The Spanish Spotlight (LSD, #4)

5. Wild Boys

Wild Boys

I'm a simple man. I like simple things. My dream in life is simple: save the world or die in the attempt. My daily activities are simple too: follow orders, do what it takes. I like my life to be as simple as that. Why is it so complicated to keep my life simple, while it's so simple to complicate my life?

The most complicated complications are as simple as one word: Chelsea...

Chelsea isn't my problem. She's my mission. The real problem is her father. The situation became complicated when #1, The Boss, and #3, The Diplomat, suggested working out a Plan B, just in case the negotiations with Mister P.H. Johnsson didn't have the desired effect. We might need Chelsea's sympathy to solve our problem with her father. But what they didn't tell me is how to get that sympathy. They suggested giving her the best-day-ever, but they didn't tell me how to give her such a glorious feeling. So, instead of solving the first problem, the Higher Powers of Luxembourg's Intelligence created a second one. They are intelligent enough to give that problem to somebody else. Me. That's what they call Plan B.

The tool to solve every problem is TECK, the combination of Time, Energy, Creativity and Knowledge. My time will be used up when the clock strikes 12 and Cinderella returns to her castle. My energy will probably be used up long before that. My creativity has taken a sabbatical, but I do have knowledge. I've spent 150 hours of research on this job. All my life, I've trained to make a success of my first real mission. I have knowledge: I know Chelsea, and I know her father.

"Your father must be a happy man, having a daughter like you."

"You don't know my father."

Chelsea is an expert in killing a conversation. This time, she's right: would it matter if I did know her father? Would it be important? Her father doesn't care about me. Her father wouldn't do anything for me. That has nothing to do with Mister P.H. Johnsson being a good man or an evil man. It has nothing to do with his work either, or his responsibility, or his professionalism, or his education, or his race, or his religion, or his nationality. It's a simple matter of motivation. You can't change other people. We do what we do because we're motivated to do it. If #3, The Diplomat can't motivate Mister Johnsson to change his mind, perhaps Chelsea can, the daughter he loves dearly. That's not a problem. That's an opportunity.

I apply artificial respiration to the dying conversation: "Perhaps I know your father well enough. Do you know your father? Do you know what he wants most in the world? Or aren't you interested? If you want something, you'll have to do something to get it."

"Duh! I do everything I can. Sometimes I have to whine for weeks, but I don't give up until I get what I want."

Silence again.

Chelsea is an expert in killing a conversation.

I curse myself.

I'm the one to blame.

Stupidity is an incurable disease.

I know her.

She can't take criticism. What do I do? I tell her she doesn't know her father, that she doesn't even want to know him. Rostov! I better think three times before I say one word. Complicating simple things is so easy: all you need is one wrong word. What's the right word?

It's simple.

It's: "Yes, I do."

For Mister P.H. Johnsson, life's not a career; it's a mission. Mister Johnsson only has one goal: he wants his daughter to be happy. His little girl will soon be a grown-up woman, and her future husband will take over Daddy's mission to protect her. Despite all his political power, Mister Johnsson can't influence who will volunteer for the project. One day, he'll be ordered to escort his daughter to the altar-procedure, to exchange duties of responsibility with the next commander, after which his mission as a father will end when his little girl says three simple words: "Yes, I do."