Prelude to Success

 299.

You can be the world's greatest strategic planner and fail on a regular basis. Like the baseball player flirting with .400, that average still represents a failure rate of 60%.  In my confliction I weigh these realities with the hypothetical, and in so doing, fail on another level, that of being present in the moment. Instead of walking on a pristine moonlit beach at midnight, I feel light years away in another galaxy, wondering why I ever agreed to the mission in the first place. It has long been my response to situations as these to default to the number one rule of my practice: Bring it home. Stay here. Keep it present. The lessons of the past and the possibilities of the future all convene in the present. And remember that failure is a prelude to success. Adding agreement to this simple profundity, a slender silver fish jumps from the water, does a perfect summersault in mid air and returns home with nary a splash, earning a ten from this impartial witness and judge.

I walk, freshly motivated by the singing girl and jumping fish, back to the war room. Harlan, Drysdale and The Queen are watching with silent focus as Sharkey holds post-supper court.  

"Did you have any luck installing the biometric functionality of the Chameleon's?" I ask the Queen.

She swivels in her seat, smiles and presents an enthusiastic "yes." She spins the hundred and eighty remaining degrees that ends with her facing the laptop. She deftly presses a series of prompts to triumphantly display a new screen for our approval. On the screen I see the clean graphic lines of data indicating the subjects biography, notable police records, confirming facial IDs and fingerprint analytics as well as physical composition, all in real time. It is fascinating to watch all this taking place, and I compliment her on the effort.

"Can we focus or zoom in on one of the subjects to isolate biometric capture?" I ask.

"Sure, who would you like to use as guinea pig?"

"Let's start with Hartaugh, can you give me his current heart rate?"

She moves the trackpad arrow to the center of Hartaugh's chest, zooms in and taps the display key. Instantly we see way more data than necessary; resting HR, metabolic, max, mean and current. "He should see a cardiologist soon because he has all the symptoms of cardiovascular disease as shown here by three data points: peripheral pulse, capillary refill and P wave amplitude."

I almost laugh at the silence her introduction to the program brings to the room.

"Alright here is what I want you to do please: Keep the focus on Ms Hartaugh's HR data for the next ten minutes. I'm going upstairs to inform the Senator of the intel on Bartowski."

Drysdale brakes the silence, "What intel?"

"He has escaped custody, an organized intercept, and is Ms Hartaugh's cousin."

More silence as the info, and its implications, are absorbed.

"Keep the zoom on the Senator's better half. And watch for spikes."

I leave the room and hit the stairs, announcing my plan to Sharkey and Bess on their coms en route.

Goldson's bodyguard greets me at the door of the dinning room. "Everything cool?" I ask.

"All good," he says and presents no defense as I move to open and enter. I knock politely and push the solid core teak door inward. The gathering is in a jovial state and greet me with the warm hubris born of rich food and excess drink. I am offered to join them by Hartaugh.

"Thank you but I must decline, there has been some movement on our domestic terrorism watch that we need to monitor." I open the play.

"What kind of movement?" Sharkey delivers his line.

"It's confidential sir…."

"We're all friends here, you can tell us, what's the big deal?" Goldson surprisingly blurts.

"A person of interest has escaped custody in Florida and is at large, we're just taking all necessary precautions."

"Is it Anton Bartowski?" Bess asks on cue in the first words she has spoken since the main course.

I quickly change the subject, hoping the damage has been done and bid them all a good-night.