Hindsight
Mike Williams
February 02, 2006
It is a normal conversation. Two woman exchanging cookie recipes. They do it once a week at just about the same time, 10:15am. The ladies initially exchange pleasantries and then begin to exchange their “hottest” creations of the week.
The elder lady is Selma. Charming to be sure. Her husband has long since passed away and her children? They don’t call as much as they used to. All Selma has left seems to be her modest bakery. She does OK for herself. Selma makes enough money to get by and with the help of a few remaining family members, her other needs are met.
A much younger lady named Margaret speaks of the recent “State Of The Union” address she’s had to endure. Her favorite television show comes on at 9 and because of a speech she’d rather not have to listen to, she’ll miss the second part of the story. “It’s not fair. I tell you.” Margaret raises her voice slightly. “I really wanted to see what happens to Rick.”
The conversation briefly shifts.
Margaret speaks about a new man in her life. Mr. Prescott. She doesn’t know his first name but this balding and sophisticated gentleman has caught her attention. She sees him almost religiously at the local market where she buys her cooking supplies. The only reason she even knows his last name is because Kaleel, the local store owner, has mentioned his name once or twice in passing and well within earshot of Margaret. He fascinates her in many ways. Margaret explains that she’s much too shy to say anything to Mr. Prescott.
Selma pushes the issue. Whether or not it’s “too soon” after Margaret’s recent and bitter divorce seems to touch a nerve with Margaret and she quickly drops the issue. Selma feels the chill of the closed door and the conversation goes back to her most recent recipe. Anzac Biscuits.
1 cup quick cooking oats
3/4 cup flaked coconut
1 cup vanilla pudding
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup white sugar
1/2 cup butter
1 tablespoon golden syrup
2 tablespoons boiling water
Simple enough for Margaret. It’s about 5 minutes into the phone call when she asks Selma to “hold on” for a second. The sound of a television being turned up can be heard in the background. A firm male voice is talking, “15… 34… 5… 11…” The volume goes down as Margaret proclaims her disgust at not winning her numbers again this week. Selma has to laugh. Margaret never wins but it doesn’t stop her from spending the extra 5 bucks a week on the lottery tickets. Were she to win the jackpot, Margaret already has the money spent. She sees a bigger house, a nicer car, and a trip to Spain. She’s always wanted to go there. The conversation quickly shifts back to the recipe.
Now Selma, did you say 2 tablespoons of boiling water?”
Yes, dear.”
The sound of pencil against paper can be heard as Margaret scribbles down the magic formula for one of the better known delights used to celebrate ANZAC day. Although neither Selma nor Margaret hail from Australia, it doesn’t stop them from trying their recipes.
How we get to hip replacement surgery is unclear.
Margaret brings up the subject. It seems Selma is in need of the surgery. Going into what seems like excruciating detail, Margaret tells a short story about her next door neighbor Connie and how she waited too long to have it done. After a rough fall on a “black” patch of ice outside of her home, Connie managed to break a bone. Cancer set in and a few short weeks later she had passed away.
It’s now 8 minutes into the conversation.
It’s been a relatively slow week. Selma pushes Margaret to talk to Mr. Prescott while Margaret pushes Selma to have hip replacement surgery.
Meanwhile…It’s January 11, 2007. Somewhere in Virginia…
Agent Jennifer Winters sighs and sits back in her chair. She’s been listening to these same boring conversations for two months now.
The NSA has been tasked to find anything to explain why Manhattan will be uninhabitable for generations to come. It all seems pointless to be listening to two old ladies talk about stupid cookie recipes. Her supervisor Dave Simon, seems to think that perhaps, overseas conversations like this one might shed some light on how terrorists communicate between “cells.” Selma’s second son was a suicide bomber.
Jennifer stares at the small computer screen as the moments pass. As if a switch had been thrown, she stands up and begins a brisk pace towards John Murphy’s sound studio. John is the resident sound technician. She scribes a few words on a piece of paper.
Can you run the MSR series for these keywords?” She asks John.
You realize this will take a while?”
Sure. Just let me know when you’ve got the clips.” She smiles, turns away, and leaves. MSR stands for Margaret Selma Recipes, just agency lingo.
Several hours later…
Jennifer is in the sound studio with John. “Play the first clip again.” She asks.
I don’t see where you are going here.”
Just play the clip.” The sound of two women going over details of recipe cuts off. “OK John, now play the second clip.” Jennifer’s face lights up. “I got it.”
John looks puzzled. “I don’t get it.”
Pudding John. The second recipe calls for pudding. It may be something. It may be nothing. It could be everything.”
At the end of November of 2007, a thermo-nuclear device was detonated on the Manhattan island. The fallout affected New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and most of the eastern seaboard. This story is one small attempt to reconstruct the events surrounding that day.
I wrote this story to show what a tremendous task it would be to try and narrow down the communication that initiated the events leading up to the blast. Two old ladies exchanging cookie recipes is hardly a circumstance that would alert agencies like the NSA to begin with. Other leads had turned up nothing. By the time they could analyze the international calls that were made, it was too late.
This story could just as easily have been about baseball cards. The point remains the same.
Will the next terrorist attack be thwarted because some lone NSA agent picked up on a misplaced ingredient in a cookie or biscuit recipe?
