145.
TOM is first to respond, saying it appears to be an off-book aide of the Senator. He gives a quick biographical summary of his nefarious malfeasance and looks to Julie for anything additional she my have in her random access memory. She is scrunching her browns furiously scanning a thousand lines of data at Google speed as we all watch and wait for the search results.
“I know him,” she says, “from somewhere, Dallas, RNC of ’16, one of Hartaugh’s infamous BBQ’s in Savannah, can’t place it right now.”
I step in to allow her to relax knowing that the time immediately after intense memory recall is usually the time that the dots connect. As the room hits zero decibels, I risk additional playback of the tape, surprised that no one, especially Harlan, has raised an injury regarding the method of capture or its legality.
Bartowsky and his ‘now connected to Hartaugh’ associate sit face to face in a sudden-death stare-down. I finally hear the muffled audio track and recoil from the blatant incriminations.
Bartowsky: How the fuck was I to know that the cops were on my tail? There was no reason to believe that after my fifteen mile detour, as requested, a fucking Prius was in my shadow the entire time?
Unnamed Coconspirator: You are supposed to be the professional here (he uses the words supposed and professional with maximum sarcasm) and not make stupid mistakes that risk everything we have accomplished so far, or worse, get us arrested and sentenced to spend the rest of our lives eating refried beans from a can at Gitmo. Fucking shit Anton.
Bartowsky: Look, no damage is done, the Fed, I think he works for the Bureau, told me to just walk and keep it zipped, which I will do because he has my snubbie, and he said to forget about the incident, and then he called me by name, he said Mr. Bartowsky, so they have the goods on me…but not you…or Hart…
Unnamed Coconspirator: (Holding up his hand in the classic STOP gesture) No names, especially THAT one.
Bartowsky: This joint is clean, nothing to worry about here.
He says this as they both take another one hundred eighty degree scan of the clientele, including a brief stop on the cleverly and it appears convincingly so, videographer in disguise.
TOM interrupts the viewing session commenting that we have all seen enough to validate our initial assumptions. Julie somewhat surprisingly seconds the opinion and in a show of executive power stands indicating that the meeting has reached its conclusion. TOM follows her lead and stands as well, he however, retains the right to the final word.
“I want your detailed comments, suggestions and opinions on the existing game plan by tomorrow at 1300. Once completed, please be sure to delete all associated files on your computers as a precaution. We will meet here at that time to formally agree on our course of action. Gentlemen, this is a critical inflection point in the history of our democracy, please give it your best efforts. Thank you and Good Afternoon.”
Julie stands at relaxed attention indicating she will remain behind. Harlan and I move out of the office and down the hall towards the stairs, He, as I, prefer to get in a little light cardio whenever possible. We jog down the four flights quickly reaching street level. We hit the lobby, cross, and roll through the massive gold revolving doors. We stand on the sidewalk still in a mild state of shock, after all we have just been given the assignment of authoring a thesis on the salvation of our country’s soul. I look at him.
“Ya wanna shoot some hoop?
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