Oliver Benjamin
America a hundred years later the Boston Tea Party was organized at
the Green Dragon coffeehouse, later baptized The Headquarters of
the American Revolution. Not long after that, the storming of the
Bastille took off from Paris’ Café Foy after having been set up at the
Café Procope. Later, the Russian Revolution was planned by Lenin in
Zurich’s Cafe Odéon and then Trotsky in Vienna’s Café Central. And
as for all the teahouses in China, Mao closed them down. He knew
well what lurked behind those low doorways.
Now, if Undergrounds was going to earn its place in this
distinguished history, it too would need an organized plan of attack
worthy of the fabled revolutionaries. Consequently, Leona and Colin
were sitting at a table, scribbling arcane diagrams on napkins, staring
into the distance, sipping lukewarm lattes, trying to Summon Their
Resolve.
Leona had tried to contact the Biddenbrooks secretary whose
palm she used to read only to find that she had been promoted and
was now difficult to reach. A stunning blonde, she was now in
Bidden’s personal employ and had even been provided with a
secretary of her own.
Colin was trying to think of some dirt he had on his father but
was surprised to discover how little he actually knew about the man
or his business. He had been flipping through The Art of War by Sun
Tzu for inspiration but found that, like all good art, it went on and on
and employed lots of picturesque metaphors and in the end said
nothing at all that could apply to the real world.
“Here, check this out,” Colin said, laughing. “In says here in
Southern China, there is a type of small cat. It is much weaker than a
tiger, but it often attacks a tiger when it sees one. It lays in ambush
in a tree, and suddenly jumps onto the back of the tiger, gets hold of
the tiger’s tail, and uses its sharp paw to vigorously scratch the tiger’s
anus. The tiger roars from pain but is unable to reach the cat. Ha!”
“We should scratch the ass of Biddenbrooks?” she said,
uncomprehending.
“I don’t know. I didn’t write the stupid book.”
“Maybe it means we need to find his weak spot.”
Colin thought about it. “I don’t recall that he had any.”
After that, a half an hour of plodding silence passed between
them. Colin ignored her and flipped through Clausewitz’On War,
laughing intermittently.
Leona said “Penny for your thoughts” to Colin. She was still
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