All Bits Are Set  

Dedicated to the diluted fascist group of the U.S. government who deceived their mainstream moderate colleagues, lied to the American public at large, and robbed America the Beautiful of her grace and charm. 

Fall 1997

“That one.” 

“Ok.”  

“Ok?”  

“Yeah.”  

“No problem?”

“No prob-.”  

Great, we’re recruiting kids with kids, thought Joe Peterosky, a recruiter for the CIA. 

“Ok, you’ll get the e-mail tonight.”  

“Ok,” said Nicole, as she glided effortlessly out of the car and into the crowd of students at the front of her high school.  

After a brief pause.  

“Dad, what’s e-mail?”  

“Uhh... well you know the notes on the refrigerator, well they are kind of like that, except they are in the computer,” replied Joe.  

“How are they IN the computer?” Jennifer asked, his 4-year old daughter. 

He paused and thought.  

“I’ll tell you what... I’ll tell you all about it when you get back from pre-school.”  

“Ok,” she said, as her glance turned outside the back seat of the car. 
 
Jennifer's pre-school

“Hi.”  

“Hi, name’s Joe.”  

“Heather.”  

“This is my daughter, Jennifer,” said Joe, looking at his daughter.  

“Hi Jennifer,” said Heather, bending down a little.  

Jennifer’s attention had already turned to all the number of children, never before seen, that were all her height.  

“I think I can take it from here,” said Heather with a smile, taking Jennifer’s hand.  

“Thanks,” said Joe.
  
Joe’s office 

“Good morning, Patsy.” 

“Hi, good morning, Joe, I have a couple of memos here and I got a call from upper management and they said last quarter’s numbers don’t look good, so we’ll need to cost-cut, so I took the liberty to cancel the interview appointments for the two would-be-great-to-have roles.”

“Ok,” said Joe, then walked into his office.

His office looked like it was taken right out of an interior design magazine. In fact, if anything was in any other place, it would have seemed out of place.

He sat down on his office chair, which automatically calculated his weight, something that needed reprogramming around the holidays, and on the wall, facing him, there was a painting, with an inconsipicuous embedded visual camera that had the latest facial-recognition technology, and there was, of course, the password.

He logged into room-alone mode. Started to go through his e-mails, he prioritized the recruits that needed boarding directions, then set aside time for the potential recruits that he needed additional information on and- the phone rang.  

“Hello?” 

“Hi, it’s me.”  

“Hi honey, how are you?”  

“I... I just feel so...”  

Joe immediately understood. His wife Tricia was feeling lonely now that their daughter was off to pre-school.  

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” said Joe.  

“I... I don’t know... It was just like yesterday we brought her home and now my baby... my... she’s off to-”  

Oh God, thought Joe, here we go...  

“She’s off to pre-school,” barely making it through the sentence, the floodgate of tears already open. She cried and cried and cried.  

After a pause, Joe said, “You know I’ll... I will come home for lunch so you don’t feel so lonely, ok?”  

He discerned an okay through the sniffling sounds.  

As Joe was driving back from his home after lunch, he had a smile on his face, the kind one has after an afternoon quickie. He and Tricia had been married for almost a decade, when Jennifer came, things had sort of tapered off, so he was glad when they spent time together.

He turned on the radio and a song was playing, one that he liked. He sang along with it, “... the kind of music that just soothes the soul, I reminisce about the days of old... rock n' roll...” fumbling through it a little...

He glanced around at the other drivers while he was singing, wondering if they thought he was crazy. Modernly self-aware. He reached his office soon after.  

A week later 

Nicole was busy writing an e-mail from her desktop at home. She wrote: 

“Brett answered the question to suicide saying that he believes he doesn’t seem to be the type of person that would commit suicide. As to the question, ‘Would you rather be noticed when you play and get the credit or would you rather do work that you are not noticed for and not get public credit?’ he said that he would rather be seen because ‘how else can the crowd see me play ball?’ which leads me to believe he didn’t fully understand the question. Didn’t know where Zimbabwe was but did know where Canada and Mexico were. Follow up in a week.”

She also called her boyfriend Zack.  

A winter went by. 

The following year  

“Ok group we’re off to a slow beginning, the previous month was slow, it’s now February, tell me what do you have, start with 001 military - Alex,” the contact between the CIA and the Pentagon.  

