Ten More Reps

 280.

The outlandish success of the undercover sting sent positive ripples through the hierarchies of several organizations. It was the metaphorical equivalent of dropping a stone in the center of a calm lake and measuring the ripple decay by distance traveled. This, I consider, is what they mean when they say that good news travels fast - and bad news faster. Sometimes speed of light faster. The good news being that Davis and Saunders, in a high-stakes con game as one part of the intricate scam known internally as Mongoose TOM, had been impossibly successful in bringing one of the two necessary actors to the stage. The bad news being that the second party, as everyone knew, would be the hard part. Not so much because the target being a scoundrel, a corrupt white supremacist, a bigot and hypocrite, but because he is a siting United States Senator. A United States Senator who over the course of a twenty-two year run, has built a impenetrable fortress around himself, his staff, his allies and the constituency he brazenly purports to serve.

I sit patently preforming the most painful set of exercises and mobility movements prescribed by Mustang and consider our current situation. We are SOOOO close. That fortress the scumbag Senator has erected with tax payer dollars, is…about… to…come…crashing...

…my cell rings with the familiar digital arpeggio of Purple Haze. "Just wanted to let you know that I have made significant progress with the Big Board hack. I might be hours away from completion instead of days…or weeks," says The Queen in her casual transfer of crucial information style.  

"Are you saying that we can move on Phase Two and bring the snake to the table?"

"I am. Later this afternoon I plan of running a simulation as proof of concept. What I have right now should be enough but with the latest tweak, a small stroke of genius if I might critique, will actually make it quicker and doubly secure," she answers, "exempli gratia, no-one will ever know."

"Outstanding, great news, consider Phase Two on the launching pad. Please let me know the success of your sim asap," I ask, finishing the tenth, and final rep of a therapeutic drill Mustang calls the squeeze; a once ridiculously easy five-fingered clamp-down on a tennis ball and ending it with an accompanying motivational verbal grunt.

"What ARE you doing?" she asks.

"Improving my right hand neuro-muscular flexibility and strength. Thanks for asking."

"I am sorry you have to do that. Sucks. How's it going?"

"Getting better by the day, who knows, maybe soon I'll be able to drive a dump truck into a brick wall."

Her inability to return my serve clearly demonstrates her confusion so I add, "I think I am going to need two good hands to bring down the walls of a certain fortress."

"Mongoose TOM?"

"Mongoose TOM."

"Do ten more reps boss. Talk later."