If the courts, congress, or activists groups take away the ability to do so, I’m sure that we’ll have yet another “dot” that can never be connected.
The elder lady is Selma. Charming to be sure. Her husband has long since passed away and her children? They don’t call as much as they used to. All Selma has left seems to be her modest bakery. She does OK for herself. Selma makes enough money to get by and with the help of a few remaining family members, her other needs are met.
A much younger lady named Margaret speaks of the recent “State Of The Union” address she’s had to endure. Her favorite television show comes on at 9 and because of a speech she’d rather not have to listen to, she’ll miss the second part of the story. “It’s not fair. I tell you.” Margaret raises her voice slightly. “I really wanted to see what happens to Rick.”
The conversation briefly shifts.
Margaret speaks about a new man in her life. Mr. Prescott. She doesn’t know his first name but this balding and sophisticated gentleman has caught her attention. She sees him almost religiously at the local market where she buys her cooking supplies. The only reason she even knows his last name is because Kaleel, the local store owner, has mentioned his name once or twice in passing and well within earshot of Margaret. He fascinates her in many ways. Margaret explains that she’s much too shy to say anything to Mr. Prescott.
Selma pushes the issue. Whether or not it’s “too soon” after Margaret’s recent and bitter divorce seems to touch a nerve with Margaret and she quickly drops the issue. Selma feels the chill of the closed door and the conversation goes back to her most recent recipe. Anzac Biscuits.
1 cup quick cooking oats
3/4 cup flaked coconut
1 cup vanilla pudding
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup white sugar
1/2 cup butter
1 tablespoon golden syrup
2 tablespoons boiling water
Simple enough for Margaret. It’s about 5 minutes into the phone call when she asks Selma to “hold on” for a second. The sound of a television being turned up can be heard in the background. A firm male voice is talking, “15… 34… 5… 11…” The volume goes down as Margaret proclaims her disgust at not winning her numbers again this week. Selma has to laugh. Margaret never wins but it doesn’t stop her from spending the extra 5 bucks a week on the lottery tickets. Were she to win the jackpot, Margaret already has the money spent. She sees a bigger house, a nicer car, and a trip to Spain. She’s always wanted to go there. The conversation quickly shifts back to the recipe.
Now Selma, did you say 2 tablespoons of boiling water?”
Yes, dear.”
The sound of pencil against paper can be heard as Margaret scribbles down the magic formula for one of the better known delights used to celebrate ANZAC day. Although neither Selma nor Margaret hail from Australia, it doesn’t stop them from trying their recipes.
How we get to hip replacement surgery is unclear.
Margaret brings up the subject. It seems Selma is in need of the surgery. Going into what seems like excruciating detail, Margaret tells a short story about her next door neighbor Connie and how she waited too long to have it done. After a rough fall on a “black” patch of ice outside of her home, Connie managed to break a bone. Cancer set in and a few short weeks later she had passed away.
It’s now 8 minutes into the conversation.
It’s been a relatively slow week. Selma pushes Margaret to talk to Mr. Prescott while Margaret pushes Selma to have hip replacement surgery.
Meanwhile…It’s January 11, 2007. Somewhere in Virginia…
Agent Jennifer Winters sighs and sits back in her chair. She’s been listening to these same boring conversations for two months now.
The NSA has been tasked to find anything to explain why Manhattan will be uninhabitable for generations to come. It all seems pointless to be listening to two old ladies talk about stupid cookie recipes. Her supervisor Dave Simon, seems to think that perhaps, overseas conversations like this one might shed some light on how terrorists communicate between “cells.” Selma’s second son was a suicide bomber.
Jennifer stares at the small computer screen as the moments pass. As if a switch had been thrown, she stands up and begins a brisk pace towards John Murphy’s sound studio. John is the resident sound technician. She scribes a few words on a piece of paper.
Can you run the MSR series for these keywords?” She asks John.
You realize this will take a while?”
Sure. Just let me know when you’ve got the clips.” She smiles, turns away, and leaves. MSR stands for Margaret Selma Recipes, just agency lingo.
Several hours later…
Jennifer is in the sound studio with John. “Play the first clip again.” She asks.
I don’t see where you are going here.”
Just play the clip.” The sound of two women going over details of recipe cuts off. “OK John, now play the second clip.” Jennifer’s face lights up. “I got it.”
John looks puzzled. “I don’t get it.”
Pudding John. The second recipe calls for pudding. It may be something. It may be nothing. It could be everything.”
At the end of November of 2007, a thermo-nuclear device was detonated on the Manhattan island. The fallout affected New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and most of the eastern seaboard. This story is one small attempt to reconstruct the events surrounding that day.
I wrote this story to show what a tremendous task it would be to try and narrow down the communication that initiated the events leading up to the blast. Two old ladies exchanging cookie recipes is hardly a circumstance that would alert agencies like the NSA to begin with. Other leads had turned up nothing. By the time they could analyze the international calls that were made, it was too late.
This story could just as easily have been about baseball cards. The point remains the same.
Will the next terrorist attack be thwarted because some lone NSA agent picked up on a misplaced ingredient in a cookie or biscuit recipe?
If the courts, congress, or activists groups take away the ability to do so, I’m sure that we’ll have yet another “dot” that can never be connected.
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