His plane arrived on time at 2:35 p.m. on Wednesday. The circles under his eyes played distant chords with his ever-increasing crow’s feet, aggravating his eardrums and feeding his malnourished headache so that it had the strength of a gong half-submerged in a pool of gelatin. His watch told him that the flight had lasted 22 hours, 27 minutes. His calendar told him that this last mission had lasted 3 months. The directives had been carried out to diamond-cut precision and to be back in the states now gave him more relief than he realized it would. This mission had exhausted him.
Exiting the plane, Agent M saw immediately who had been dispatched as his transport. The nondescript champagne-colored Pontiac was Frenchie’s undercover reconnaisance car, and alerted him immediately to an emergency-level situation. His response was quick, entering the car as it sped off and she handed him a 2-inch-thick packet stamped with “CONFIDENTIAL: M” before applying a Moroccan-Red shade of lipstick. This was his second tip-off to the extremity of the situation: her poisoned lipstick, an immunity to which she had developed in a nuclear reactor accident at the age of 7-and-a-half, was her standard self-defense equipment – applied as a contingency to the possibility of danger. He immediately opened the packet and devoured the contents that would set in motion the nightmarish events of the next week.
2 hours later, as they pulled into a deserted trainyard and M exited the car, he understood fully what had taken place in the 3 months he was away: Agent Jr. was missing.
And so was the alien baby.
Agent M walked across the gravel-yard to the coral-shade stretch limousine fitted in solid gold hubcaps and a continuous external mist of Estee-Lauder’s Intuition. He knew this limousine; it belonged to Miss Lanning – his prized sub-agent who knew him only as Godfather Martin. She was kept under the constant notion that M was one of the forerunners of the city’s mafia circuit. In this way the Agency could manufacture a discreet, reliable way to dispose of dangerous or incriminating persons. Miss Lanning had powerful connections, and to keep her on as an agent who had no idea she is anything of the sort was the keenly ingeneous way that the Agency worked.
Once inside the luxurious transport, M settled himself on the plush red-cedar-and-black-leather couch just across from Miss Lanning, deriving her personal space from her usual love seat of the same material. The limousine was interiorally fitted with almond-caramel shaded indirect lighting; the kind you would find in a lavish brothel, or wanna-be upper eschelon hotel not too near a red-light district. As usual, a thin veil of smoke separated Miss Lanning from the outside world. She sat in profile to M, as she always mysteriously did, and fed the veil with her Marlboro Ultra-Lights. Veronica’s Veil, M had thought on various occasions, keeping us all at bay from the true mystery.
The limousine sped down the highway, providing a comfortable rumble to mute the uncomfortable silence between the two agents. As a rule Miss Lanning never spoke unless spoken to, especially in the presence of the Godfather, and Agent M had explicit instructions to never engage her in impertinent conversation. This often made things difficult. However, this particular occasion afforded a rare opportunity for Miss Lanning. She spent a sharp look on M and tilted her head back, almost too slightly to be noticed in the almond light.
“Junior is not missing, you should know.” She said with a veiled exhalation, “He is with Mr. G., and they have possession of the alien baby.”
The revelation of this outrageous breach of command mingled with it’s contents left M in a temporary state of immobility as the blood drained from his face.
“The baby’s name is Cornelious, by the way. I believe you missed that part of the ceremony with your highly ineffective discretion involving the grappling gun that completely destroyed 3 panels of finely seasoned Cherry Oak. One should never disgrace fine wood in such a brutal manner. And you knocked over 23 people on your way out if you hadn’t noticed. Do be careful in the future – people will think you’re aloof.”
The utter shock of this statement rendered Agent M incapable of even simple conversation for at least 5 days.
“You… …the… …um, well yes, the wood… but… well … Jr. …?” He managed to spit out. Fortunately she understood the question.
“Oh, yes. Well, the lovely boy you sent me – Cameron – he worked in that testing facility that Junior works at. Frenchie asked me to get information from him about Junior for you. Absolute doll, that one. After some mild… persuasion… I was able to get the proper information from him.”
At this, Miss Lanning waved away a small husk of the veil and looked M directly and distinctly in the heart of his eyes. My God, Agent M ceded, the color…
He felt a blood flow change occur within his body, and soon the river had descended upon his man-loins. He felt unreasonably hot, and his nipples began to blossom as the fruit of his manhood grew ripe and full of the proper seed. The world began to spin slowly in a rich velvet maroon glow and as he descended he saw light… glorious light…
Instantly the real world came back into focus and he sat there, shocked stiff as if he had just been in a serious car collision, panting and wishing he had a glass of cold ice water. The blood flow immediately reversed and his cheeks flushed with the rush of life returning to him. Only weeks later would he look back and realize that he had forgotten to ask how she knew about Agent Jr.
“Yes.. I am aware of your persuasion… …tactics…. …don’t need…. …I….” M was able to sputter out before the limousine came to a screeching halt and he was immediately ushered out of the cabin by a drab looking valet. He could hear Miss Lanning’s faint amused chuckle as he steadied himself on the concrete.
Oh I hate it when she does that, he thought as he groggily allowed himself to be led up the stairs into the slab marble building and on into his hotel suite, where he found his itinerary, a laptop, a dossier detailing Jr., and an oddly folded note that seemed to be half-smashed under the phone lying on the sidetable. Curious, as Frenchie never communicated in written form during operations. She had clearly set the room as she always does, so why a note? he thought, Something’s not right…
He immediately snatched the note off the table and read the hastily-scribbled notation on the outside flap – “M” – before unfolding the paper, noticing that is was written on stationary from another hotel – M recognized the embossed logo that read “H C”, and making out the scrawl on the inside:
I HAVE THE BABY. WILL CONTACT SOON. DO NOT TALK. DO AS TOLD, YOU WILL FND ME IN 3 DAYS. MUST LK AUTHNTC OR AL S CMPRMISD. H KNWS. TME S SHRT. IN DNGER DNOT TRST MSLNNG. AJR – SW1503
As Agent M began to comprehend, the laptop flipped on with a loud beep. Frenchie appeared on the screen via wireless transmission, looking flustered and out of her normal state.
“M, we have a situation. We need you to report to Agency Headquarters right away. Miss Lanning’s limousine has turned around midroute to pick you up. Be downstairs in 5 minutes.”
“Oh, and M…” she added,
“Dispose of the note on your way out.”
to be continued…
Eric M
- The Chronicles of Agent M: Part III, Le Vestiaire
- The Chronicles of Agent M: Part IV, The End of a Beginning and the Beginning of the End
- The Chronicles of Agent M
- The Chronicles of Ms. Lanning
- MySpacing the past with the present…