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Tuesday, April 25, 2006

PART THREE

The General lifted his empty high ball glass to the waiter. A fresh Johnny Walker Green and distilled ice appeared almost instantly and the empty glass was whisked away. He wanted to light up a cigar, just like the old days, but knew the pinko, fag, liberals were temporarily in charge. Someday, he thought, I'll light up anywhere I want and no one will dare question me.

He leaned back in his chair letting his large solid body settle into the rich leather. He looked out the large plate glass window at the Capital Building. The August sun melted off the white dome as if the decisions made inside were fermenting like heat from a compost pile.

He thought about how much he loved Washington. The place where decisions changed the history of the world. Where a few words by the right person decided the fate of millions. He could almost smell the unbridled energy in the air. God how he yearned to feel all that power in his hands.

The General sighed. He turned back from his thoughts and spoke to the man across the table who had just spoken to him. "It worked for the Brits," he said.

"Just like 9/11 worked for us," the Director replied.

Both men took thick ballpoint pens from their inside jacket pockets and placed them on the table. The small light at the top of each devise remained unlit. They were reassured that no one was bugging their conversation.

"The Brits needed that subway bombing," the General said emphatically.

"To successful operations!" the Director said raising his Gin and Tonic to salute the General.
"To Business!" the General responded.

Both men fell silent as their meals were served. The General watched the Director carefully dissect his Trout Amandine holding the fork in his left hand and carefully placing the bones on a side dish. The General slashed into his very rare sirloin steak and used a thick linen napkin to wipe juice that had dribbled down his square razor shaved chin.

The Director casually looked over at the table were the two young lovers were flirting. He caught the girl's eye. She moved the small handbag sitting beside her water glass, so it surreptitiously picked up the two men's conversation.

The General scratched his balls in a mock macho gesture activating an undetectable electronic transmitter. The Director's operation had the best surveillance equipment in the world and the General had the people to steal it from them.

"We need more help in Iraq," the Director said.

"Too many countries sitting on the fence," the General replied nodding his head in agreement.

"The G8 is meeting in Toronto next month. The media will be swarming all over it. Lots of coverage should anything happen," the Director suggested.

"Time to stir the pot a little!"

"We've started already."

"Fine," the General said. "I don’t need to tell you how easily something like this can go sour."

“We’ve already lined up a couple of patsies.”

The General and the Director finished their meals. When they left the dinning room, the bus boy cleared their table dumping china and silverware into a large plastic bin. Kitchen staff were running about frantically preparing lunch meals as the buss boy loaded the dishwasher. He carefully examined the utensils until he found what he was looking for. He screwed the handle off one of the bread knives and removed a small memory chip, which he dropped into his pocket.

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