On the Hush-Hush QT

158.

The business lunch, from TOM’s perspective, was purely and simply a sales pitch. It is to be an introduction to a complicated and flowingly dynamic operational protocol specifically crafted to capture the corrupt politician in his own cage. It is TOM’s assignment to bait the trap by dangling a ripe carrot in front of the racist jack-ass. Aa a career intelligence officer rising in the ranks to his current position of Director of Operations, TOM is no stranger to the drama of the ‘one-chance’ communication. It has to be flawless, convincing and, if the mission is to have even a fighting chance at success, cathartic. TOM’s aria must be the operatic equivalent of satisfying the Senator’s current distaste for what he sees as an internal mutiny by the staff of the covert operation of which he politically oversees. To him, it is nothing other than the disrespectful biting of the hand that feeds. Part two of the pitch is using his lust for power, marrow-deep racism, and unsatiated greed to force him into action. 

Amid the overly posh decor of the downtown restaurant known for its Southern flair, TOM’s stoic demeanor belies his utter disgust for the man who sits directly opposite him. TOM is aware of the Secret Service agents lingering at a safe distance near the crowded bar. 

“I will get right to the point,” TOM opens as the waitress places a tray of oysters, crawfish and hush-puppies, along with two mint juleps, on the center of the table, “or points, rather as there are two.” 

The Senator gives a weak mumble and raises his shoulders in a contemptuous shrug. TOM resists any indication of how pleasurable it will be to see this human garbage hauled off by city sanitation, and continues, “First of all, I am sure you will be happy to know that we have suspended the officer creating the internal investigations,” he lies, “I trust that this will put to an end any further considerations for disciplinary action.”

Again the Senator shrugs, wiping his mouth with a napkin in a metaphor so sickening that TOM considers it like Pontius Pilate washing his hands prior to sentencing the King of the Jews. 

Without any sign of agreement or commitment, he says, “Go on.” 

“Secondly,” TOM looks around the room, acting the part of a spy about to share a top-secret, “It has come to our attention that a group of highly skilled computer hackers have developed a system for overriding the programming protocols controlling gaming apparatuses.” TOM’s precise pronunciation of the five syllable word for more than one apparatus, as expected, catches the Senator by surprise, creating a small window of vulnerability.

The Senator ceases his mastication of a crawfish and leans closer. TOM moves in for the kill shot, “Furthermore, our intel suggests that they have also perfected similar technology to hack the big board.” 

It takes the Senator the remaining time to swallow the crustacean for him to realize the implications of this inside information. 

“How many people know about this?”

“Very few, at this time. There is buzz about some proof of concept demonstration in Vegas tomorrow. That is all we know. That and a partial decode of what appears to be a search for partners in a colossal score. But let’s be clear, there is big difference between hacking slot machines and the manipulation of Wall Street.”

“I am assuming that you are monitoring the situation in your usual professional manner and will report any updates and developments,” The Senator drawls, “as they happen.” 

“We are and we will Senator,  I wanted your personal authorization to continue with this new threat.”

“You have it. Is there anything I can do from my end?”

“You could use your rolodex and call around Vegas to see if the money guys have heard anything, for starters.” 

“I will do that guaranteed.” He get’s his lingustic touché by dragging out the word doubly long. 

“Now if business is done, let’s eat. Oh, and needless to say, let’s keep this on the hush-hush QT. Bon appétit.”