Globall War of Terror: Hail Mary
Apr. 21st, 2018 11:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drewkittyGWOT Hail Mary
I have a lot to do in a very short amount of time. So I start stacking the tasks.
But my very first task is to go into the private room where Doctor Alexander is resting before his sudden trip.
I get out my phone and set the camera to high resolution and no flash. I get out my flashlight and set it to superbright. It is a juggling trick to take these kinds of photos.
Even though my camera is set to silent, he opens his eyes halfway through.
"Young man, why are you taking pictures?"
He sounds amazingly healthy for an elderly man who was on death's doorsill an hour ago. Of course, the tincture of brandy containing sativa has also helped.
I come closer so we can hear each other.
"Doctor, I am in charge of site security. I'm documenting the crimes committed against you for prosecution. I would have asked permission but I thought you needed the sleep."
"No matter. Inter arma enim silent leges."
"Nuremberg," I reply.
"An educated man I see. Good."
Since he is awake, I need to ask for permission for something else I was going to do anyway.
"Sir, I'd like to go into your office and pack for you. May I do that?"
"I don't have my keys."
"We make the keys."
"Oh, of course ... please, if you would. There is a trinket in my desk I would like to have. You'll know it when you see it."
I nod and head to the door.
"Young man?"
I stop with my hand on the door.
"Should there be a question, I much prefer to die a free man."
A verbal reply is necessary.
"Understood, Doctor."
###
We have a phone in a lock box adjacent to the infirmary entrance. I unlock the combination and pick up the handset.
It rings a red phone in the Command Center.
"Security Emergency Line, what is your emergency?"
"This is Echo 18. Duty supervisor."
"Wait one." Arturo picks up. "Go."
"Start Phase 1, Operation MegaBus. Where is the SLE?"
"His office."
"Copy. Keep Shreve at Control. Out."
I hang up and head to H4. It is a longish walk. I hustle.
Time is of the essence.
###
As I come up the stairs and into the H4 level, I can see directly across the hall into Major Cartwright's open door. He is seated at his desk.
The front of his desk has been discreetly but very heavily armored. Like me, he now carries a firearm at all times. Unlike me, he's not comfortable with it - but from his performance in the Kill House and on the range, he's working on that. Hard.
"Come in," he invites. I do not mistake his direct order for a suggestion.
"Close the door."
I do so, expecting a blast of fury as soon as I do. But he is not Legal One, nor is he a fool.
"I understand that we have had an employee believed to be dead materialize on our doorstep."
"For values of dragged himself at least two miles without benefit of shoes, socks or toenails. Patrols are still out on his back trail."
"Once we log him in, Homeland will be out to pick him up. He'd have been very high on their list if he hadn't been believed to be dead."
"About that." I pause. All of H4 is completely compromised from an ELINT perspective. The Major is almost certainly running a recorder as well. I am running one on my phone.
"The presence of persons of potential interest to national defense agencies is an unacceptable compromise to our own national security mission and the security of our customers."
He blinks. He wasn't expecting me to say that.
"I would like to remove this distraction, and this security vulnerability, from our premises."
I mouth the word "NOW" without saying it.
"What do you have in mind?"
"I think it would best serve the company's interest if we did not go into ..." heavy pause "... details."
He blinks twice. He is now thinking frantically and determined to be careful with his words.
I would much, much rather be in a gunfight than in this conversation. In a gunfight, I can only kill a handful of people, or die. I can always die. I can't get over a hundred and fifty people killed because I said the wrong fucking thing or put the wrong inflection or emphasis on a word.
"Who would you remove?"
"All uncleared persons. All H1Bs and their dependents. Doctor Alexander, since you mention him. [Oliver Stone], if he were still here. Outside the Federal Security Zone they are not an immediate risk to national security and can be dealt with by internal defense agencies at leisure. They are also a continuing drain on our resources, staff time and attention."
He nods.
"How long would it take you to prepare a convoy?"
"Three days." I mouth HOURS twice, again without lending breath to the word.
"As long as you can get it going __in that time__. I assume you will be traveling with the convoy personally?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do not return. Dismissed."
###
I leave his office, with the door open, and head down the hall to the SLE's outer office.
The receptionist sees the look on my face and motions me directly through.
The SLE sees the look on my face and puts his keyboard to the side.
"What do you need?" he asks.
"Forgiveness." Because I am not asking permission.
"For what?"
"You just lost all your H1Bs. I don't know how big a hole that punches in the contracts."
"Don't worry about it."
"Someone broke into Doctor Alexander's office and stole his stuff."
"I'm sorry to hear it."
"I regret that Doctor Alexander has passed away."
"He will be missed. But he ... is in a far, far better place than here."
"I'm afraid that I will not be able to return."
His mild, attentive glance turns to cold hard steel.
"Mr. [Echo 18], I have had this discussion with the C level executives of your Employer. Your services here are absolutely required. Take your time. Do what it is you need to do. You are ordered and directed to return."
He reaches into his desk and removes a piece of paper, sliding it towards me.
It is a Letter of Certification. It has Homeland seals and signatures on it.
I read quickly ... "an essential asset in the performance of our contract obligations ... not to be drafted or requisitioned ... the [Client] unconditionally guarantees his support, medical care and travel expenses in the performance of his duties ..."
I fold it carefully and put it in my pocket.
"Go right now. But come back."
He touches his intercom.
"I would like to see Mr. Cartwright."
I walk past him on the way out the door. He is summoning up his arguments.