“We don’t have any reason to believe he has nuclear weapons, we have, of course, thousands, and Hussein is fighting to make ends meet with the sanctions that were placed on him,” said Alex.  

“Ok,  010 intelligence - Tim,” continued Peter Westings, the Director of the Iraq Group of the Central Intelligence Agency.  

“We’ve got intelligence superiority, of course, we know his whereabouts, even with body-doubles he uses to go around Iraq, we don’t see any new developments,” replied Tim. 

“Ok - 011 logistics - Dan.”  

“We’re sitting tight. No logistical movement in terms of getting anybody out of Iraq... but we’re always ready,” he responded, itching for the next task.  
 
“Ok, 100 domestic media - Jessica.”  

“Things don’t look great. The Iraqis are trying their hardest to evade sanctions and domestic opinion isn’t so great. People want to move on with life after the First Gulf War. They don’t want another war.”  

“Why’s that?” asked Peter.  

“The American people, I mean it’s already been a few years of crushing sanctions and no-fly zones over Iraq, so people are just tired of it.”  

“Ok - 101 international media - Miriam.”  

“International public opinion isn’t in our favor. Hussein is spending millions to put his case forth to the world but he’ll lose,” she said confidently, “We have deeper pocketbooks, we’ve got more newspaper and magazine writers under us who will write what we tell them.”  

“Ok, 110 accounting ROI - Will.”  

“If we attacked now, we would only see about a 40% return on investment. Their infrastructure is already degraded from us so we would have to rebuild that plus whatever we destroy, it’s-”  

“Ok, people, it’s February 12th, there’s 322 days left in the year, I want results, I want new ideas, I want the ROI to increase, I want better plans, I need tangible outcomes people,” said Peter, cutting short the meeting. 

Dan and Will were talking after the meeting.  

“He’s getting itchy.”  

“Yeah, I think he wants to wrap it up.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how we’re going to.”  

“Me either.”  

“Me neither.”

“What?”

“I think it's me neither.”

“Oh yeah... right!”

Joe’s office / interview schedule 

“Hello?” asked Joe, after picking up the phone.  

“Heyy!” said Peter loudly.  

“Peter!”  

“Joe... how are you?”  

“Great, what about you?”  

“Oh, you know it gets boring.”  

“Yeah really tough to imagine, single guy, own place, plenty of women, what is a guy to do?”  

“Ha ha,” said Peter, “it gets boring after a while.”  

“So what’s up?” asked Joe.  

“Listen, were you still interested in becoming full-time... no more contract?”  

“Are you kidding, I would, yeah...” responded Joe.  

“Well, guess what?... I got you an interview.”  

“Really?” said Joe, surprised at the turn of the phone call.

“Yeah, you’re scheduled for June.”  

“Great!”  

“I’ll send you all of the details within a week.”  

“Ok, yeah... great... thanks.”  

“Of course,” replied Peter.

A week after  

“Are you looking for something specific sir?” asked the young customer service person. 

“Uhh... no,” replied Joe, looking through the suits.  

“How about a striped one, like this?”  

“God no, I want a solid one,” he immediately answered, confidently.  

“Excuse me sir,” said the young man in a squeaky voice, his hand signaling down.  

“Solid. Navy blue,” said Joe.  

“Oh, I see... what about this one?” showing him a sharp Navy blue suit.  

“How much is it?” Joe asked, as he was trying on just the jacket.  

“$1300, Sir.”  

Joe paused. Didn’t respond immediately. He thought, get rid of the piano player and reduce the prices for goodness sake. He didn't say anything to the salesman.

Later he found Tricia and Jennifer sitting in the food section of the mall, he grinning with happiness at the new suit he bought.  

“Oh, hi honey,” Tricia said to Joe, “Do you want a pretzel?”  

“No, it’s ok,” he replied.  

“Oh, did you find a suit?” asked Tricia, looking at the suit that Joe needed to get custom altered on his own time.  

“Yehp... only $1300,” he replied happily.  

“Ohkay, that’s nice dear,” Tricia said, then thought, no point in arguing now that the damage is done.

June 1998 

Joe boarded the flight to Langley. When he landed, there was a car waiting to take him to headquarters. Peter was waiting for him near the inside of the entrance. Joe walked towards him, his hand outstretched before reaching him. 

“Hey! Peter. Good to see you.”  

They finally shook hands.  

“How was the trip?”

