“This has been cleared?” asked Planner, trying to hide his incredulity.
“Yes. I personally cleared it with the COG,” said Brown.
“And where are you going to dig up the Anthrax?” asked Bates.
Brown shuffled in his seat uncomfortably, “This is why we needed to go to the COG. Not only to approve the plan but to obtain the material. The requisition has been put into train. And from that we have good news and bad news.”
“The good news,” Black said airily, “is that we have permission.”
“The bad news is that we have to use… uh, unofficial means of obtaining the material,” said Brown and paused. “The COG said that you are the people to help us.”
* * * *
Bates and Planner sat within a booth in a dark and noisy bar close to Wall Street. It was only 6pm, Happy Hour, and light streamed into the bar whenever the door opened; and at Bates’ suggestion, both had already sampled some of the drinks. Planner was a Bourbon drinker, but Bates had insisted that they both have Martini cocktails of different types.
Planner loosen his tie and top shirt button, and said quietly to Bates, “If these lawyers think we are going to go into a military base like Tom Cruise, all clandestine, lowered in by cables, they’ll be mightily disappointed.”
“They’d probably consider the acquisition of one of the deadliest bacterial spores known to man, a minor detail,” Bates reflected, while finishing his September Manhattan47.
“This minor detail requires its own Stage A, B and C. It’s a major operation. It’s not as simple as getting some spores and scatter them around until the Senators fall in line. I don’t like it. It’s messy and unnecessary,” said Planner.
“Just more shit we have to shovel,” Bates mused philosophically.
Planner shook his head, “No, this is different. It feels different to me.”
“I don’t know what you’ve been up to before, but this feels like modus operandi to me,” Bates stated with a shrug.
“This is different. This is quite new, for me anyway, in several ways. It’s no longer removing an enemy of the state or setting up the mood music for a political scenario to influence a Latin American republic, it is now marshalling our own senators with a metaphorical gun to their heads,” said Planner grimly.
“Et tu, Brute?” queried Bates.
Planner ignored the comment, “And besides the additional innocents sacrificed to Baal, there’s more shit to scrap from our shoes.”
“There’s always the money to buy new shoes,” observed Bates.
“Hmm, Money. Yeah but once you pass your hierarchy of needs, is money really a motivator?” considered Planner.
“Taking off your shoes and getting cold feet, Planner? Developing liberal morals? Best be careful in this place,” said Bates waving his hand to the bar.
Planner looked around and saw dozens of young executives in smart suits in this mock-mahogany lair; drinking cocktails and champagne, laughing very loudly; the cream of capitalism at play.
Planner sighed and expounded, “I live by the cliche that you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. The end justifying the means… I just… don’t like breaking more eggs than needed.”
“That’s excellent logic, Robert”, said Bates artificially. “I can see that you have the big picture.”
“So what motivates you, Bates?” asked Planner trying to hide his irritation.
“Money and sex, does it for me. Oh and probably, self-preservation,” Bates said with a wry smile.
“I know what’s bugging me,” said Planner looking at his drink. “I see myself as a cancer doctor. The cancer within society…”
“I got that,” said Bates.
“…And I use surgical operations, excisions, to remove the cancer,” said Planner. “And sometimes, sometimes, some healthy flesh has to be taken to remove that cancer. It’s unfortunate, but necessary. Utilitarianism48. I do that. I know that’s my job.”
“Surgical? What er… instrument do you use?” Bates asked cautiously.
“Aircraft,” said Planner. “I use aircraft. Very blunt surgical device except for surgery on society. Then it can be very precise. And I’m good at aircraft. Bringing them down, explaining it away.”
Bates whistles in amazement.
“But this new plan…” Planner shakes his head.
“You mean Operation Eagle,” said Bates.
“Yes,” said Planner. “It is like introducing cancer to kill cancer. It just doesn’t work for me. It disturbs my, what shall I call it? …world view.”
“You cannot fly like an eagle with the wings of a dove,” quoted Bates.
“Very witty. Ok, I only have a short while,” said Planner, looking at his watch.
“You have another engagement?” asked Bates.
“I hope to,” smiled Planner.
“So what are we going to do to get this mat-eri-al?” asked Bates.
“We go in and ask nicely,” mused Planner. “With a big club behind our back!” Planner ripped a page from his filofax and wrote a name and number. “This is the go-to guy for the authorisation to get into Fort Detrick. We need to get in a.s.a.p. Can you call him?”
Bates takes the note and nods, impressed. Much to Planner’s surprise, Bates immediately destroys the note. He’d already memorised the name and number.
* * * *
A shower and 90 minutes, later, Planner was greeting Katherine in the hotel bar, with a handshake and small peck on the cheek.
“I’m glad you could make it. The jerks not keeping you too busy tonight?” said Planner.
“The jerks weren’t playing at all,” Katherine chuckled. “Stone-walling. So I have some time off this evening.”
Their waitress arrived with drinks, “Sir, Madam, your drinks. Can I get you anything else?”
“That’s fine. Thanks,” said Planner.
Katherine took her cocktail and started drinking it fast, barely able to make eye contact with Planner.
“So you work in New York and live in DC?” said Planner, trying to restart the conversation.
“Pretty much. I’ve been commuting for the past year. Usually one week in NY and the next working from home dialling-in from my home computer. So not too bad.”
“Nice view from your office?” he asked, still struggling to rekindle their rapport.
“The windows are too narrow to have a good view. One of the many things I don’t like about the building.”
“You don’t like the building?”
“No! Do you? I don’t know anyone that does,” Katherine said while continuing to drink quickly. “Apparently it’s so full of asbestos; it might be condemned!49”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“55 Broad Street, down the road; I know one of the people working there. They emptied the building to have the asbestos stripped from there. It cost five times more than the original building cost! Can you see them doing that for the Twin Towers?” she said, adding, as if this was more important, “Even the shops in the basement mall are closing! Blah. So how has your day been?”
“Not good. A mess really,” sighed Planner. “Too many changes to plans; all sorts of detritus to be cleared up. I’ll need to beg for more resources. Cap in hand: Please Sir, Can I have some more. I’m beginning to think the whole program is flawed.”
Planner received a text message. Planner looked down briefly to read it. The text message from Bates read, “Fort D. all set up for next week”.
“Is this another defense contract going awry?” she asked hesitantly.
Planner looked up and said, “I’m afraid so.”
“Will you be able to sort it out with millions or billions?” she teased.
“It’s a billion dollar deal,” lied Planner smoothly. “But I’ll clear up my mess for an extra few million. But now I feel there may be other aspects flapping about and not pegged down.”
“So another billion, huh?” she said deliberately exaggerating. “Is your job on the line or anything?”
“You know I haven’t really thought about that,” said Planner jokingly. “Now I’ll be worrying about that tonight.”