1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. The seat of power in the Western World. The White House.
But tonight, under overcast skies, (rain later, temperature dropping to around 42F) there is a palpable feeling of tension, bordering on panic.
Tomorrow, he’s coming.
The word came through Hope Hicks, sprinting into the Oval Office itself, interrupting the President’s dinner of Four Big Macs, Three Filet O’ Fishes, Two Twenty Piece Chicken McNuggets, and a Partridge and a Pear Tree. (That last one is what Melania calls a fifteen piece bucket of fried chicken from KFC. She tries to get the chef to include pears so that Donald will eat something healthy, but she knows it’s hopeless. Donald would never eat fruit.)
Where was I?
Oh, yes.
Hope Hicks burst into the Oval Office, with the news, “Robert Mueller will be here tomorrow.”
“What!?” Eric Trump looked up, from where he’d been longingly gazing at his father’s dinner, “But how did he find out where Dad lives?”
Across the room, Jared Kushner ignored his brother-in-law, “If he’s going to be so brazen, he probably has something iron-clad on us. Someone flipped.”
“Manafort? Flynn?” John Kelly, White House Chief of Staff asked.
“No,” Donald Trump Junior, the President’s son, paced around the office, “He’s had them under his thumb for weeks. If that were all, we would have seen him by now.” He stopped, and gazed at the assembled party. “He got to someone else. Maybe even two people…”
“And it would have to have been someone in this room.”
Ivanka Trump, the President’s daughter, turned to look at Jeff Sessions, Attorney General. Jeff Sessions glared at Sarah Huckabee Sanders, White House Communications Director. Sarah turned to look at the President… who was not at his desk.
A note lay on the table, next to the empty bucket of fried chicken.
“Went to the panic ruum to wach Hanatee, let mee know when you’ve found the spys.
-Donald Trump”
“Well,” Secretary of State, Rex Tillerson shook his head. “Let’s take tonight to conduct our own investigations, and reconvene tomorrow morning before Mueller gets here. If we can find the mole or moles before then, we’ll know we’re safe.”
You have one night to find at least one of the moles in the White House. The night phase will occur first, and then you will have one twenty-four hour phase to locate the mole.
But tonight, under overcast skies, (rain later, temperature dropping to around 42F) there is a palpable feeling of tension, bordering on panic.
Tomorrow, he’s coming.
The word came through Hope Hicks, sprinting into the Oval Office itself, interrupting the President’s dinner of Four Big Macs, Three Filet O’ Fishes, Two Twenty Piece Chicken McNuggets, and a Partridge and a Pear Tree. (That last one is what Melania calls a fifteen piece bucket of fried chicken from KFC. She tries to get the chef to include pears so that Donald will eat something healthy, but she knows it’s hopeless. Donald would never eat fruit.)
Where was I?
Oh, yes.
Hope Hicks burst into the Oval Office, with the news, “Robert Mueller will be here tomorrow.”
“What!?” Eric Trump looked up, from where he’d been longingly gazing at his father’s dinner, “But how did he find out where Dad lives?”
Across the room, Jared Kushner ignored his brother-in-law, “If he’s going to be so brazen, he probably has something iron-clad on us. Someone flipped.”
“Manafort? Flynn?” John Kelly, White House Chief of Staff asked.
“No,” Donald Trump Junior, the President’s son, paced around the office, “He’s had them under his thumb for weeks. If that were all, we would have seen him by now.” He stopped, and gazed at the assembled party. “He got to someone else. Maybe even two people…”
“And it would have to have been someone in this room.”
Ivanka Trump, the President’s daughter, turned to look at Jeff Sessions, Attorney General. Jeff Sessions glared at Sarah Huckabee Sanders, White House Communications Director. Sarah turned to look at the President… who was not at his desk.
A note lay on the table, next to the empty bucket of fried chicken.
“Went to the panic ruum to wach Hanatee, let mee know when you’ve found the spys.
-Donald Trump”
“Well,” Secretary of State, Rex Tillerson shook his head. “Let’s take tonight to conduct our own investigations, and reconvene tomorrow morning before Mueller gets here. If we can find the mole or moles before then, we’ll know we’re safe.”
You have one night to find at least one of the moles in the White House. The night phase will occur first, and then you will have one twenty-four hour phase to locate the mole.
Last edited: