See You at Five

 338.

We are introduced to the station manager, who after brief formalities, passes us off to the agent in charge of open cases linked to domestic terrorism. We seat ourselves in Agent Kirkpatrick's spartan office, a good three-quarters of which consists of floor to ceiling file cabinets, and accept his assistants offer of coffee. Agent Kirkpatrick wastes no time if getting to the point, grabbing the file of active protocols and dropping it on his desk. It is a think file. The sound it makes upon landing on his steel desk reeks of angst, like the sound a handbook on rituals of devil worship might make in a church. In an overt attempt to practice our preaching, I skip the usual police banter and ask if somewhere in the massive file sitting between us there might be a person, just one, who, with the proper manipulation and motivation, could talk reason with us and who, to coin popular jargon, might be flipped.

"Interesting you should put it that way," Agent Kirkpatrick responds, "Just two days ago we received a directive from Langley, suggesting, recommending, offering, but not quite directing, that we try, 'test', a new technique in our dealings with these scumbags." With his rhetorical definition I sense Mustang's distaste and almost see sparks fly from the file folder. At the same time I take it a step deeper and realize that Julie has already managed to infiltrate the Bureau with the polished, refined and confidential final version of our group effort. We both recognize the language of Agent Kirkpatrick's reading of a particularly troublesome paragraph dealing with the mindset of the modern terrorist as an edited version of the text we submitted as part of our 'homework' assignment of a week ago. Resisting even a glance at her, I comment: "Yes sir, that is the genesis of our visit, to 'test' the theories put forth by our collective brain trusts."

"OK, better you than me," AK, an acronym for Agent Kirkpatrick, but I suspect having more to do with his firearm preference than his initials, has asked us to call him.

"Let's start then with the low hanging fruit, Agent, ah, AK, is there somebody that jumps out as being a good fit for our Manchurian Candidate operation, a person you feel capable of some non-lethal, respectful dialogue?"

"There is. His name is Howard Turkin, and Howie is the ranking officer of the local cell of a group of right-wing extremists who call themselves the River Kats, loosely affiliated with both Q and the Proud Boys. We have intel of them plotting an insurrection at the Capitol much in the model of the Jan. 6 escapade in DC. They are Trump fanatics, hyper fascist and ultra violent. If you would like to take the traditional approach, we have two of them in custody, on lesser charges, who - so far - have opted not to rat out. But we feel they soon will."

Mustang blurts a "What makes you think they will sing?"

"Because everyone has a breaking point. In solitary, where they have been for almost two weeks, the mind does funny things and self-preservation quickly takes the front seat, driving the debate that the alternatives being offered in exchange for more equitable creature comforts, are worth a trade," AK answers without rancor.

"Time being the variable we are working against," I interject, "do we have any intel on the date of the planned, what do we call it? Hostile takeover?"

"Not to the extent that we can bank on it, anywhere from April Fools Day, Thursday, to Mayday in a month. Both have their subliminal connotations. We don't have anything more specific, yet, sorry."

"When can we see the pair you have in solitary?" I ask.

"Anytime. Your call."

"Outstanding. I would like to visit Mr. Turkin first and see what we can do, and then visit the two later today, assuming we are successful with our meeting." I look at my watch,  "Can we book a 1700 visit?"

"You got it. And how about a quick bite after, you like Mexican? We got the best." AK offers.

"Si, me suena bien," I answer standing with an extended hand, "see you at five. And thanks."