A Futile Proposal

The definition of prayer: To ask that the laws of the universe be annulled in behalf of a single petitioner, confessedly unworthy.

—Ambrose Bierce

As always, I sat opposite CAPTUS in the folding metal chairs we used, about eight feet away, slightly to his left. Little Guy was to my left. CAPTUS was now at ease and answered questions freely. I assessed that he answered truthfully—most of the time. He continued to pretend ignorance on some topics where my colleagues and I believed he had information. I assessed that he spoke freely about 85 to 90 percent of what he knew. Headquarters, of course, wanted me to pressure CAPTUS to provide what must be the critically important 10 to 15 percent he seemed to withhold.

This was a major meeting. XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX. Today I was going to make a critical effort to set the case on a course that would satisfy Headquarters, accomplish my mission, and fulfill my various obligations, in all directions:

“CAPTUS, XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXX.. This is what I would like to do. It would be dangerous.”

I then described my operational plan, one I expected was, by this point, impossible. Still, I was determined to explore any possibility to run the case sensibly and successfully.

Naturally enough, CAPTUS perked up. I had never said anything like this before.

CAPTUS was frozen as I spoke. Little Guy was enthusiastic. I had planned with him what I would say, and he had liked my idea very much. I continued:

“Now, I want you to understand this, too: This will be XXXXXXXXXXX XX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX X .”

“So. Will you do it?”

I was intently focused on being as compelling as I could. I knew it would be an irresistible proposition. It was the only glimmer of a future CAPTUS was likely to see, and he would know this.

CAPTUS sat up, glanced quickly at Little Guy, and spoke directly to me XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX . For the first time, CAPTUS looked determined.

“XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXX .”

His eyes flashed.

“XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXX .”

He looked around the small, tired interrogation room. In all the time I met with him, he never once looked at the transom high up on the wall, the only connection to the outside world ever within his sight. He did not do so at this moment, either. Instead, he looked at me.

“Yes, I will do it.”