The sun was high in the sky when Dave finally unglued his eyes open. His Switch was lying facedown on his chest. Its battery must have gone sometime after his brain did. Was that a metaphor for his own motivation? His mouth was mothballs and cardboard, so he took a sip from the can that was still, surprisingly, upright by his dangling leg at the foot of the sofa. The beer was flat and warm. Another metaphor for his motivation? Forget it. The Prime Minister was waiting for him at 1700 sharp and the mission wasn’t about to wait for his motivation to come back.