“You know... going through the security detectors is always a drag when you’re part of the in-crowd.” 

Peter laughed. They walked through the double-doors and into an open space. 

“Ok, I’m going to show you around a little, and then your interview is with Bob. He’s tough, but he’s fair,” said Peter.  

As they were walking, “Ok so there we have the cafeteria, and sitting areas, there are a few offices over there, the restrooms, then down that hallway is more meeting rooms... ok and here we’re going to circle back to the library since we skipped it...ok and down that hall is where your interview is.”  

“Great, thanks,” replied Joe.  

“Remember Joe – be honest with him - tell him what you think.”  

“Thanks,” said Joe.  

High School

“Kale, all hail,” said Robert, knowing that Kale's name was changed.

“That's funny,” replied Kale.

“How are your students learning?” asked Robert.

“They're good kids. Wonderful. Got a lot of energy... most of them at least,” said Kale.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I have an unruly teenager... Will... can't sit still, can't pay attention.”

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean, I have good kids too, but it seems they get distracted easily, there's, let's see, oh yes, Nicole, got herself a boyfriend, Zack, I think, can't seem to pay attention.”

“Completely agree. I have over the years seen so many good kids get diverted, whether it is boys, girls, drugs, cigarettes, it's-”

“Oh, I know, there's a young boy, name's Jon, recently took up smoking.”

“I see...”

“Has a new mate too... what's her name? Lynn.”

“Hmm.”

“Then there's another kid, cannot understand calculus and maths for the life of him, but he's a good kid, strong foundation, very strong, Brett, but he's too involved in sports, needs to focus more on his education.”

And so the conversation continued between Kale and Robert, both recruiters for the Central Intelligence Agency, and though they could have simply exchanged encrypted e-mails, completely secured, they were old school and preferred the old-fashioned method.

One of the high schooler's elder brother's apartment. Somewhere in California.  

His sibling was into his university days. He was sitting along with a few other writers. He was a creative writing major. So were his friends. They were trying to apply for an internship at television studios in Los Angeles. 

They were working on a script, that later on was a little familiar to an episode on Friends where Chandler has a fake work laugh, and eventually his girlfriend Monica, gets tired of listening to him, so when his boss, Doug, isn't in the room, she says she would rather not hear his fake work laugh anymore and would rather spend time hanging out with her boyfriend, whom she actually respects. 

One of them also came up with a somewhat race-related joke where an African immigrant, comes to America and her name's Kazabwe. So when she went to the YWCA to ask how much the membership cost for a single female, the white clerk said an amount and then when she gave him her id, he said, “that's an interesting name”, then paused. 

As white people do when they want to ask for more information without directly asking for it. So she goes, well my parents couldn't agree with what name to give to me because they are from two different nations, my Dad's from Kenya and my Mom's from Zimbabwe, 

so they compromise, combined Kenya and Zimbabwe, and that's how you get Kazabwe. 

Though they had sent a number of scripts and one-liners to the studios, their comment about the unique African name didn't make it years later on the Friends episode on air, where Chandler has to pretend he is a racist bigot.

Among the one-liners were:

With a white girl, it isn't “your”, it is “our”, it isn't “mine”, it is “ours”, so, guy asks her, “ok, I get that, I'm with you, can I go back to drinking our beer?”

I don't know black English, speaking only American English, so she takes offense to something apparently I said wrong, so she says in her black English, “oh i know you ain't talking to me”, with emphasis and attitude, so knowing only American English, I respond, “well, yeah, I am talking to you, in the room, do you see any other Lahquisha?”

Time went by so quickly. 

Meeting of the CIA Iraq Group 67 

“Alex.”  

“Nothing new. Pretty much the same as it was last month,” replied Alex.

“Tim - anything new?” asked Peter.  

“We’ve got a recruit. An Iraqi general. But he isn’t going to talk unless he’s here.”  

“How much is it going to cost to get him here?” Peter asked Dan. 

“About $100,000, maybe a little more...”  

“How high is he?” said Peter, to Tim.  

“Very high. Top-level.”  

“Ok - Dan, get him here, coordinate with Tim.”  

“Done,” Dan said confidently.  

“So, how’d you get him?” asked Will.  

Tim bowed his head slightly lower, then quickly said, trying to laugh, “You know I can’t tell you that. Privileged information.”  

“Huh, okay,” Will responded. 

