“Say, what did the ambassador think of that stuff from Minsk? Did you get it to him?” Slote nodded at Pug’s mirror image. “I wanted it to go to Secretary Hull, high priority. The ambassador quashed that. The stuff’s to be forwarded through channels to our east European desk.” Pug wrinkled his nose. “That’ll be the end of it. Your department always drags its feet on the Jews. Better show the papers to some American newspaperman here.” “The boss directly ordered me not to, in case it’s evaluated as fake atrocity propaganda.”
