I Want A Chopper On The Pad Fueled For New York NowCommentary • Opinion • technology • ISSUE 35•35 • Sep 29, 1999 By Department Head Rawlings Department Head Rawlings Okay, look alive, people! Get going... now! This is what we've been training for! You know your jobs—do them! Go! Go! Go! Get Watkins in here. I want him to set up a remote command center, and I want it done yesterday, you hear me? Get a lawyer standing over everything we do so we have word of God that we went by the book, even if we didn't. And I want a chopper fueled for New York turning on the west pad right fucking now! Who's the pilot on standby? Cooper? The hell he is. Send a car over to Hughes' place and have him here in 10 minutes. Yes, I bloody well know what time it is, just do it! Give him whatever he wants, he's our best man in the air. Get him on the phone ASAP and let him know what's happening. No, not everything that's happening, you dipshit! I don't care how secure you think that phone is, Mei Ling, don't let on what we know for a second. Where's my briefcase? Get my goddamn briefcase! Is the 30 million in untraceable bearer bonds in there? Good. We'll need those when we rendezvous with the Saudis. Clancy, give me your handcuffs. Don't look at me like that, just hand them over! Good man. There. Now, these papers are going with me no matter what. Clancy, you take that key up to the 95th floor and toss it out the window. Where the hell is that goddamn chopper? No! No! Not one of those little toy helicopters! I want one of those bulletproof turbine jobs we got off the French military. Full stealth and electronic countermeasures suite—we may have to do a full subsonic vertical insertion. Full N/BC filtration package, as well, plus all the infrared and UV instrumentation you can get. And get it now! Who do we have on site in New York? MacPherson? God love a duck, that old bastard hasn't retired yet? And who's his partner now? Who? A woman! Sweet Christ, what next? Sorry, Mei Ling. What? Who? Hardin? Case Hardin, that crazy old ex-Marine? By God, we might have a prayer in hell of pulling this off, after all. Get that man on a scrambled line and tell him he's got whatever he needs to see this thing through, you hear me? Now! Now now now now! Watkins! Glad you could join us. Run down to Operations and get me someone who speaks German and Czechoslovakian. Chrissakes, man, I don't care what the fucking language is called! Fucking Harvard eggheads couldn't wipe their asses without giving you a half-hour lecture on the history of shit. I'll need an encrypted cell phone, a GPS locator and a secure—and I mean secure—laptop. None of that Van Eck phreaking stuff this time. We don't want another Barcelona on our hands. Send up that grunting little shit from Tech if you have to. And get me Sector K, and have them put two specialists on that chopper. We need them now if we ever have. Yes, Watkins, Sector K. It really exists. The codes are in my desk. Clancy, give me your gun. Come on, man, don't look at me like that. We were in that damn jungle together, remember? Thank you. I know, I know, if things get really serious it won't be of much use, but I just feel better having it. Watkins? Right. You're staying here. No, don't argue with me. I need you to get Jill and the boys to my mountain place as soon as you can. There's enough food and candles to keep you comfortable for a month, until this all blows over. If it ever does. Five minutes? Damn good work, boys. We may get through this yet.