The female group members didn’t notice as they were focused on their report. The meeting continued as pretty much the previous few months, nothing new especially, the domestic media control report from Jessica. Miriam was out sick. Had food poisoning.  

After the meeting, near the closed meeting room doors, Will and Tim stood.  

“So, how’d you get him?” asked Will.  

“Well, let me start off by saying we offered him women, money, citizenship, nothing moved the guy - he didn’t respond to any of our overtures.”  

“So?...”  

“We had to use our weapon of last resort,” said Tim.  

Will waited.  

“The Iraqi general thinks his female relative was raped by one of Saddam Hussein’s sons, used a body double, and now he wants to work for the CIA.”  

Will moved his head up slowly, then back down, understanding it very clearly.  

Miriam’s house  

The door bell rang. Miriam dragged herself up from the couch where she was watching TV. Never again, she thought, will I eat at a hole in the wall Mexican place again.

She opened the door of her home. It was Bonny, her next-door neighbor.  

“Hiiii,” said Bonny.  

“Hi,” said Miriam softly.  

“Would you be a dear and baby-sit precious?”  

What can I say when you’ve got the kid right in front of me, she thought, then said, “Of course Bonny... come here sweetie,” placing her hand on Bonny’s daughter.  

She took her to the living room and put on Disney cartoons. One of the older episodes was on. The picture did look a little grainy.  

She gave some of her breakfast, already made, to Bonny’s daughter. Scrambled eggs, orange juice, old cartoons, sole superpower, 1990s, can’t beat this, thought Miriam.  

They started watching the Disney cartoon. It was an episode Miriam hadn’t seen before. Donald Duck was in the forest with a picnic basket, but it was more like a jungle. As Donald Duck wanted to take a nap, there were black ants that realized there was food. Soon ants gathered, forming a tribe. The music started resembling that of African tribe music. Donald Duck, much bigger than the ants, thought they were trying to steal his food. The black ants became aggressive.  

Miriam quickly changed the channel before the kid thought there was something wrong with the color of her skin. 

At the previous meeting, Peter was piling up the pressure on Will and Tim. He noted that Jessica and Miriam were on top of their work. Dan and Alex didn't have much to do.

Jessica had mentioned there were protest groups that were getting tired of the lead poisoning, false news information, Hussein accused of using lead pencils to smuggle lead for military use - the protesters caught on quickly. They were starting to become an irritant in the handling of domestic media relations for Jessica. 

One of them was a student leader named Justin Rivers. He was very eloquent and concise in his speech. He had suggested that men stop shaving, while females should not put on make-up as a way to protest against the unjust treatment of Iraqis in the late 1990s, especially the no-fly zones and all of the sanctions placed against it by the international community. 

Will, not wanting to make the group's work more complicated, directly said, “I say we kill him.” 

To which Peter replied, “Will! We are the most sophisticated intelligence agency in the world. I think we can do better than that.” 

Peter then authorized the use of credit card fraud against Justin Rivers.

August 1998. Meeting of the Iraq Group 67. 

Will wasn't present at the meeting. Peter, as usual, started off with Alex.

“Nothing new to report,” said Alex.

After going through all of the “bits”, save Will, as there was nothing new from the previous month, Peter felt he had to make the comment, 

“Will isn't here today, flew off to Alaska, now why anyone would pay to sit on a block of frozen water and fish, freezing their... I don't know, I can't figure it out,” said Peter. 

The pressure was obviously getting to him. Dan laughed alongside him, he didn't think it was funny, but he also didn't want Peter to laugh by himself.

September 1998 

Peter was at his apartment, watching television, the evening news, when he heard the following from the broadcaster:  “The no-fly zones were enforced with the military spokesperson saying there hasn’t been any untoward incident over Iraqi skies these past few months... moving on to our next story, North Korea and its leadership has once again made direct threats to the South Korean people and the 37,000 U.S. troops stationed there and-”

Peter exclaimed, “What the HELL?” immediately turning off the television. He went in to his office the next day to figure out what happened in the news sequence.  

It turned out that a rookie decided to add his own two cents to all of the group’s news order and rearranged the stories where the Iraqi story and the North Korean story ended up being next to each other. An inquiry was opened. 

Joe's office

“Hey, Peter, how're you?” asked Joe.

“Wonderful... What's going on?” replied Peter.

“Do we still do call drops?”

“Yeah, why?”

“What's the cost to it?” asked Joe.

