Patience Rewarded

104.

Relieved that our primary concern, that of protecting our main asset, has been temporarily assuaged, I take a deep breath and consider our next move. This phase, being mostly reactive, builds its success’ upon the foundation of patience. Small, seemingly inconsequential bits of information, sometimes coming as innuendo or code, when added to the growing dynamic of an on-going operation, can be like the difference between a finished jigsaw puzzle and thousand scattered cardboard cutouts. On a three-dimensional plane, our challenge is to use the tendencies, case histories and methodologies of the perpetrators, along with their current actions in order to foretell with as great a degree of probability as possible, where the next strike might occur. At this thought I snicker that it might be easier to win playing the stock market than to foil a well-armed and motivated terrorist cell. 

The latest intel from TOM indicates that there are no less than three locations buzzing with chatter activity. We need to get the Queen of Hearts into the flow of Axis communications. We need to fit several pieces of the puzzle into place and get ahead of the curve as they say in physics, statistics and baseball. All these requirements along with their probability of success describes the paradox under which we toil. We must speed up by slowing down. And I hate this part.

My gut instinct is to storm the room next door, take Muscles, Big and Cyrus and put them on the business end of some enhanced interrogation. But that would only solve the immediate short term issue and although temporarily causing an internal organizational hardship, the three would be quickly replaced by the next eager management cabal, leaving us back where we started and without the ace, the Queen, up our counter-terror sleeve. So we wait. And watch. And listen. 

The room next door screams in silence. The Queen has been shown her temporary accommodations while the three men retire to their rooms for the evening. I take the opportunity to assign the night watch-shift to the local analyst, outlining the protocol should anything, ANYTHING, out of the ordinary occur as Drysdale and I each take a room in the spacious suite to grab some much-needed sleep. 

At 0410 I am shaken from a deep and sensual dream by the analyst requesting that I come and take a look. I scramble to join him in our makeshift war-room, snap on the headphones and adjust my focus on the computer screen. 

In the room next door, Mr Big sits in his pajamas with a laptop on the coffee table. Our micro-cam is perfectly positioned to see him, but not who he is face-timing with, but we have a clear audio feed. 

They are discussing time, as in days and hours. I get the feeling that weeks and months are out of the temporal equation and that this is the run-up to initiating a launch code of sorts. Frustratingly I have no clue as to what they reference, for all we know Big might be placing an order for car parts from an East Coast specialty shop. ‘Keep talking,’ I whisper, ‘just keep talking.’ 

“Fine,’ Big says at last, “we'll see you at noon then.” 

Patience rewarded, game on, I comment to myself. “We certainly will.”