It is my very favorite kind of fight.
The kind I've already won.
I have a lot to do in a very short amount of time. So I start stacking the tasks.
But my very first task is to go into the private room where Doctor Alexander is resting before his sudden trip.
I get out my phone and set the camera to high resolution and no flash. I get out my flashlight and set it to superbright. It is a juggling trick to take these kinds of photos.
Even though my camera is set to silent, he opens his eyes halfway through.
"Young man, why are you taking pictures?"
He sounds amazingly healthy for an elderly man who was on death's doorsill an hour ago. Of course, the tincture of brandy containing sativa has also helped.
I come closer so we can hear each other.
"Doctor, I am in charge of site security. I'm documenting the crimes committed against you for prosecution. I would have asked permission but I thought you needed the sleep."
"No matter. Inter arma enim silent leges."
"Nuremberg," I reply.
"An educated man I see. Good."
Since he is awake, I need to ask for permission for something else I was going to do anyway.
"Sir, I'd like to go into your office and pack for you. May I do that?"
"I don't have my keys."
"We make the keys."
"Oh, of course ... please, if you would. There is a trinket in my desk I would like to have. You'll know it when you see it."
I nod and head to the door.
"Young man?"
I stop with my hand on the door.
"Should there be a question, I much prefer to die a free man."
A verbal reply is necessary.
"Understood, Doctor."
###
We have a phone in a lock box adjacent to the infirmary entrance. I unlock the combination and pick up the handset.
It rings a red phone in the Command Center.
"Security Emergency Line, what is your emergency?"
"This is Echo 18. Duty supervisor."
"Wait one." Arturo picks up. "Go."
"Start Phase 1, Operation MegaBus. Where is the SLE?"
"His office."
"Copy. Keep Shreve at Control. Out."
I hang up and head to H4. It is a longish walk. I hustle.
Time is of the essence.
###
As I come up the stairs and into the H4 level, I can see directly across the hall into Major Cartwright's open door. He is seated at his desk.
The front of his desk has been discreetly but very heavily armored. Like me, he now carries a firearm at all times. Unlike me, he's not comfortable with it - but from his performance in the Kill House and on the range, he's working on that. Hard.
"Come in," he invites. I do not mistake his direct order for a suggestion.
"Close the door."
I do so, expecting a blast of fury as soon as I do. But he is not Legal One, nor is he a fool.
"I understand that we have had an employee believed to be dead materialize on our doorstep."
"For values of dragged himself at least two miles without benefit of shoes, socks or toenails. Patrols are still out on his back trail."
"Once we log him in, Homeland will be out to pick him up. He'd have been very high on their list if he hadn't been believed to be dead."
"About that." I pause. All of H4 is completely compromised from an ELINT perspective. The Major is almost certainly running a recorder as well. I am running one on my phone.
"The presence of persons of potential interest to national defense agencies is an unacceptable compromise to our own national security mission and the security of our customers."
He blinks. He wasn't expecting me to say that.
"I would like to remove this distraction, and this security vulnerability, from our premises."
I mouth the word "NOW" without saying it.
"What do you have in mind?"
"I think it would best serve the company's interest if we did not go into ..." heavy pause "... details."
He blinks twice. He is now thinking frantically and determined to be careful with his words.
I would much, much rather be in a gunfight than in this conversation. In a gunfight, I can only kill a handful of people, or die. I can always die. I can't get over a hundred and fifty people killed because I said the wrong fucking thing or put the wrong inflection or emphasis on a word.
"Who would you remove?"
"All uncleared persons. All H1Bs and their dependents. Doctor Alexander, since you mention him. [Oliver Stone], if he were still here. Outside the Federal Security Zone they are not an immediate risk to national security and can be dealt with by internal defense agencies at leisure. They are also a continuing drain on our resources, staff time and attention."
He nods.
"How long would it take you to prepare a convoy?"
"Three days." I mouth HOURS twice, again without lending breath to the word.
"As long as you can get it going __in that time__. I assume you will be traveling with the convoy personally?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do not return. Dismissed."
###
I leave his office, with the door open, and head down the hall to the SLE's outer office.
The receptionist sees the look on my face and motions me directly through.
The SLE sees the look on my face and puts his keyboard to the side.
"What do you need?" he asks.
"Forgiveness." Because I am not asking permission.
"For what?"
"You just lost all your H1Bs. I don't know how big a hole that punches in the contracts."
"Don't worry about it."
"Someone broke into Doctor Alexander's office and stole his stuff."
"I'm sorry to hear it."
"I regret that Doctor Alexander has passed away."
"He will be missed. But he ... is in a far, far better place than here."
"I'm afraid that I will not be able to return."
His mild, attentive glance turns to cold hard steel.
"Mr. [Echo 18], I have had this discussion with the C level executives of your Employer. Your services here are absolutely required. Take your time. Do what it is you need to do. You are ordered and directed to return."
He reaches into his desk and removes a piece of paper, sliding it towards me.
It is a Letter of Certification. It has Homeland seals and signatures on it.
I read quickly ... "an essential asset in the performance of our contract obligations ... not to be drafted or requisitioned ... the [Client] unconditionally guarantees his support, medical care and travel expenses in the performance of his duties ..."
I fold it carefully and put it in my pocket.
"Go right now. But come back."
He touches his intercom.
"I would like to see Mr. Cartwright."
I walk past him on the way out the door. He is summoning up his arguments.
It is my very favorite kind of fight.
The kind I've already won.
