Jeff Sessions looked at the morning newspapers. Both the Times and the Post had the story. He turned on Morning Joe just in time to hear Mika Brzezinski speculate that his career as attorney general may be over.
“Ну, дерьмо,” he sighed, as he pulled down the bottom of his cashmere sweater vest to eliminate any unwanted creases. He then calmly walked to his private Senate office and pulled a painting of some ducks and spaniels off the wall. He paused to look at the scene, as if for the first time. “Ridiculous, Americans,” he muttered to himself. “Bears. Men hunt medvedi,” he said, letting himself enjoy speaking Russian after all of these years.
The attorney general punched some numbers into the panel behind the painting and a seamless cabinet door in the wall at his feet clicked open. The former senator pulled out a vinyl duffel bag. With one hand Sessions slid a thick stack of folders — marked “Immigration Reform,” “Operation Big League,” and “Breitbart, Phase 3” — off his oak desk and onto the floor. Quickly he unzipped the go-bag. He pulled several stacks of crisp dollars, euros, and rubles out and laid them to one side. He moved the guns and boxes of ammo out of the way and found what he needed, a thick bundle of passports bound by a rubber band. He shuffled through them, pausing only once; his old Nicaraguan passport. He lingered over that picture, dwelling on simpler times. “No way I could pull off those dreadlocks today,” he said with a chuckle and threw the document into the fireplace.
He reloaded his go-bag and took one last look around. “It was a good run,” he sighed. Sessions walked out of his office. He was heading home.