The Sound of Squirm

 230.

In a startling demonstration of the cognitive bias defining the Dunning-Kruger effect, the Senator provides us with a recap of the raid. Although having access to the same intelligence as we do, he lacks the single most important element of an accurate synopsis: I was there and he was not. In his authoritarian zeal to appear omnipotent he takes the aggressive approach in his questioning, immediately putting Julie in the position of arguing for the defense. My initial thought is that - should they be arguing the law - perhaps we would be better served by Harlan sitting in the number one chair, instead of my compromised carcass in a wheelchair.

"You know as well as we do that in the performance of our duties, especially in this case, where we are certain the hostiles are not going to be playing by the rules, that it is sometimes necessary to bend the letter of the law or the rules of engagement in our favor. All in order to gain an advantage and accomplish our objectives, which we should mention again, were one-hundred percent achieved in the raid," Julie hammers the point home.

"Yes, I understand," drawls Hartaugh, "The warm and fuzzy National Security blanket, covering all the legal gray areas with red, white and blue flannel."

Not being certain of his ulterior motivation - he seems to be playing both sides against the middle - I push the success of the raid as just one battle, but a major victory in the unending war with an enemy who outnumber us by triple digits.

"With all due respect Senator, we are making solid headway on several counter-terrorism fronts, with limited staff and," I pause for effect, "what now appears to be a breakdown in the chain of command."

"Yes, well, that has been taken care of. No cause for alarm."

"Taken care of? How so?" Julie asks.

"Seems the perp trying to scam his way out of the bust, had somehow managed to obtain a bogus ID card from ATF. He carried it in his back pocket, either anticipating a raid or as entry to facilities rewiring one. It was proved to be a forgery about an hour ago by the regional FBI office in Denver," he informs us, irony dripping from his Dixie dialect.

"Exactly my point sir, that type of communication is critical to our mission, so why are we just hearing about it now, third hand?"

Hartaugh silently sits suppressing his reaction and considers his next tactical move. He can admit he was wrong, float a smoke-screen cover up or pledge better compliance in the future.

Surprisingly, he chooses the former, with the caveat - a common practice of southern republicans - that there is someone lower on the food-chain to blame the error upon.

"A simple mistake on the part of the reporting agency," he says in an unblinking charade.

My internal polygraph is screaming the truth of his untruth but I sense that we can leverage the situation to our advantage, so I try: "Is this the same agency that reported the ambush as being ordered by Adelson?"

The only sound we hear is one I take to be the sound of squirm. The professional liar is on the hot seat.

In a weak attempt to regain composure from my audacious accusation, he finally, for once, chooses the succinct, direct approach of masking his impostor syndrome with a single word:

"No."