TOM is the acronym long used by the score of operatives under his complete command, The Old Man, where T is pronounced Thee, rather than the softer colloquial version. The connotation is that there is only one. Legend has it that he has been in his omnipotent position since the ignoble quasi-ending of the Korean conflict. Nobody really knows but the power he wields and the connections established make him not only their unquestioned leader but most valuable resource as well. Taking a circumstance up the chain of command to the height of TOM meant, unmistakably, that a good amount of shit has hit the propellers at full power. It was their equivalent of a code red, five-alarm SOS.
Davis’ phone vibrates once.
“Sir, we have a situation.”
“It would seem that you do,” TOM calmly replies. “We have the hospital contained, they are conducting Diffuse Axonal Injury testing using computer tomography as we speak. Our cover is intact. So far. What is your status?”
“Saunders is sedated under general anesthesia with what appears to be a dislocated hip and internal injuries. She has lost a lot of blood. Local Fire & Rescue just left, truck fire contained. It is our understanding that the chopper will return for Saunders in,” he looks at his watch, “approximately eight minutes. All other personnel remain operational.”
“You are a team of army reserves on a covert training exercise. That is your cover. We have complete cooperation from the local agencies. Be prepared to load Saunders to the chopper and then continue to the original base location and await further instructions. I am sending Bogart to clean up.”
“Yes sir.”
“And Davis,” TOM adds matter-of-factly, “Nice work.”
“Thank you sir.”
Davis terminates the communication and relays the improvised directive to the team. As they prep Saunders for transport he wonders why TOM would send in, of all people, Bogart as fixer.
His internal jukebox is playing a scratchy As Time Goes By.
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