I don't have a lot to add to the commentary already swirling concerning the interesting collection of minimalist art submitted by the office of special counsel Robert Mueller on Tuesday night in the matter of Michael Flynn. There hasn't been so much speculation and rumor and interpretation of a series of black lines on a white background since the last time Frank Stella doodled on a placemat at Arby's.

The clear implication of what Mueller released on Tuesday is that Michael Flynn has been singing the full score of a German opera to whoever will listen to him ever since he first was scooped up by prosecutors after his 15 minutes as national security advisor ran out. A good friend who is professionally familiar with prosecutors and grand juries and how they operated sent this along shortly after the sentencing memo went public.

Just read the docs. My view is that he hit every note in Wagner's Faust Overture. This will surely get ugly. The redactions are a tease for sure, but the rest of it, especially 19 proffer sessions and the "ongoing investigations" is the equivalent of serious shots over Trump and Company's bow, which surely indicate that the killing shots are en route.

However, there is something else about the memo worth highlighting. Somewhere, there are unredacted copies of it. One of those copies is now in the hands of a judge, which is to say, beyond the reach of whatever shenanigans, legal and otherwise, are coming down the pike from the White House and its longterm pet interim attorney-general Matt Whitaker, who has problems of his own.

Michael Flynn at a White House press briefing on February 1, 2017. Win McNamee Getty Images

One of the few things that Mueller is doing out in the open is shrewdly to immortalize his findings against the very real possibility of White House sabotage—which, if it is in keeping with everything else this president* has done, will be clumsy and stupid. Mueller plays his cards so close to the vest that they are at the moment behind him—Thanks, Groucho—but he's also a brilliant Beltway power player. He knows how to lay land mines and not leave fingerprints. And, to paraphrase Grandmaster Flash, black lines don't don't do it.



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Charles P. Pierce Charles P Pierce is the author of four books, most recently Idiot America, and has been a working journalist since 1976.

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