Light This Firecracker

152.

We spend the next three and half hours in debate. I moderate attempting to remain as neutrally objective as perhaps a father might be when discussing the merits of his firstborn son. The three contributors have each shared a significant role in the germination of this brainchild, but it is still my baby. It will mature and grow, develop and learn, live and die, in direct relationship to the positive energy that I provide. 

At 1130 it is done, the changes minor, but important, and the overall concept, the soup to nuts strategy and subsequent tactical blueprint is in place. I have the edits and changes to make before sending off the final rendering for the good-to-go approval. 

And then it is off to present the document to TOM. 

A thousand questions circle my consciousness like buzzards over deserted desert roadkill. 

* Am I placing too much responsibility on the shoulders of a teen-ager, the newest member of our group who is currently ‘employed’ by the terrorist organization we are about to launch a deadly offensive against? 

* Are we asking too much of TOM by needing him to overtly authorize and knowingly break several laws and professional protocols as his part in the operation?

*Are the odds of us springing Big from a Super Max site the equivalent of a snowball’s chance in hell?

*Will Her Majesty be able to successfully hack into a world-class security system and create the chaos and diversion necessary for the breakout to work?

* Assuming that EVERYTHING goes according to plan up to the point where we sit Big, The Senator, his Vegas bankroller, Bartowski and Friedman together in the same room, will she be able to provide the proof of concept necessary for them to bite? 

* Will Davis, Saunders and Drysdale be up to the task of creating an authentic looking major-league distraction as we go about our work?

* Is Hartaugh going to smell a rat?

Upon completion of the creative, I have about twenty minutes before it’s time to head to the office and meet with TOM. I take another shower, thank goodness I had the foresight to ask room service for a few extra towels, and dress for the momentous occasion. I will be the lead in the presentation and even though the three others in attendance are friends, teammates and colleagues in a professional fellowship, I want to look every bit like their captain. This effort, from this point onwards and upwards, must be a focused and united exercise, with no hesitation and unbending dedication to its success. 

For security reasons no hardcopy of the document is necessary. Having sent the final revision to TOM via our secure server, I clean my hard drive and erase all tangential files. I pack my minimalist belongings and check out of the hotel and drive the short distance to the office.

I meet Harlan in the lobby and he looks a lot better than he probably feels. We got a lot of work done in a very short period of time. We are discussing our respective feelings on the plan when Julie walks in looking as if this was just another day in the life, her perfume the subtle scent of confidence. 

The three of us take the elevator up and enter the office. TOM is sitting in his office behind his huge desk, having just ended a phone call. 

He invites us to sit and we take our familiar positions in the uncomfortable chairs and do our best to settle in. 

It is quiet. No one knows quite how to begin. Finally Tom clears his throat, always an indication of a speech to follow. He does not disappoint.

“A wise man once told me to plan with audacity and execute with passion. You have each done an outstanding job in the creation of this manifesto and I am honored to have such a noble part to play in it,” he says — and I get the feeling that he knows how close he came to having no part at all. “So I won’t bore you with minutiae” he continues, “I do, however, have a somewhat pithy motivational suggestion before the official stamp of approval goes down.”

Like a skilled toastmaster he pauses to allow us to consider the largess implications before finally delivering his out of character decree. 

“Let’s light this firecracker with a fucking blowtorch.”