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Shorts
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| Licence to Die | |
| By Sir_Nigel | ||||||||
| 03 May 2006 | ||||||||
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It began like any other day at the office. I entered the building to be greeted as usual by the elderly Chinese gentlemen, Mr Chang, who runs the laundry in the reception area. I gave him my usual good morning nod but that day his usual cheery wave, cheeky wink and toothless grin were absent – replaced instead by a look of deadly earnestness. That puzzled me a little. Even more so when, with a wave of his withered hand, he beckoned me into his tiny workroom. Out of a sense of compassion I obeyed, expecting perhaps another one of his long-winded dry-cleaning anecdotes. But once inside, after checking the coast was clear, Mr Chang suddenly turned and tugged sharply at an antique coat hook on the wall. To my astonishment the entire wall slid upwards to reveal what appeared to be some sort of vast command centre. Here white-coated technicians bustled back and forth with clipboards, earnestly monitored the latest data, prim secretaries scurried past on their way to urgent assignments and high up on the metal gantry, steely-eyed armed marines patrolled, constantly on the alert for unwelcome intruders. And everywhere I looked there was a bewildering mass of flickering databanks and chattering printouts. From out of this melee a small tweedy figure emerged. It was, as I was to learn later, the head of this entire clandestine operation: Mr. Edgar St Clair - codename: Waverley. “Ah welcome, Mr Robinson, forgive the subterfuge, we have to take precautions as I’m sure you understand. Thank you Mr Chang.” Chang left us to return to his duties in reception. That explained a lot though - I’d always thought it was an odd place to have a Chinese laundry. “But what is all this?” I asked. “All will be explained” he said, “Please follow me.” He led me to his office - an impressive, wood-panelled room where he invited me to take a seat. “Firstly, let me make on thing clear,” he said, perching on his desk., “we don’t choose just anybody to help us in our work. We are looking for people of the highest calibre. Our business here is of national importance. You have been selected to perform a vital function in our operation. But remember - many men have given their lives for our cause. And secrecy is of the utmost.“ I was taken aback. This was all too much to take in. I had no idea what he was talking about and seeing my trepidation he smiled and reached for a crystal decanter, pouring me a large Scotch. As I gratefully swallowed the amber liquid he pressed a small red button on his desk. Somewhere down the corridor a distant buzzer sounded. “But what is this place? I never even knew it existed. And what do you want me to do?” I asked, mystified. “I just work upstairs in accounts you know.” “Ahh, questions, questions.” he smiled “All in good time. However, if you are to help us, you will need to begin your operations with immediate effect. He reached into a desk drawer and produced an expensive-looking silver fountain pen. “Here is your standard issue pen.” he said, ”However - it is no ordinary pen. Observe.” I watched as he slowly turned it upside down and before my amazed eyes the figure of a swim-suited lady upon it became gradually unclothed. “Fascinating, is it not?” he said. But guard it with your life – there are those who would pay dearly for such a device.” I slipped the pen securely into my top pocket and patted it. “Also, you will need one of these.” he continued, producing a black leather briefcase from beside the desk. “Now, pay close attention – you simply enter a three figure code on each lock and instantly…” he deftly flicked the locks, “the lid becomes fully open. I can see you are impressed. But beware - mis-use this code and the case becomes completely useless.” I nodded and gratefully accepted the briefcase. “This office building is merely a front for our operation, as I’m sure you have already guessed – it is a disguise, a deception, a sham, a ruse-de-guerre, a...” I told him I got the picture. But I still didn’t understand what I was getting into here. Was a fascinating and exciting new chapter of my life about to open? What was all this about? And why have they chosen me? Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door and a man entered. He was dressed completely in black, of Italian extraction I guessed, and of all the cold-eyed killers I had ever seen his eyes were by far the coldest. Admittedly I haven’t come across all that many cold–eyed killers. But his eyes were certainly very cold. “This is Johnny ‘The Killer’ Gambini” said St Clair, “he will be your partner.” “Erm, actually I’m not a…...I mean I don’t swing that.....” “Not that sort of partner”. he interrupted. “Johnny is one of our leading operatives – he is our number one...ahem...how shall I put it ...eliminator. We call him.....The Eliminator. And obviously Killer too, it goes without saying.” he added “but I prefer Eliminator. ‘Eliminator’ has a better ring to it I feel.” I was compelled to agree and mouthed it slowly a couple of times. Eliminator. El....iminator. “However, his codename, should you need to use it, is Cindy. But a word of warning - if you call him Cindy within his hearing he will kill you. Also if you step out of line, attempt to flee or fail in your task, he will also have no hesitation in terminating your life, will you not Mr Gambini?” We waited patiently for a response but Gambini remained silent, showing not a single flicker of emotion. “Well, you’ll have to take my word for it.” I certainly did and made a mental note not to call him Mindy or Sandy or whatever it was, just in case. Now, follow me gentlemen.” St Clair beckoned. We followed him through the winding corridors to a vast stone courtyard outside. The place was teeming with what St Clair termed his Operatives – all were training vigorously in unarmed combat and were identically kitted out in gleaming white jumpsuits and black combat boots. The grunts and cries of their strenuous training echoed loudly around the stone walls. “These gentlemen are the most highly professional operatives in the world,” St Clair shouted above the noise, “ready to go into action at a moments notice, in even the most remote and exotic corners of the world, armed only with a flashy, specially-modified, amphibious sports car, a selection of high-powered weaponry and a high-kicking, blonde sidekick. Let us continue.” My excitement was now racing, was this really the new life I had been selected for? How did they know I was cut out for it? Had they used some secretive and underhand method of assessing my suitability or was it just something in my general demeanour that marked me out? And would I get my own glamorous, high-kicking blonde sidekick straight away or would I have to wait a while, until I’d got the hang of it? If not there was certainly no shortage of prim but gorgeous secretaries in this place, all desperate, no doubt, for some opportunity, in this rigidly ordered regime, to remove their glasses and shake their hair loose in wild abandon and make mad passionate love on the desk to a secret agent at the drop of his hat or maybe even just at the wolfish twitch of his eyebrow. St Clair led us into a small office building just inside the perimeter fence where he showed me into a small and rather dingy office containing a single desk, a chair and a filing cabinet. My new partner, Mandy the Eliminator, stood silently guarding the door . Could this be an interrogation cell? I wondered, or a cunning front for something more exciting, or an initiation test or maybe a prank? or…. “And here is your post.” St Clair said. “This file here contains all the chittys, invoices and laundry bills for the jumpsuits. In the drawer you’ll find a stapler for the invoices and a rubber stamp for the chittys – to be completed in triplicate. Make yourself comfortable.” Resigned to my fate I wearily pulled up the chair. There were certainly no gorgeous secretaries to be had here, not even any plain ones. “Oh, and your codename, by the way, will be Perkins.” Then he bade me farewell and departed. “Bugger” I said, gazing around me at four grey featureless walls, a pile of little paper clips in the drawer and a mound of mundane paperwork. Couldn’t find the bloody stapler though. “Oi Cindy!”
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