Arlington, VirginiaT
he man who calls himself Bayer really, really wanted to break something. He looked around his Spartan townhouse idly wondering which little memento, statue, or keepsake collected over more than 30 years of overt and covert service he’d miss least after he smashed it on the fieldstone fireplace. He tried pacing off some of the heat by storming from room to room, but nothing seemed to bank the fire of resentment he was feeling.
In all of those years, working for or with the CIA, DIA, FBI, NSC, ICE, U.S. Special Operations, Homeland Security, even directly for three sitting Presidents, he’d never been called on a carpet and dressed down like an errant amateur. Apparently his years of service, his admirable record and demonstrable successes, counted for nothing with the
