The Mad Conductor

168.

The four of us sit in the DC war room. Paradoxically, the largess of our current mission is in sharp contrast to the tiny office space we call HQ. Six computer screens have replaced traditional wall coverings and the space is constantly abuzz with the static of an operation in progress. Julie and Harlan sit at their consuls, TOM and I behind them on a slight riser that provides a better viewing angle. The additional eight or so inches of elevation also gives us the slight advantage of seemingly owing the higher ground. It is the first time that I have been invited to sit in this lofty position alongside TOM and I can see that Julie is enjoying my metaphorical first day on the job uncomfortability. 

Harlan is monitoring intelligence chatter on two fronts, one is the paranoia coming from Warden Daniels as he tries to validate the drone test and its briefcase full of inconsistencies. The second is the meeting in Vegas between Drysdale and the local NAACP bureau chief. They are in their third day of talks, the subject matter so sensitive that it might be impossible to contain, let alone control. On both of these integral snapshots of the bigger picture, TOM jots notes and silently passes them to me.

Have Col Mason call the Warden again asking about his conversation with the Senator, and suggesting we consider upping the ante in Drysdale’s poker game. 

I silently nod my head in agreement as Julie creates a model on the probabilities of mission success. 

Davis and Saunders seem to be establishing a positive relationship with Adleson, especially after his background check on the pair turned up the fake bios we planted. Wildly successful international financial entrepreneurs and retired stock market wizards. 

But the big news of the day comes from The Queen. Sequestered in her office, under the guise of working on a plan to spring the boss from SuperMax Florence by tossing a million dollars at lawyers, with bribes and around crooked judges, she has actually been perfecting the programs that will actually do just that. It is a cyber double-cross known only to her and the four people sitting in this room. I am constantly amazed by the talent that this young girl, not yet twenty, exhibits in the neo-craft of computer hacking. The best programmers, security experts, computer science nerds and the entire intelligence community, backed by all the money that Fort Knox could guarantee, is no match for her genius. When her time comes, and it is coming soon, there will be a host of ref-faced officials wanting quick answers to hot questions.

Still, she has a way to go. We are banking on the fact that she will have the programs up and running at the precise time necessary. We are setting the stage, working acts one and two, creating a backdrop of colossal drama. Once we have built the requisite tension and arranged for all the bad guys, the antagonists of a thousand nightmares, to gather in one place at one time, our titular operation needs to explode much like Francis Scott Key’s bombs bursting in air. 

In this comparison, the orchestra has taken the stage and is tuning up as the auditorium fills to capacity. 

The only thing missing is the mad conductor and her sheet music.