I wasn’t thinking when I made the appointment with a young man who was looked for a way to crack into the intelligence business. I had a scheme that might work to do that, and could use the help with the expanded portfolio I have at the office, but there are a lot of uncertainties, and I am not sure I can justify creating a new position up the chain.

I was prepared to be honest and see whether the kid had the potential. I had told him to meet me at Willow at four. I was exhausted- the four hour Red Team review out in Reston was one of those excruciating line-by-line reviews that I hate. I think I might be ADD sometimes, particularly in a mass-editing meeting.

The weather was good enough for the drive out through the jumble of Fairfax County and traffic was light. I assume some folks just bagged the whole week, and I wished I was with them on this first working day of the New Year.

I cleared out some lingering crap at the office and looked at the clock, and as the electronic display clicked toward the appointed moment, I took the elevator down to G2, collected the Panzer and motored up the ramp to exit the building.

The curb next to Willow had plenty of parking. It appeared that everyone was partied out and trying to get focused again after a bleary and strange holiday. The pathetic drama about the budget cliff and all the theatrics that went along with it left me feeling drained and uncertain about the future. All that furor, the vague relief that someone else was going to have their taxes go up was tempered by the fact that they were going to go up for just about everyone with the failure to extend the payroll tax.

I guess we will just see what happens with the first paystub of January.

Old Jim was sitting at the bar with a pile of Christmas ornaments in front of him. They appeared to be hopelessly scrambled.

“Whatcha doing?” I asked. “Not done with the holidays yet?”

“It is a puzzle,” he said. “Sabrina took them down from the ceiling all at once and the monofilament strings got all wrapped up around everything.” He picked up the pile and I could see the delicate strands woven through the arms of snowflakes and colored stars and flittering icicles.

“Good luck,” I said, but I really wanted to reach over and start pulling on strings with him. The task had the appeal of a jigsaw puzzle. Chris the Marine came down bar and poured me a glass of white. “We had to let Liz-with-an-S go,” he said.

“What?” Jim grimaced. “Yeah, she just left. She was pretty upset.”

“Crap,” I said. “I really like her. She was one of the best things about this place.” Jim picked at a string, face impassive behind his reading glasses.

“No shit,” he said.

A young man in a dark sweater entered the place and looked around, expectantly. He was clean-shaven and neatly dressed. “If you are looking for Vic Socotra he is not here,” I said.

“He is lying,” growled Jim. “But you wouldn’t want to find him anyway. Bad news.”

Then I laughed and stuck out my hand. “Howdy. Pull up a chair.” He did, and I introduced Jim as my counselor. John-with-an-H arrived moments later as I was trying to explain whatever it is I do for a living, and how we might craft a job that would, in the ponderous timeline of the government, get him a clearance and the ability to work as an analyst in the community.

Andrew- that was his name- was an impressive young man. He had just completed an internship with one of the Florida Senators. John-with had been a staff in his time, and I realized I had a perfect panel of experts. “Jim was a senior official in the Nixon Administration,” I explained. “And John-with does Arms Control shit.”

Andrew nodded, a little uncertain about the format for a job interview that wasn’t exactly that- more a mentoring session with some grumpy old men. We talked about a variety of strategies, since my personal opinion was that he could do better to get himself a position than the sort of back-door approach I was possibly able to offer.

Turns out he was ghosting some articles for an active duty Admiral on the Joint Staff.

“Shoot,” I said. “Join the Navy. You don’t have to stay for a career. They give you a clearance and job experience and you can come out of that ready to go with the GI education bill. That is the smart thing to do.”

Andrew appeared to consider my recommendation.

“Or stay connected with the Senator’s office. Once you are in on the Hill you can do all sorts of stuff. The money sucks, but you could wind up on one of the pro staffs and do anything after that.”

Jim looked over at me, tugging on string. He was drinking much Budweiser with both hands occupied, and he only had about three beers as we determined Andrew’s professional future. “Wasn’t it about a year ago that your parent’s died?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Tomorrow is the anniversary- the third of January I got the one-two punch. I was a little surprised by Raven dying that fast after 88 years on the planet. Big Mama’s collapse still has me mystified.”

“Quite an afternoon,” said Jim quietly. “And then a hell of a year.”

“A lot of strings to pull trying to clean up the wreckage,” I said. “Not a lot different than that pile of ornaments. But it is just about done.”

“So you think I should pursue the Navy?” asked Andrew.

“It seems to have worked for my Ensign,” I said. “You have a real live Admiral in your hip pocket. Write yourself a glowing recommendation and have him sign it. It is a great way of life if the Chinese don’t drop a DF-31 missile on your ship.”

“They can’t do the mobile targeting that well,” said John-with. “Highly unlikely.”

“It is like string theory,” I said.

Jim looked contemplative. “String theory, in my view,” he said, putting down the tangle of cheery bits of glass and metal, “is not so much an attempt to reconcile quantum mechanics and Einstein’s elegant general theory of relativity as a good idea about attaching a cord to the wallet when drinking Budweiser so as to avoid losing it.

“I find that more than two Grey Goose martinis can lead to confusion about whether or not electrons and quarks within the atomic structure are zero-dimensional objects or one-dimensional oscillating lines.”

“Did I leave that Higgs Bosun with my car keys?” asked John-with.

Andrew just shook his head.

“I can’t believe they fired Liz,” I said, and finished my wine. “First working day of the new year and I am about done with it.”

“Well, at least she can drink on this side of the bar now,” growled Jim and tugged on a string.

(Elisabeth and Brett just before the parting of the ways. Photo Socotra.)

Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com