(Beef on Weck sandwiches flank an order of pommes frites with Buffalo brown gravy at Willow last night. Photo Socotra).

It was important- and I had to balance priorities, something I have never been particularly good at doing. It was the last Friday of the month, and you know that means the All-American Buffalo, New York, tribute menu was on the agenda at Willow. I didn’t want to miss it, any more than I would countenance missing the Last Friday at the pool.

That damn gate is going to clang shut on Monday evening, open briefly the next two weekends, and then the accursed green tarp is gong to cover up the lovely blue water until next Memorial Day.

Crap. It has been good lately.

The water was a little warmer than it has been the last week or so, but I had to watch the clock mounted on the brick wall on the west side of the pool. It had not occurred to me that it was actually the last Friday the pool will be open, and I felt the realization with a sharp pang.

Tracy O’Grady originally did up a whole menu of local Buffalo, NY, favorites- wild wings, wild wing dip,- but with the restaurant-week burnout, has trimmed it back to the centerpiece signature: the Shenandoah-raised, grass fed, hormone free steamer round of beef, thinly sliced and piled high on a Kate Jansen-baked Kemmelweck roll sprinkled with sea salt and fennel, and speared with three deep-fried olives and sided with caramelized onions, fresh sour cream and horseradish.

Tex the bartender kicked in some of The Pickle Guys horseradish pickled cucumbers and okra. Interesting taste when combined with the delicate Happy Hour White or even the Red. I stuck with the white, and it made me a better person.

Old Jim was not there- the vacation season took its toll on the usuals. Chanteuse Mary is at Denali, in Alaska. Jon-without, the Lovelies (Bea and Jamie) are preparing to return from the sun-drenched beaches of Costa Rica. John-with stumbled in to get two Beef-on-Wecks to take away and last him through the weekend.

Budget Buddy and me talked books and Snowden and the oath that I may (or may not) have signed to give one of those Agencies the right to pre-publication review of everything I write.

I snorted at the contention. “NSA is getting it all the same time everyone else is, I said, and besides, WTF.”

Anyway, the attraction of the sandwiches brought some folks out of the woodwork, even if the ranks of the regulars were a little slim. Coyote was there, and Brian and Marie-without-cast. I used to work with them, too, and Coyote is a member of the Arms Control Community, which hangs out at Foggy Bottom when not in Geneva, Switzerland.

I cleared my throat. “I was part of the arms distribution network, and was proud to be a witting agent of the Worlds Largest Distributor of MiG Parts. Boom!” I said, simulating the impact of an AIM-9L IR-seeking rocket.

Coyote smiled, and then started in on an analysis and he had an interesting take on who is representing us overseas.

“Like that Snowden creep,” he said with a curl to his lip. We had been talking about the latest eye-popping disclosures in the Post. “That stuff is just the tip of the ice burg. It is what happens when you amateurs running the show, not professionals like the Kremlin. The Wall may have fallen, but the KGB veterans are just as good at Human Intelligence as they ever were.”

(Coyote’s beef on weck.)

Coyote leaned over to speak in a low conspiratorial voice, which is when I noticed John-with, slightly in his cups, asking Tex for two Wecks, to go.

“Snowden passed two full-lifestyle Polygraphs,” I said. “What’s up with that?”

“You know as well as I do it is all voo-doo. I had to submit to two of those because of where I worked,” said my Budget Buddy.

Brian and Marie nodded in sympathy, and I said “I only had to pass the ones mandated by the Pentagon- you know, the Five Questions version. I still hated them. And by the way, I am never taking another one,” I declared. “And I have had my last background update. Fuck that.”

My Budget Buddy looked thoughtful. “I just completed my annual cyber security training. These days they include a big section on the “insider threat.” They told us what to look for and how to mitigate the risk from people who decided to steal stuff from inside. Snowden and Manning meet 85% of the warning signs, they said.”

“So why didn’t anyone take action?”

My pal shrugged. “Given Snowden’s unimpressive education credentials, I suspect he was tutored by someone. The cover story is too good to be true.”

“You mean he was targeted for recruitment and trained by the FSB?”

“I don’t know if it was chicken and egg or egg and chicken. I don’t think he was self-taught. I think he was tutored and helped. I would not be surprised if we find out the Russians were more involved in this and much earlier than when he got to Hawaii. ”

“Oh, crap. Things are beginning to add up.”

Coyote grimaced. “I suspected the Russians all along in the Snowden thing.”

“What do you mean?” I asked innocently.

Coyote hooked a thumb in the direction of John-with, who had cleverly wedged himself against the bar to avoid sliding down the vertical.

“Why do you think we drink so much? The American arms control community in both DC and Geneva is thoroughly in the Russian pocket.”

“Crap,” I said.

Coyote sighed. “Having lived the “Geneva experience” at the time Snow-job was there, I can tell you that even our own political appointees to the US Mission and the UN in Geneva are international socialists. It is beyond belief. They blame America first and view us as the Evil Empire who must be defeated.”

“That’s astounding,” I said.

“I saw it with my own eyes,” said Coyote, taking a sip of beer. “Whenever our people in Geneva go out, they always have lots of Russians along, and at the same time, they drag along all the single 20-somethings from the Mission–like Snow-job. The kids learned to hate America and love the Russians. Now, it is what American arms controllers do. They are the FSB’s best tool against America.”

“Disgusting,” I said.

“Not as much as who is representing us overseas. You should have seen it. When the Bush appointees left Geneva and Obama’s people came in, the US Mission there changed palpably. It became filled with women and exceptionally effeminate men. Snow-job fits that profile.”

“Wait a minute. Snowden had a girlfriend, and I don’t mind if PFC Manning wants to be known as Chelsea. Actually, I support individual choice across the board, so long as I don’t have to pay for it.”

“I’m not sure what that means, either,” said Coyote. “But suffice it to say that both Manning and Snow-job had connections with the DC arms control think tanks.”

“So that is the Unifying Field Theory?” I asked. “That the Russians have turned the Arms Control Community?”

“Stock our side with ideologues who are prepared to believe we are wrong, and couple it with the determination of Putin’s guys to stop our missile defense initiative in Europe, which will make their strategic strike capability irrelevant, and there you are. Bingo. And Snowden, helped by the FSB, can beat the polygraph, ghost himself through all kinds of firewalls at the agencies and lift the crown jewels of the intelligence Community.”

“So you don’t think it is a coincidence?” asked my Budget Buddy.

“I think fucking not.” As if to punctuate the discussion, Luis showed up that very moment with Coyote’s Beef on Weck, and his scowl turned to a smile.

“Hell, apres nous, les déluge, you know?”

“Fucking A’,” I said.

Then I wondered if I should get a sandwich to go, just to get me through the rest of the long weekend, or if I should just get moving and jump in the pool before it closed tonight.

Not much time to go, you know?

Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303