Warren Terror : Sub-Hero
... and Pico : Professional Sidekick
Washington, D.C.
The DS sat with both elbows on his desk, his head in his hands. He glared angrily at a dossier in front of him and smoothed what was left of his hair.
"Those goddam pinko commie rat bastards," he said. "Invading our mental architecture with their degenerate liberal anti-American filth."
He threw the dossier across the room. It hit the opposite wall and the photograph of the DS shaking Neil Armstrong's hand on the steps of the White House descended earthwards, the glass shattering as it hit the floor.
Two Secret Service goons with earpieces burst in immediateley, guns raised.
"Where are they, Sir ?" said the first goon.
"Where are who ?" replied the DS.
"We heard something, Sir," said the second goon.
"Oh, yes." said the DS. "Nothing to worry about, I was eh ... doing a bit of cleaning and I dropped this photograph."
"Cleaning, Sir ? You mean ... where's the body ?"
"No, not that sort of "cleaning". Dusting, you know. I was dusting this photograph."
"Dusting, Sir ? for prints ?"
"No, not that sort of "dusting". Cleaning, eh ... removing dust."
"Dust , Sir ? Cocaine or even ... PCP ?"
"Oh, Christ," the DS thought to himself. "No, officer, dust : undesirable particulate matter produced by the human body, amongst other things."
"Agent is the correct procedural term to use when addressing me, Sir. Agent or a discreet "Mr. Smith" if we're in public."
The DS looked at the six feet of muscle-bound goon in front of him. Black suit, black tie, black shades and a curly wire hanging out his ear. The DS observed that he could call "Agent Smith" by the name "Carmen Miranda", and it still wouldn't in any way obscure the fact that "Smith" was Secret Service.
"And Sir," went on Smith, "there should be no dust here. We have a sophisticated electrostatic air conditioning system and highly trained, security cleared hygienic integrity staff to ensure a secure and hygienic environment. Do you wish to file a report ?"
"I think you're a bit out your depth here, Agent. What's your security clearance ?" said the DS.
"Top Secret, Sir."
"And what's above Top Secret, Agent ?"
"Destroy After Reading, Sir."
"And above that ?"
"I'm not cleared to say, Sir."
"You might have heard rumours, though, Agent ?"
"Are you testing me, Sir ? Trying to set me up ?"
"That's right, Agent, and I'm pleased to say you've passed. No report will be necessary. Let's just say this is a, " the DS tapped the side of his nose and silently mouthed the words "black project."
"I don't follow you, Sir. You can't tell me that without breaching almost the entire cannon of security procedure."
"Dear god," thought the DS to himself. "Correct again, Agent. Well done. It's heartening to see that the NSA still recruits the brightest and best."
"Thank you, Sir," said Smith.
"Let's just say, Agent, that you've been part of a project the existence of which is above your security clearance and the details of which are ..." the DS mouthed the word "black".
"You can't tell me that, Sir."
The DS felt like banging his head on the wall, but decided against it, in case he broke another photograph.
"Excellent, Agent. You're absolutely right, and in fact I didn't tell you that, you see ?"
A slow smile spread across Smith's face. "Yes, Sir ! That's more like it. But there's all this glass on the floor. I don't think you're cleared to pick up glass, Sir. You might cut yourself. You know how stringent the procedure is on bodily fluids. Hygiene staff will be required, which will need a full report."
This needed some quick, creative and lateral thinking on the DS's part. He beagan talking into his lapel, pretending he was wired.
"Yes, it's worked 100%. Uh-hu. Yes, complete success."
Smith looked puzzled.
"Thank-you Agent." said the DS. "Thank-you for testing this Remote Viewing technology."
"RV ? But that's like ..." Smith wiggled the fingers of one hand in the air and began singing the theme from The Twilight Zone "Ooweeoowee, ooweeoowee."
"Yeah," said the other Agent,"the Remote Viewers ... they're like ... The Ghostbusters !"
"All part of the cover, Agent, all part of the cover. You see, there is no glass. There is no photograph. It seems that way because we've got a REmote Viewing experiment in the basement, using powerful psychedelic drugs like dimethyltryptamine to create reality distortion fields. This, Agent, is merely a complex hallucination that will wear off immediately after you leave this office. Any memories you have are side effects of the reality distortion field. And of course, you're hallucinating this conversation, which I'm sure I don't need to add, didn't happen."
"I see, Sir. Well, never a dull day in this job."
The two agents left after poking a few things with their guns.
"Procedure, procedure, procedure. Gawd. Sad thing is, I wrote half of it," thought the DS. "Well, where's procedure got us, eh ? Here, goddamnit. Pinko faggots running around spreading disinformation and lies. The fact that the disinformation and lies is actually the truth is irrelevant. It's not what America needs, truth. What's good for General Motors is good for the country, and truth doesn't come into that whatsoever. I mean imagine if people realised McDonalds? taste foul ? Where would we be then ? I ask you, honestly, what's to be done ?"
The DS decided to leave the broken glass for the hygeine technicians, and began picking up the scattered papers from the offending dossier.
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