Dakin showered and lay on the bed for a power nap. Today was Tuesday and he had to be inserted into the trio of Drs. Holcomb, Somerfield and Rosario. Their introductory meeting with Farsier was at 10AM. His meeting was with them was at 8AM.
They met in Dr. Somerfield’s office. Although MIT granted their full professors adequate space, Somerfield’s was the only one not cluttered. They sat at a round table across from Somerfield’s desk. Today the centerpiece was coffee, tea, water and a circle of bagels and Danish pastries.
“Mr. Dakin, we appreciate your being here to protect us.” Dr. Rosario spoke while munching his bagel, careful not to add crumbs to his bushy gray moustache. “MIT’s security system should be adequate to provide our meetings to be free from communication contaminants and planted bombs.”
“Indeed it is Dr. Rosario, especially since MIT designed most of the anti-listening detection mechanism we–the government–use.” Dakin partook of coffee only. “My job is to identify any human threat.”
“But we also have federal secret service agents for that.” Somerfield pointed out. “They know who should be here. They are given photo identification of all attendees and those at our meeting must show their passports at three checkpoints.” Somerfield ran a napkin over the top of his shaved head, looked at the moist smear. He threw it into the wastebasket at his end of the table.
“You three must introduce me as a colleague. I have been briefed on your mission and I have thorough knowledge of the Middle East situation, its people, and the barriers to democracy. I am to be called a ‘political consultant’.”
Somerfield looked at the others. “We already have a political consultant. He is well known to us and he is from Iraq; he is a Muslim; and he has been most influential as to the wording in our proposals.”
“Damahd Farsier. Perhaps you know the name Mr. Dakin?” Rosario asked. He adjusted his rumpled brown plaid sportcoat with the leather elbow patches.
“I do indeed know of this man, gentlemen. Farsier is a Middle Eastern delegate to your United Nations committee. Our government, however, wants a U.S. counterpart.”
“Okay. So to understand why you’re here.” Holcomb moved forward in his seat. His appearance was crisper compared to his peers. A blue blazer, striped college tie, gray creased trousers and gray sweater-vest was compatible with its tasseled black loafers. Where Rosaria needed a haircut and Somerfield had a shaved dome, Holcomb visited his barber weekly and not a hair was out of place on his black, gray-templed head. “Very well…you’re a terrorist expert who is providing a Western balance to our Middle-Eastern advisor and our current plan to ‘democratize’ an Arab country–specifically Iraq.”
“Good enough.” Dakin stood up. “Mr. Damahd Farsier must only know my function as his counterpart for the Democratic advisory panel from Washington, DC. Nothing more. I am not to be perceived as a threat–merely as a person to direct questions about Democracy to. If we are in agreement, our session is closed until you bring me in to meet Farsier when the official conference with him takes place at 11 o’clock.”
Holcomb, Somerfield and Rosario agreed and turned with vigor toward the noshing centerpiece as Dakin left the office.
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