By Ted Shelsby
UPDATED: 
Norman R. Augustine pushed himself away from the large mahogany desk, which, as always, was uncluttered except for a pen set, clock and family snapshots. He didn’t want to be in the office. It was Saturday, and an uncommonly pleasant one for mid-March – 55 degrees and sunny.
But he’d called the emergency meeting, summoning a dozen top lieutenants to his second-floor office in Bethesda. The question ...
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