The Mission

It was time. The clock was ticking. Fifteen minutes, starting NOW. It was now or never. I steeled myself for what was to come. Even though I had done it a million times before and this had become a routine patrol, I still ran through the checklist every time. Success is in the training. And luck. And being prepared—like a boy scout. Hell, whatever works, right?. As long as the mission is successfully accomplished, does it really matter how it gets accomplished?

Despite doing this exact same drill for months, I still run through the checklist each and every time. For precision missions like this, it is of the utmost importance. It is automatic now, which was good. A mistake now would be life changing at the very least. In addition, it would destroy the last several months of careful planning, reducing all of my efforts to wasted time. All of that intelligence lost.

Time is of the essence, so they say. I duck into the broom closet to don my camouflage gear. I used to use the bathroom to change, like normal people, but due to recent headlines, the popularity of the stalls has skyrocketed and you have to reserve in advance. Plus, you never know when a Republican Senator—or just a poseur Republican Senator—will decide to make some headlines of his own. Who needs that? The broom closet is less crowded and less complicated. No reservations are required. And, I can store my stuff there in a box marked “cleaning supplies”. No one will ever look in that box. They haven’t yet.

I get geared up. The face paint is a little hard without a mirror, but I make do with the stainless steel mop bucket. Kneeling on the floor to apply the paint is tough on the knees—they are not as young as they used to be. Three minutes down. I am ready to go, only twelve minutes left.

Peering out of the closet, I see no one- GO, GO, GO. Stealth and invisibility are the key to success. And training. I slink down the hall, down the stairs and out the side door. I wedge the door open. I edge around the building, blending in all the way. Step by step.

Eleven minutes left. I come to the parking lot. This is where the camouflage comes in. I commando-crawl to the first row of cars. Once there, I weave in between the cars, invisible to human eyes on the third floor. I hit the dirt in between the rows and crawl to the next row. I dodge and feint through the parking lot, undetected. I get to my car, climb in and breathe a deep sigh of relief. I drive off.

Ten minutes left. I can do this. I steady my nerves, take deep breaths. Drive carefully. The parking lot speed limit is ten miles an hour. The last thing I want to do is attract attention. Slowly I cruise out of the lot to my clandestine destination. Once I arrive there, I attract some attention, due to the camo, but I shake it off. I have a mission to accomplish and I must accomplish it. This is what it is all about.

Five minutes left. This is cutting it closer than I am comfortable with. Once the goal is achieved, and I am back safe inside, my heart will resume a normal heartbeat. Even thought it’s routine, I still get worked up every time. The adrenaline flows. I drive back, obeying the traffic laws. Back to the parking lot, I park in the same place, so as not to attract undue attention.

Three minutes left. I carefully carry the plunder, balanced on my head, as I crawl into the next row of cars on my way back to the building. More dodging and feinting back to the building. More blending along the side of the building, still balancing the stuff on my head. In through the door that I left ajar. Back up the stairs to the broom closet.

One minute left, I hastily change back into my work clothes, stashing the camo gear in the box.

Zero minutes left. I emerge, victorious and undetected, from the closet, heart still pounding. I forgot to remove the face paint. But I have Starbucks double mochachinos for the gang.


Copyright 2007 Antigone Lett. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.