Connect Those Dots

129.

The four of us leave the Senatorial mansion complex and hail a cab. It is a beautiful spring afternoon in the Nation’s Capitol and despite the relentless gloom emitted like escaping sewer gas from the current Republican administration, today the skies are clear, bright blue and comfortable. There seems to be more positive electrons swirling as the locals prepare for the oppressive humidity that is sure to follow. TOM, somehow anticipating our minor victory, has reserved a table at one of the more popular outdoor dining establishments in the city.

We sit in a tight square, I facing Harlan, our legal counsel, and TOM and Julie seated as if to begin a game of chess. A giant Scarlet Oak, quercus coccinea, shades us from the afternoon sun. As is customary in this neighborhood we keep our conversation hushed and private. TOM orders a pitcher of iced tea, caviar and toast, and the Caesar salad for four. Without taking notes the waitress leaves us promising a quick return. I resist the urge to propose a toast for our victory in order to allow TOM to establish the political guidelines for the brunch, after all, this IS DC and everything must have overtones of diplomacy to qualify as an acceptable business practice.

He clears his throat and begins, “Thank you all for your patience and cooperation. As you know the Senator, unlike his predecessor, has always had a stone in his shoe for us. It remains unclear as to the reasons behind this, but the reality exists that he holds the keys to our operation. Henceforth we must be overtly rigid in the appearance of total cooperation with his demands for perfection, obviously aware of that being an impossibility.”

He continues to hymn to the choir, “Therefore I feel that it is in our best interests,” I shoot a glance at Julie to gauge if she knows what the zinger to follow might be, but TOM is gaining momentum and removes the suspense by cutting straight to the point, “that, effective immediately…” But he abruptly ends his oratory as the waitress, as promised, has returned to our table with the sturgeon eggs and a waiter pushing a cart where the salad is most theatrically prepared at table side. We watch the preparation, appreciating the freshness of ingredients; egg, extra-virgin olive oil, Romain and Pecorino Romano, crushed black pepper with lemon, despite our taste buds being distracted by the possibilities of TOM’s end of sentence punch-line announcement.

Amazingly we are able to enjoy the light fare as the mystery is kept locked inside TOM’s head. Between forkfuls of the insalata perfetto and the salty roe, I have mentally assembled the short list of possibilities.

He might announce his retirement.
He might announce Julie as his predecessor.
He might ask for my resignation.
He might introduce a new protocol.

I try my best to keep my attention on the meal and enjoy every delicious moment - but this one is a real challenge. After what seems like back-to-back eternities, he ceremoniously places his fork across his plate to indicate the completion of his entree and clears his throat again this time using the white linen napkin more as a prop than a hygienic utility.

“… That effective immediately... we will be conducting two connected but independent operations. The first will be a concentrated effort to mine information and data from our plant, and the second will be,” here he looks quickly to his right and left, “an investigation into the Senator himself.”

I am stunned. Investigate the Senator? I look at Julie and she returns my questioning leer with a look that reinforces my intuition.

“I am assuming that everyone noticed the signatory on that blunderbuss holding court behind the Senator’s desk?” He allows the full impact of his question to infiltrate our imaginations and test our situational observation skills.  Never one to miss an opportunity for the dramatic, he suggests;

“For desert, I propose that we connect those dots.”