The Planner, the Russian, and the Rebel

The room was dark, lighted only by a small candle sitting in the middle of the hard oak table. The air was heavy, thick with the smell of alcohol and smoke, giving the room an atmosphere that reflected the gravity and the weight of the situation at hand.

There were three chairs to complete the dim setting, and three men to sit in the chairs, all at equal distances on the circumference of the large table. Each man was his own, and could easily be told apart even in the horrid lighting. The first thing you could use to tell them apart was your sense of smell, and at least one of the men stood out in that regard. He happened to be the one who had left the air heavy with the smell of brandy on his breath, and of the handsome cigar in his hand.

“Is the plan ready to put into action, my friends,” said the Russian, his voice rich with bas and the colorful accent of his homeland. He smoked the cigar slowly, letting out a stream of smoke in the direction of the other two men, one of which wrinkled his nose at the smell. The Russian was the most dominant in the room, physically. He had a big chest and height to match, one could have gathered that his face would be scarred and quite powerful, though it was not visible, save the small glow from the candle.

This is how it worked, each man had his own way of tracking the others down, but this was the most fool proof and in the mind of the Planner, who had drawn up the whole plan of action. The Planner sat on the right of the imposing Russian, and had twitched when the hearty smoke blew across his nose. He was really the mastermind behind the whole thing, from start to finish, he was the only one who knew the whole plan and was going to be the one who really carried it out. In his mind the other two were just pawns in his deadly game.

“Yes,” he replied smoothly with no accent at all, making sure each syllable rolled off his lips in a precise, almost mechanical fashion, but his voice was much younger then that of the Russian. He would have much preferred to hold such a delicate conversation in Russian, but that was not the language of the third man, the Rebel, who sat on the Planner’s right and to the left of the Russian.

The Rebel was a careful man, and he liked to be in control, but he knew much more then the Russian that the Planner was the one in charge here. The Russian was only here because of the power he held, and both the Rebel and the Planner knew it. It was ultimately the Rebel’s job to execute the plan, using one of his men to make it work. The last attempt at this goal had failed miserably for him, leaving him short one of his best men, and it was time that he finally finished what he had tried to start.

“As on my end, too,” the Rebel said, his voice older then that of the Planner’s but not nearly as coarse as that of the Russian. “Have you both gone over everything?”

“I have,” the Planner answered coolly “I’ve gone over every single detail, and there is no room for either of you to slip up on your parts. I know you are both waiting for the entire plan, but you cannot have the whole thing. This is a game of deception, and if I fail to deceive, they you fail to get both of your prizes.”

“Of course we understand,” the grinding voice of the Russian said, “And I’m sure you agree as well.” He directed his cigar, visible from the glow on the end in the darkness, at the Rebel.

“I don’t think there will be any problems,” the Rebel intoned. “I’ve got one of my best, a man who would very well sacrifice his life for this cause. We are ready.”

“But,” intoned the Russian skeptically, “is the plan of the Planner what we really need? It could be me, but I would very much like to hear this whole plan, to avoid this back stabbing game that we are so accustom to in our line of work, no?”

“I see where your problem lies as well, but don’t worry. I told you before, we are in an alliance, and I will not make any careless mistakes, and I was not the one whose plan failed last time, now was it?” The Planner directed at the Rebel and the Russian respectively.

Neither answered.

“What about the Sapphire Thief?” The Russian said, ending the silence. “I do not believe that she will agree to this plan, especially without knowing even as much as we do know. I believe that we should take another approach, another criminal for our little pet.”

“I have solved your problems,” the Planner snapped, the first anxious emotion showing that night. “I know that that might be a problem, but I said I have worked out every tiny detail, and I most certainly meant it. The Sapphire Thief will be the one to do it, and I refuse to let you use another. I’ve put years of work into getting her to do this, and I will not let you interrupt my plans. The gears are in motion and the knights and the rooks are in play on the board, gentlemen.”

The Russian took a long drag of the cigar. “Our men are ready, just as well. We are ready.”

“But,” the Rebel interjected, “I know that you are sure about the Sapphire Thief, but what if it doesn’t work, will there be a backup plan. There are other outside sources acting on this plan, and that has gotten in the way of the most perfectly planned jobs in history. The last attempt was planed so perfectly that there was no chance for a screw up, but something else intervened and ruined all the work. Do you know what that is?”

Silence.

“Emotions,” snapped the Rebel. “Emotions, you idiots. This is the problem, and I’m not going to pretend that you are totally unaffected by them, Planner. I think that that might be the problem here”

The Planner stood up and slammed his fist on the table, the aggression showing in his voice as well. “I will not let emotions screw up my plan! That is not a part of this at all, and I can handle this. I could even do it alone if I had the resources. Without me you two have no plan, there is nothing.” He sat down again, straightening his suit, and taking a deep breath.

“Let us stop fighting,” said the Russian. “This should be a celebration. We have a plan, men to do it, and of course, a target. It is set, there needs no more argument.”

“I agree,” said the Rebel.

“I do as well,” sighed the Planner. He always felt that his brilliance was taken for granted.

“Then,” said the Russian as he grabbed the bottle of Champaign from the table and poured it into three glasses, “let us toast to a plan set to change the course of human history!”

“Yes,” replied the Rebel. “Let us change history.”

The three men raised their flues and with a sharp note, the deal was sealed and as the Planner swirled that liquid in his mouth, savoring the light taste of the bubbles, he smiled. It was time for his plan to go into action, and there was nothing anyone could do about it now. Change the world indeed.