Toss Those Laughing Bones

159.

As the Senator and TOM are having coffee, two thousand miles west Alpha team, Davis, Saunders and Drysdale have already begun operations. Following a script magnificently authored by Her Majesty, they are making themselves known as players in the Las Vegas casino owned by Sheldon Adleson. 

The Queen, as a hobby, has long been perfecting a computer program that will override the fail-safe security systems of certain models of slot machines. Her ex-boyfriend and one-time MBI soldier Cyrus Williamson had a contact at one of the two major manufacturers of the machines that proudly claim the moniker ‘One Armed Bandit’ as an honor. Fifty-thousand US dollars was enough for him to share some trade secrets and a few schematics. Her Majesty took it from there and nine months later had a working model of a device that could electronically ‘jam’ the random sequencing selector and deliver a jackpot on demand. Having tested the device thoroughly under the watchful eyes of the MBI management with impressive success, she finally took it to a small casino for a live trial. Under the microscope of video surveillance, with in-house security always on the watch and playing against the bandits whose pre-set random payouts dramatically favored the house, her ‘volunteer’ gambler took home over twenty large the first night. 

Impressed and looking for an angle, Big directed her R&D efforts into something he considered to be a bigger fish. His thinking, that if she could hack into Vegas casino’s bread and butter money machines, what could the possible payoff be if she used her considerable skills to hack Wall Street instead of Flamingo Way?

Of course, that was before the shit hit the proverbial fan, blood smeared the campus of Georgetown, a pair of agents were killed in a night of extreme prejudice and Big was bagged red-handed with a pistol at the head of the former vice-president of the US. Still, The Queen persisted in her free-time code writing of the program that could steal a boat-load of money from the biggest casino in the world, Vegas and Monaco included. 

She now had it ready for serious testing. 

Seeing the Liberty Bells as child’s play, she has scripted the act to demonstrate to Adleson that, A) The device works, and B) That this is chump change compared to the potential sting on Wall St. And of course the C) of needing a connected partner to bankroll the operation and assist in the subsequent money laundering after the score.  

Davis and Drysdale, outfitted in handsome black tuxes and Saunders in a stunning floor-length gown, are enjoying the opening act. Having formally dined in the casino’s elegant restaurant, leaving a ridiculous gratuity and feigning boredom, they walk towards the crap tables with nonchalance elan. 

“Shall we try the slots?” Saunders asks on cue.

Both her escorts pshaw the suggestion preferring the dice games and their instant drama. 

But Saunders insists and takes up residence in front of a five-reel slot called the Desert Fruit Machine. She reaches into her purse and swipes her players card activating the hack sequence. She selects a one-hundred dollar bet and uses both hands to pull the lever. 

Cherry-cherry-cherry-cherry-and pineapple. Good for a payout of four hundred Franklins of credit. She whoops and wails. Davis and Drysdale play unconvinced, but move a step closer to watch the action. 

This charade continues until Davis and Drysdale are joined by a fascinated mini-mob of mid-western retirees all celebrating her every win with hoots and hollers. 

By the time she hits another four cherries, security is among the spectators, talking into their wrists and asking for video closeups and authentication. The hacking device also senses counter-cheating activity and terminates the control of the machine sending its operation to normal just as the casino operations are about to manufacture a malfunction, close the station and study the situation, and its participants, closer. 

Point taken by management that the newcomers are young, talented, affluent and lucky. 

The threesome moves into the felt jungle and Davis is about to toss the laughing bones just as Adleson gets a text message about the incident. 

Two thousand miles east TOM thanks the Senator for his time and consideration in the new protocol. 

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.”

Should Be

157.

The operational blueprint for Phase One calls for three independent, yet very connected, birds to be launched simultaneously. Each one aggressive, risky and sublime. I felt it important to capsulize the trio of opening salvos into a format that could be read like an instruction manual; follow these steps with accuracy, precision and efficiency and the end result should produce the desired result. As much as I appreciate this approach, having used it many times in the past with success, there is one word in it that always gives me the chills: SHOULD - the end result should produce the desired result. 

The deciding factor in turning a disaster into a chance to fight another day when one of these nefarious shoulds doesn’t play as expected is the experience of the agent, soldier, negotiator, intelligence officer or asset. There is nothing in training, practice or live drills that prepares one for the moment of truth when the game plan heads suddenly south. It happens, and happens a lot. And when it does, you improvise based on a thousand variables, using your internal data base of best chance and available choice. 