“Well, there aren't any long-term storage costs, so practically nothing. Why, what's up?” asked Peter, a little impatiently.

“I've got a recruit, Nicole, and she's a... well, she's a keeper and lately she's been a little out of focus, her attention's a little diverted, has a boyfriend, Zack.”

“You want a call drop on them?”

“Yep.”

“Ok, give it a couple of weeks.”

“Ok, thanks,” said Joe.

September 12th. Monthly meeting of the CIA Iraq Group 67.

Peter went through it with lightning tempo. When he got to Will, he didn’t want to hear anymore. All of the other team members felt the pressure must have been piling up from Adam, his boss. 

Peter thought about what to say for a minute. 

He began, “Ok... group... we’re... we don’t have any new ideas, no real developments on the ground, we do not have the public opinion from the people or the world to attack Iraq, we’re past half-way in the year, there’s I don’t know how many days left in the year-”

“110.”  

“What?” asked Peter.  

“There’s 110 days,” said Jessica.  

“Ok - there’s 110 days left in the year, we haven’t made much progress, in the next meeting I want to hear good news.” 

The meeting was adjourned. Peter went back to his office, an office with a window. He was pacing himself, back and forth, racking his brain for new ideas, new thinking. He was mentally going through all of the news he remembered for the past ten years.  

He was by the window and he looked up. He stopped. Like a bolt that struck him, an idea popped into his mind. He consciously looked up at the sky, and consciously said, “Thank you God.”  

Nicole and Zack talk after high school

“Hi,” said Nicole softly.

“Hi,” said Zack squeakily.

“What were you doing?” asked Nicole.

“Thinking of you,” said Zack genuinely.

“Yeah... right?!”

“No, really... I'm serious, I don't know, I can't stop thinking about you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I think... I've been thinking about you and I... I-”

Silence. No noise. He was about to say to her how he felt.

“Hello?” asked Zack.

The line got disconnected. He immediately called back.

“Hello?” said Nicole.

“Hey, the line got dropped, what I was trying to say-” said Zack.

“It's ok, I was trying... I was trying to get my homework done anyway.”

“No, I mean... I mean - No, what I am trying to say is that I think we should see each other after graduation.”

“Mmm,” replied Nicole.

“I really want to keep in touch with you.”

“Hm-hmm... look Zack, you're great but I think it might not work out, you can't even say what you want to say without playing games.”

“No, no, the line was dropped.”

“It's ok-”

“I'm not-”

“You know I have trust issues.”

“I know and I'm not, I'm not...” trying to gather his thoughts, trying to regroup to make sure he said the right thing but the lack of any sound was deafening to Nicole.

“I was doing my homework anyway, look, I gotta go,” replied Nicole.

Zack reluctantly said bye. Within two weeks, they were broken up.

Nicole was again focused on her work of asking questions and building the psychological profile of high school students as potential recruits for the CIA.

October 1998

Peter had a plan. He took it to his boss Adam.

“No, Peter, that’s not how it works.”  

“But we know that they want to attack with some rag-tag sleepers... we know that about the Iraqis.”  

“Peter. Think. Why would a nation, that has already lost the First Gulf War in 1991, why would they attack us, and invite complete annihilation?” 

“I can work on it, let me see how I can change it to suit opinions.”  

“Peter, I think you need to give it a good thought. I mean really think.” 

January 1999

Peter began the meeting with a different level of confidence. He asked a “hypothetical” question, not the original mission question: What “bits” are required to conquer an oil rich nation? 

His question to his subordinates was, “What would other nations do or in other words, how would they react if the United States had a reason for war against Iraq?”

The international media member said the Indians couldn't even take care of Sri Lanka (referring indirectly to the Rajiv Gandhi assassination by LTTE), the Chinese were too busy being interested in Latin America (invoking the Theodore Roosevelt quote of speak softly and carry a big stick and the Monroe Doctrine), and the Russian economy was too f-d as it is (referring to Mir as well as the Kursk submarine disaster).

Peter got what he wanted. He got approval from his subordinates, overlooking the fact they were his subordinates. 

On January 12th, the day of the meeting, he was sure to know how many days were left in the year, before being told, as he was in September of the previous year.

February 1999

Adam Smith and Peter Westings had a final plan.

“Ok, I will take it to the powers that be and-” said Adam. 

“That’s all I ask,” said Peter. 

