Jim, Jim! wailed my poor old mother-in-law, a little old Italian lady. The FBI are here!
I walked over to the door.
We'd like to speak with your wife.
What about, says I.
We need to speak with your wife.
You can tell me.
No, we can't. We need to speak with her.
At this point my little boy butted in: what do the ladies want, Daddy.
I smiled and said, they're from the FBI, son, and they're here to arrest your mother.
My mother-in-law nearly fainted.
The FBI agents squealed NO, NO, it's nothing like that.
Ok, what is it then.
We can't tell you.
I finally relented and told them my wife was at work and where that was. It turns out she'd been taking a shortcut through the back parking lot behind the FBI building on the days she had to pick up our son at the babysitter.
Do you have a camera, they asked?
Were you taking pictures.
We can't be too careful after Oklahoma City, sorry.
Across town at about the same time a terrorist was training on an aircraft simulator for 9/11.
* * * * *
Since the FBI agents didn't tell me what they wanted. I didn't bother to tell the FBI who my wife worked for. I was sending them to Arizona's second largest Medicaid health plan run by the Catholic Sisters of Mercy and Carondelet. My wife was the COO and a specialist in maternal child health care and had recently gone to Washington to accept an award from the Medicaid people for caring for AIDS patients.
Receptionist: Welcome to Mercy Care Plan. How may I help you.
FBI: we're here to see Julie...
Receptionist: Do you have an appointment?
I'd guessed that the FBI wanted to ask some questions about the Native American tribes the health plan served. That they took my wife for a potential terrorist never entered my mind. But I've never let her forget it.