1) TOM puts in a call to Senator Hartaugh requesting a meeting to discuss both the current situation and an intreguing new development that is as interesting as it is urgent. TOM suggests that they meet at the Senators favorite restaurant the next day at noon. 

2) Davis, Saunders and Drysdale head to Vegas and check into a hotel suite owned by longtime Hartaugh supporter and financial (silent) partner Sheldon Adelson. They will be establishing a shell operation to provide the appearance of an existing organized consortium looking to make a big score using new computer hacking technologies specifically in the gaming arena.

3) The Queen and I have authored a memo that will be sent to the ADX warden announcing a demonstration by the DoD contractor currently supplying overall facility security about revolutionary new unmanned security drone techniques and technologies. 

The 'shoulds' are simple: Hartaugh SHOULD accept TOM’s offer and agree to meet and hear him out. 

The Alpha Team of Davis, Saunders and Drysdale SHOULD generate enough buzz to interest Adleson.

The memo, an outstanding piece of forgery, SHOULD seduce the warden into calling up-chain for verification. 

Hartaugh will call Adleson after he hears the news from TOM. Adleson will already be receiving teases and a faux demonstration from Alpha Team and with our memo hitting the computer of the warden through the encryption used exclusively between himself and the contractor, in less than a day we should be ready to launch Phase Two.

Should be. 

Operation Firecrcker

156.

Phase One. 

The four of us, Davis, Saunders, Drysdale and myself, enjoy a day and a half together in an efficient flow of high-priority activity. Between four hour meetings we enjoy Thai massage, golf and swim in the Olympic sized pool. Our meetings, the discussion on turning the operational outline into a pragmatic reality completed, we savor its success with a steak and lobster meal. I am due back in DC for the brief with TOM, Harlan and Julie so I decline their offer to extend the evening into excessive indulgence, politely thanking them for their attention and positive response.  They are, in the nautical vernacular, on-board. 

My meeting back in DC is equally efficient and robust, TOM suddenly infused with vigor and an energetic passion. I know Julie well enough to recognize the tells of a caged feline ready for the hunt. Harlan, a lawyer and used to doing his fighting in a task chair or in the occasional courtroom, also sends silent body language memos indicating that he is ready for the jump ball. The electricity in the small room reminds me that high-voltage cables need the anchor of the negative pole to function, without proper grounding deadly shock may result. 

“Like a laser,” I compare, “sharp, controlled and focused, not like the spray from a ten-gauge. Let’s keep in mind that with vigilant attention to detail, with everyone doing their part, this thing could end without us firing a single shot.” 

The energy drops like a cast iron frying pan into a sink of soapy suds. 

“And that is our goal,” I continue, “we must out-smart them, and considering the characteristics of the SOME of the people involved, that shouldn’t be a huge problem. However, let’s not underestimate the danger of the cornered animal. Both the Senator and Big have powerful resources that remain loyal to their cause.”

I can see that they want more so I slice up some red-meat and toss it into the cage, “That being said, there will undoubtedly come a point in our operation, as there always does, where we will have to trust our training and improvise. We want to land the big fish in the boat, not create a feeding frenzy for bottom dwellers.” 

“We launch the first two elements of Operation Firecracker,” at this TOM snorts in appreciation, “tomorrow. One is fire and two is smoke. Alpha will be setting up shop in Vegas tomorrow, TOM will request a lunch with the Senator and The Queen and I will finalize the wording and protocols of our official memorandum to the warden at ADX Florence. I will ask for both your approvals on the language prior to submission. If all goes according to Hoyle by this time Friday we’ll know if we have a poker game or if we’re playing solitaire.” 

“Julie and Harlan will lead the intel operations from here until we launch Phase Two, estimated time of one week. You are familiar with your assignments at that point.”

Knowing that everyone has scrutinized the mission outline to the point where it mimics the retaliatory tactics of the dystopian oppressed heroes in Fahrenheit 451, I close the session with the all too familiar, “Any questions?”

None. We are ready. To rock and roll. To light the fuse. With a fucking blowtorch.

Operation Firecracker, Phase One, is a go. 

There is a Reason

155.

