conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a plot for a book about Zero, Game, Capitol entitled The Zero Game.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Zero Game: The pieces of Meltzer\'s Zero Game include two jaded Capitol Hill staffers, a clandestine game, an explosive secret, and one idealistic Senate page.\nThe Capitol Hill staffers are named Matthew Mercer and Harris Sandler.\nThey play the Zero Game, a game only a select few on Capitol Hill even know about, including their bosses, two of the most powerful Senators and Congressmen on Capitol Hill.\nJust being "in the know" enough to play proves to the two staffers that they are true power brokers inC.\nThey soon discover, though, that the Zero Game is more than it appears.\nOne of the two ends up dead.\nThe other must recruit on a young Senate page named Viv to help keep him alive and finish the Zero Game to its shocking conclusion.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Zero Game
  I DON'T BELONG HERE. I haven't for years. When I first came to Capitol Hill to work for Congressman Nelson Cordell, it was different. But even Mario Andretti eventually gets bored driving two hundred miles an hour every single day. Especially when you're going in a circle. I've been going in circles for eight years. Time to finally leave the loop.
  Before Harris can add another mile to the guilt trip, the swinging doors to the rest room bang open, and a man with a gray suit and red bow tie storms inside. I recognize him instantly: Congressman William E. Enemark from Colorado—dean of the House, and Congress's longest-serving Member. Over the years, he's seen everything from desegregation and the Red Scare, to Vietnam and Watergate, to Lewinsky and Iraq. But as he hangs his jacket on the hand-carved coat-rack and rushes toward the wooden stall in back, he doesn't see us. And as we zip up our flies, Harris and I barely make an attempt to see him.
  Still standing at the urinal, Harris stops. His green eyes narrow, and he studies me with that same mischievous look that once got me thrown in the back of a police car when we were undergrads at Duke. "C'mon, Matthew, this is Washington, D.C.—fun and games are being played everywhere," he teases. "You just have to know where to find them."
  Before I can react, his hand springs out and grabs the Lorax pin from my lapel. He glances at LaRue, then over to the Congressman's jacket on the coat-rack.
  I flush my urinal with my elbow. Harris flushes his with a full-on grip. He's never been afraid to get his hands dirty. "How much will you give me if I put it on his lapel?" he whispers, holding up the Lorax and moving toward Enemark's coat.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I pull back the slightest bit. She's starting to warm up, but that's not my goal. "Listen, about those directions..."
  Viv and I share a glance, but neither of us says a word. Up until this point, I didn't even think that was an option.
  It's a pathetic bluff, but if Janos is as close as I think, we at least need to attempt to hide the trail. As she gives us directions, I pretend to write them down.
  When she's done, I wave good-bye and head for our Suburban. Viv's right next to me, shaking her head. "Is that on purpose or is it just natural?" she finally asks as we pull out of the parking lot.
  The Suburban swings wide around a sharp right turn, pinning me against my door, and Viv against the armrest. As we weave our way up the hill, we're focused on the two-story triangular building that sits on top. Turning the final corner, the trees disappear, the paved road ends, and the ground levels off and turns rocky. Up ahead, a space the size of a football field spreads out in front of us. The ground's dirt, flanked by some jagged rock outcroppings that circle the entire field and rise about twenty feet in the air. It's as if they shaved off the top of the mountain and built the flat encampment that's directly ahead of us.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: As his words creep through the receiver and into my ear, my whole body goes numb. The world feels like my personal gravity's just doubled. Sinking down—almost through—the seat of my orange plastic chair, I weigh a thousand pounds.
  We're almost out of time, but Barry doesn't show the slightest sign of slowing down. After all this time in jail, he's finally having fun.
  Stuck in my seat, I just sit there, looking at him. It's like finding out a year of your life has been a staged production number. And I'm the only putz still in costume.
  There's a loud click in my ear as the guard slaps the phone in its cradle. He pinches the back of Barry's neck and yanks him from his seat. Stumbling across the room, Barry heads back to the steel door.
  But as I sit alone at the glass partition, staring through to the other side, there's no question Barry has it right. Pasternak said it the first day he hired me. It's the first rule of politics: The only time you get hurt is when you forget it's all a game.