I just got this as an e-mail from my dad. Think of it as a follow up to this.
He didn’t want to be there, but he had few options. After all, he had been hand picked for the job and it was better than lying in some holding bin, becoming soft and stale. Spying wasn’t easy and he had gone though all the preparation, including all the daily refreshers which allowed his talents to remain alert and crisp. Here he was, finally and apprehensively, at the moment when he would discover the real meat of the issue. Was he really ready for all that had to be digested? Only passage through the body of the action would tell. Could he succeed in gaining what he needed on the inside without being discovered and destroyed by the system he was invading? Was he truly worthy of having been selected? He was, in truth, only the leafy greenery on Ashcroft’s BLT.