Anxious to get started I call Saunders in Virginia and then Davis in Maryland. They have both been busy with training since the messy issue with the former vice president, Saunders taking a Wilderness Advanced First Aid Certification class and Davis accelerated training in operational techniques with identification biometrics. It is great talking with them and sharing the news of our latest mission. I ask them for their scheduled class completion dates and each replies that our charter and its mission always have the priority. I get the pleasurable sensation that this, in our dialect, translates into a firm commitment to the team effort. As we mature and gain experience, the building blocks of growth, it is refreshing to respond to pats on the back instead of kicks to the rear. 

I ask them if we can meet for a detailed presentation of the master plan on Friday. I suggest Langley, Quantico or Annapolis as possible sites, with one vote for the former and one for the latter. Again the tie-breaker, I choose the the power spot on the center, Quantico. 

“We can get the hard part done in a full day and then go out for a nice meal at Barney’s,” I offer as both cause and effect, “I’ll book rooms at the Country Club for Thursday night.”

The easy part settled, I call TOM to get an update. He is out of the office and enjoying the all-too-brief respite before heading back for the official kick-off tomorrow. He is confident in the validity of the operation insisting that his part is a slam dunk. 

“As much as I detest the racist grifter, we need him to run political interference, and I think I have an excellent chance of hitting the bull’s eye with the precise amount of bait to manufacture his consent. The sap will go to any length to oppress the black community and any depth to stuff his coffers with gold.”

Trying not to sound like a patronizing bootlicker, I complement him of being the perfect man for the job, “You are the only guy connected enough, respected enough and trusted enough to pull this off. If you don’t mind me saying so, you were born to play this part.”  His silence tells me I may have failed so I redirect, “Imagine if I was to ask the Senator for this type of a favor, how far would THAT get us?”

Finally he returns to character, reminding me that there still exists a chain of command that must be respected, especially from our positions. That chain, he says, will eventually rust somewhere, creating a weakness that could break at the worst possible moment. “The chain runs up as well as down,” he continues, sounding like the TOM we have a come to revere and respect, “It is up to you and I to ensure the functionality and integrity of those over whom we have control.” 

It takes me exactly twelve-seconds to decipher this rhetorical code into an understanding that he is in reference to The Queen.  

“She has proven herself in every way, she has combat experience, and is a vital asset to the organization. I trust her completely.” 

“I know that Bogart, we all trust your judgement.”

I wait all too impatiently for the other shoe to come dropping down. The inedible following ’but’. 

“But I have to advise you to keep an extra-sharp eye on her. One could argue that her performance in the cyber warfare case was partially due to luck as compared to predominately skill. Had Julie not been in the perfect place at the most opportune time, we would all be unemployed….. at best. I pray she is not in over her head on this one, she has a huge part to play.”

“Sir, with all due respect, there is a reason we call her The Queen of Hearts.” 

“Understood, but in a legal deck that leaves Kings and Aces as spoils.” 

The Intersection of Destiny and Enlightenment

154.

Back at the cabin I semi-settle-in for a full day of down time. I opt for a bike ride, my trusty Felt road-bike tuned and ready for the winding country roads that surround the woodsy compound. As it always does, once I relax into a cadence groove and feel the wind rush past my face, thoughts pop into consciousness like a hoard of unsuspecting gnats. To me this is one of the most undervalued elements of the regimen known as slow, steady distance. The same phenomena I find with running, hiking and paddling, but not, for some mysterious reason, with swimming. As much as my ‘fish friends’ swear by the meditative freedoms of lap swimming, I cannot juxtapose sitting in water. 

I hit a five percent downhill stretch and confirm my estimate that we have reached 60kph. Hot day, blue skies, smooth pavement, little traffic and a wide shoulder combine for an outstanding experience. And then I take a bug to the face, the proverbial fly in the grille. Using the sting as a present moment reminder - and arrogant in the knowledge that he won’t have the guts to do THAT again - I consider our opening play, the official roll-out of phase one, now just a day away.

It seems to me that when my body is producing high-grade organic wattage, fueling the graceful movement through time and space, that there are two missing components in this essential circumstance. One is the mind, what am I thinking, who is in charge here, what is the chicken and egg metaphor, does the mind control my body or is it a biased doubting Thomas simply along for the ride? The other is my soul. Almost always when I am able to orchestrate some harmonic balance between the thunder in my core and the lightening of my cosmic consciousness, the storm of spirit rides alongside and challenges me to a test of character. 

