Excerpt from chapter:
“Sinister Government Plot to Disappear Me?”
U.S. State Department eMail: “I’m trying to reach Ken Richters about a possible program in Moscow under the auspices of the Department of State. I have phoned him twice, at home, but haven’t received a response. He may be touring. In any case, would you please have him call me at his earliest opportunity?”
“Hearing from the federal government is rarely good news; my last IRS field audit immediately comes to mind. But maybe the mail wasn’t from the Feds, and the “program in Moscow” was a Nigerian ruse to fool me into filling out a phony visa application with all the vital personal information needed for identity theft. I have no fear of being the victim of identity theft. In fact, look forward to the possibility, hoping the thieves might do a better job with my finances than I do. But if this was a legitimate communication from the State Department, how did they find me? Who referred me? Why, after my thirty years as Mark Twain, did someone in the United States government decide I was now a good choice to represent the country?
‘Something is terribly wrong here,’ I thought.
I pondered the possibilities, thinking back over three decades of politicians and government officials who have had a love-hate relationship with my performances as Mark Twain. Granted, there is nothing better for a politician’s street cred than being publicly dressed-down by America’s most celebrated dead humorist—showing a room full of constituents what a collection of great sports they are. But how many of those influential people might be carrying a grudge? Had I unknowingly crossed the line by hitting someone too close to home, or forgetting to warn them they were about to be roasted? My mind raced through an exhausting list of probable adversaries who would like nothing more than to have someone in the government disappear me—a term used by the intelligence community to indicate an operative has been “permanently retired.” A catalog of my Mark Twain’s victims ran through my brain. I could see their controlled rage, a slow burn fueled with never-ending thoughts of sweet revenge, patiently waiting for me to drop my guard. To quote Joseph Heller, ‘Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.’”
