipboard to Walt Hampton, who had sat behind that desk through five administrations.

"These books for Mr. Potter are on the incoming list," Walt sighed as he read the printout.

"Yeah, they scanned fine, but we're not sure of the shipper's address. Mike wants 'em checked out," John said as he took the boxes from the cart and stacked them in the inspection bay. He wondered how Walt had lasted so long, what with all the security sweeps in the past few years. He really didn't seem to care anymore.

"I'll have 'em for you after lunch," John heard as he turned to go.

"Yeah, fine. Thanks."

b c b

Marc sat at his wheel, patiently trimming a foot on a pitcher he was making for himself when the phone rang. Stopping the wheel, he reached for the towel he kept to wipe his hands. As he made his way to the door, he heard the ringing stop and the answering machine start.

Crossing the kitchen toward the phone, he stopped as he heard the voice identify itself.

"Mr. Gorman, this is Sara Armstrong from Argus Publishing. I received your e-mail and would like to talk to you concern..."

"Hello, this is Marc Gorman," Marc said as he grabbed for the phone.

"Oh, Mr. Gorman. I thought I'd missed you. This is Sara Armstrong, and I'd like to speak to you concerning a feature I'm writing for Art/Craft."

"Yes?" Marc said, thinking back on the content of his message to her. What could she possibly want to write about that concerned him?

"Well, we're doing an article on West Coast artists and their environment, you know, how their surroundings effect their work, and I'd like to include you."

"Is this some kind of joke? Did Randy put you up to this?" Marc asked.

Sara laughed. "This is not a joke and I don't know a Randy. We haven't yet interviewed a ceramic artist for the story, and we don't have anyone in Washington, either. You fit the bill on both counts. Would you be interested?"

Marc coughed into the phone. "Sure," he said. "It'll be a blast."

"Fine," she said. "I'm on my way out now, but I'll call you tomorrow morning and we can talk at length. Does 10 o'clock work for you?"

"Yeah," Marc said. "Sure. 10 o'clock. Bye."

"Goodbye, Marc"