“You think you got this figured out?” She speaks to me with her usual subtle pairing of compassion and challenge. 

It is not necessary that I reply so I add with another ten watts of outbound power as an indication of my gameness.  

“Everything is now dear one, the past has created your present moment and this snapshot of eternity will in turn illustrate your tomorrow.” 

The awareness in my body responds by wondering what happens at maximum output: If I am having this enlightened experience at eighty percent of perceived exertion, what would happen at ninety or even ninety-nine percent? I look at the computer attached to the handlebars for confirmation and see that despite the grade elevation at just under level, I am maintaining speed in an efficient, powerful and blissful manner. 

“Are you capable of sustaining this flow-state?”

I silently respond with a snarky, “We’ll soon see, won’t we?”

“Yes, we will. But please remember that thinking you can, wanting or wishing it to be so or hoping that it somehow might, are weak emotional cop-outs, the weasel words of empowerment, to hit your max potential you must INTEND for these events to happen. Do you see?”

I feel as if that hoard of gnats was lying in wait for the chance at this ambush. They are here to distract me with chaos intent on turning this glorious ride into an anxious, upsetting and uncomfortable jaunt.  

“That will not happen,” I vow, wiping the bloody residue of the learning process from my chin.

“Boldly go, you are a fearless warrior, a protector of your tribe. You cannot fail.”

Ride finished I nurse the Felt back down the dirt road to the cabin feeling like the quick thirty miles was more like a trip to the intersection of Destiny and Enlightenment. 

Nice Job

153.

CHAPTER SIX

Should I live to see my one-hundredth birthday, I seriously doubt I will ever be as shocked as I was by the dramatic conclusion to his short speech. Widely regarded as a gentleman’s gentleman, wise, staid and objective, to be on the business end of his explosively incendiary expletive, was perhaps even more of a good-to-go message than I was ready for. I believe I can also speak for Julie and Harlan on that as well. Up until that point the sauciest language I have ever heard fly off his lips was a gosh darn. In accordance with this, I believe it should be included along with such classics as “One small step for mankind,” “I have but one life to live,” and “I shall return.” It was, and remains just a few hours later, a historical christening for the ages.

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

The music is still ringing sweetly in my ears. 

Elated, overjoyed yet somewhat pensive, I grant forty-eight hours of liberty to the crew. They have earned it and I tell them so, adding a few congratulatory adjectives — but no profanity. The four of us will go our separate ways, they have seen heard enough from me to last through summer and everyone needs personal time. 

I flip a mental coin, heads I stay in the city to triple-check the document for errors and omissions, and tails I fly like a crow back to the solitude of the cabin for a day and a half. 

Coin. Thumb. Toss. Catch. Peek. Tails. 

“See you all on Wednesday, same time, same place. You know where to find me between now and then.”

On the Interstate back in a rental car I grab a fresh burner and call The Queen. 

“Got some good news,” I understate.

“That cheap spy video of yours went viral?”

“Better. TOM bought the plan without reservation. We’re a go.”

On the other end the line was so still I thought I heard an ant piss on cotton. 

“You there?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the deal?”

“This is some big-time shit, I might be a little nervous about some of the more intricate parts all perfectly fitting together at exactly the right time and in the right place, ya know?” 

“I do.”

Continuing, “We all go through buyers remorse when a new operation kicks-off. Trust me, I went over the plan a hundred times, and yes, there are some rough spots, but nothing we don’t have solid options to launch should the need arise. Relax. You did a fine job with this, it’s a beautiful piece of creative work. We are all taking two days off, you should do the same. We meet again Wednesday at ten. I am heading to the cabin for some R&R myself. It has been a grind.”

I hear her take a deep breath.

“Be brave my young friend, you got this.”

I hear her exhale.

“Know what TOM said to OK the plan?”

“Huh?”

“He said, ‘Let’s light this firecracker with a fucking blowtorch.’”

“Stop.”

“Really.”

“He said that?”

“He did.”

I hear genuine laughter. The kind that fixes any ill. The kind that forgives and forgets. The kind that bonds. I start also. 

“Talk Wednesday, get some rest.”

“Hey,” she says with a lingering chortle, “nice job.”