10
Private Communications
Zitts must have thought he had his answer, because he didn't press me further, and we didn't speak of it again that day. I drove him out onto the tarmac at Santa Monica Airport, where he boarded a private jet. He carried no luggage, not even a briefcase. I made a note of the plane's tail markings, but I later learned what I could have guessed right then — it was an untraceable commercial lease.
Before he left, he gave me his personal mobile phone number, along with instructions to call him with any "questions or concerns."
"Are you saying, uh, you're my boss?" I asked, thankful in some ways to put a face on the matter, albeit pockmarked and somewhat hideous.
"No, my son," the clergyman replied with a sardonic grin. "Think of me as your case officer." And then