He had already discussed the Russian “threat response” to what was planned: extraterritoriality agreements with Central Asian nations after 09/11, surrounding China with military assets stationed to the west, the media had already been instructed to draw up preliminary diagrams of showing Xinjiang Autonomous Region and Tibet Autonomous Region in a different outline than the rest of China, suggesting the territories were “separate” from China, 

the military liaisons were instructed to work with the Taiwan group to best suggest when Taiwan was to declare independence, coordinating with military intelligence on China's growing military power, 

the Islamic experts were told to isolate the 1.0 billion Muslims to then eventually get the major Muslim governments of Indonesia, India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Syria, United Arab Emirates, to isolate their own Muslim citizens to get to the quote “A friend in need is a friend indeed”, to then bring together Christian-majority America to embrace the world's isolated Muslims by becoming their friend in need, by protecting them when everybody, including their own government, were against them, 

to use cult Japanese or “Taiwanese” to forcefully take over airplanes heading toward the Chinese coast where almost-built aircraft carriers or other naval ships of PLAN were and to crash the hijacked airplane into the Chinese ship, same as India, but not as important to the India Group, because it wouldn't have been the first time hijackers attacked governments, as well as putting Russia in its place, and so on.

In the beginning of the 21st century

On September 11, 2001, two airplanes slammed into the twin towers of the World Trade Center. Another the Pentagon. The fourth crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, meant to target the Congressional building. 

It was the single most horrific event in modern America’s history. Soon after, Afghanistan was attacked. Iraq was next on the list. Then Iran. Americans were vehemently opposed to a Second Gulf War. They logically and reasonably looked at verifiable fact. Auto-radar. Most secure nation in the world. Most powerful nation in the world. So on.

President Bush was given information that led him to become emotional and take it personally, saying immediately after the attacks, Hussein tried to kill his Dad. 

He had maybe overlooked the fact there were writers in the 1950s when his Dad was only an entry-level government worker then, with an entry-level grade of salary, so the writers of the "I Love Lucy" series, millions of Americans saw, there was an episode where Lucy does a commercial, gets hammered with a drink that had 23% alcohol. 

Many Americans back then hadn't perhaps made the connection the 23rd letter of the English alphabet is “W”. Which would suggest the real “W” paid the writers to write the episode. There's also Maharincess, a worn Tehran hat, sister Cynthia is simply scintillating in the 50s, Lucy moves to the country, An American in Paris, learning English with Jones and Smith, and so on.  

Even the relative members of those that died that day said something to the effect of why would a comparatively defenseless Iraq attack New York. There were a lot of unanswered questions.  

“How is it possible to secure hundreds of airports with thousands of flights within 2-3 days of the attacks?”

“Wouldn't radar always be on?”

People started to realize Iraq's oil was worth $37 trillion, that is 37,000 billion dollars versus what any cost of terrorist attacks would be - around $40 billion. So comparing apples to apples, that is comparing billions to billions, +$37,000 versus damages worth -$40. 

Two years after, a “trainee”, actually undercover investigator, joined a co-working group that interacted with the Iraq and Iran groups. His name was James. Christian James. Or Christopher, as he formally liked to be called. After joining, Christopher waited a few months before asking more detailed questions about the Iraq Group. Peter noticed. He also noticed the frequency of interactions, keeping mental notes. 

Years later Peter Westings and each of his group members were in their offices. There were simultaneous knocks on the door of each office. 

“It’s open,” said Tim.  

“Come in,” said Peter.  

“Yeah, just a sec,” said Jessica. 

Each member of the Iraq Group were arrested, almost in synchronization. Peter saw Christopher James. He looked a little snarly and disgusted towards him. Christopher asked Peter if he knew what was going to happen, that is, his arrest. 

Peter said yes. Christopher paused. Waited for an answer. Peter simply said it was the frequency of interactions. 

Peter soon found himself in a special jail cell, in solitary confinement. His colleague from another group went to talk to him. He handed him some books to read. Peter opened one of them. In it were the words, “Here’s a great little book about the traditions and values of a land called America.”  

©2004. Ankur V. Vyas. All Rights Reserved.
The above draft is from memory. Work done in New Delhi, India. January 2004.

At the time in New Delhi, I took a decision to not publish the above information. 20+ years later, if there is an international publisher interested in publishing an edited version of the above, I give authorization to contact me.