Washington, D.C. As a result of the onslaught of computer related business start-ups, the Federal Bureau of Investigation had created a small but efficient branch to watch over and delve into matters of privacy, credit and bank fraud, and impersonation. This young branch had been dubbed The Big Assist, a variation of the well-known term Big Brother. The in-house Chief of Business Affairs, Mitch Daly, gave the off handed name to the branch and it stuck like glue. It was only a working title though, and used exclusively in conversation and personal and electronic mail. In reality, the team members were all just field investigators with a little more computer experience than most Federal employees.
Mindy Holm hung up the phone noisily and released a long sigh. The pitiful sound caused Eric Stanley, her cubical partner, to glance her way. "How sad," he said in mock sympathy. "Someone's puppy die?"
Suddenly realizing she had been overheard, Mindy smiled and shook her head. "No, Eric. I just got another rejection for one of my stories. Guess I'm hopelessly doomed to push Federal paper all my life and talk on the phone to the press."
"Your time's coming," he reassured her. It was a complaint he had grown accustomed to. He had his part in these friendly motivational talks down pat. He would tread lightly at first, telling her keep at it… "If something's worth getting, it's worth the wait. But, you've heard that before."
"Yes, your voice echoes in my head when I'm trying to sleep. Thanks, anyway," she offered with a glum, rainy day expression. Her small metal desk was near the back of the drab, gray plastic cubical. The leg of her desk was missing the rubber tip, and it wobbled just enough to be noticeable. It was the kind of desk that had probably been bolted to the floor in a captain's office on some aircraft carrier. Other accoutrements of her office included a filing cabinet, an old but workable computer, and a used business-type phone with way too many memory options.
Mindy pushed away from her desk and bent over to adjust one of her shoes; shoes she wished she had not worn that day. Her permed brown hair was tied back, but a jumble of curls crowded her forehead. It was not a good day and every little ripple seemed to amplify the fact.
"Glad I leave some kind of an impression," Eric said as he turned his attention back to the reading material he had been absorbed in when she hung up the phone.
