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uplifting.”
    â€œThat’s just it,” Ray said, pouncing on the latter concept. “It’s too uplifting. It’s so uplifting that it’s propaganda, and silly propaganda at that. It’s like one of the old westerns where the Indians were always the bad guys and the cowboys were all good.”
    Rafe shook his head in sour-looking disagreement. “This isn’t a college text. What I wrote is appropriate for this age group.”
    He wasn’t getting through to this smug, head-strong writer, Ray saw. Rafe was too self-insulated with his own intrinsic literary worth to accept a criticism from a lowly editorial underling. Rafe wrote well, but planting the seeds of such nonsense into young minds was wrong.
    â€œEven if it lodges a false impression of American history in their young minds?”
    Rafe stared at Ray, his dark eyes glistening with anger. “It looks like you have an agenda that goes beyond my book. I don’t know what it is, but I resent being called a propagandist.”
    â€œI don’t have an agenda,” Ray came back instantly. “And I didn’t say you were a propagandist, only that what you’ve written is extremely contrary to what historians now write. One example is your treatment about the frontier and the old west.”
    â€œWell,” Rafe scoffed, “I don’t agree with you, and I don’t intend to change a word of the manuscript, based on your silly nit-picking.”
    â€œTruth is nit-picking?”
    â€œComing from you, yes,” Rafe charged. “I don’t know what your game is. Maybe trying to make a name for yourself as a tough editor. Whatever, you’re off base here.”
    Nettled, Ray responded, “I’m asking you to consider toning down the blatantly false, my country right or wrong, bullshit in your book.”
    â€œWow!” Rafe said with a sneer. “Well, this meeting has gone well. Let’s see what your boss thinks.”
    â€œBy all means,” Ray said, but he had a sinking feeling he had gone too far. He was the one who had lost control and cursed. While his criticism was reasonable, his behavior wouldn’t be seen that way. Rafe had provoked him with his patronizing attitude, but that was no excuse for losing his cool. The tension over his uncertain legal and now religious status had gotten to him. He had to get a grip.

Chapter 6
    Perkins, who had poked too much into his life, didn’t know everything Ray thought as he walked his date, Gloria, to her apartment. This was his second date with the eighth grade teacher. She was lively, intelligent, had a great figure, and lived alone within walking distance from his place. Everything was good and positive, and maybe he’d get to make out tonight. It had been a while. His social life was a complete bust these days, and it had been some time since he had sex.
    But friction had started while they were still having dinner at a nearby Chinese restaurant. He wasn’t in a good mood, Ray knew, still irked over his afternoon foray with Rafe and the ticking clock if he wanted to get back to Perkins. He could find absolutely no reference to this so-called Protect America Service on the Internet or any rundown of federal agencies, either by itself or under the aegis of the vast Homeland Security apparatus. Perhaps, it was contracted out to a private organization, just like all the private contractors making out like bandits in Iraq and Afghanistan. Since 9/11, the security business was booming.
    The PAS offer was incredible, but the adventure aspect of it appealed to him. The financial incentive was certainly attractive; quite a different form of social security. It only took a minimal amount of research, and no contact with a criminal lawyer, to determine that he was indeed likely to fare badly if he was hauled into court. Even if he got off, he would have a record. The policeman he hit had been released from a hospital the next