So Shadrach got himself a hotel room in Hartford and went over his notes. After about an hour and a 2-liter of Moxie, he had something of a plan.
The Southern People's Republic government is kind of like a hydra. You cut off the head, and a new one grows again. So if you knock off Generalissimo Helms, then someone else, who would probably be just as bad, would come in his place. But unlike the hydra of legend, the SPR has a limited supply of qualified heads. One of the State Military Governors would be the successor. So it was that he had to somehow put a person loyal to New England in a Governor's chair, and then discredit everyone else. He looked over the list of Southern Republic governors.
Virginia was already taken care of- the California Intelligence Agency found that the man originally appointed by Helms, Oliver North, was funneling money from fruit sales to the Ottoman Empire to some rebel group in Nicaragua- his successor was some nothing called Ken Starr. Helms has said that his next in line would be the Governor of Arkansas, W. Jefferson Clinton. His OSS file said that he had a weakness for the ladies- that could be exploited. There were several other likely looking ones, too- Gingrich of Georgia, Lott of Mississippi, Limbaugh of Missouri, Gramm of Texas, and Symington of Arizona. One thing at a time though. Louisiana seemed like the perfect place to put a mole governor, as they have a good sized population and a lot of influential political sorts who didn't want to be Governor- when Helms took over in '95, he appointed a lawyer named David Duke, who didn't seem like Generalissimo material. The people of Louisiana liked him an awful lot though. So what he needed to do was to produce a new Duke. He knew just what he needed to do for that. He drained the rest of the Moxie, grabbed his coat and hat, and phoned HQ. He got a two-way ticket to Sacramento departing in an hour. It was off California.
While California is ok, and not anywhere near as horrible as France, it's still not New England, thought Shadrach as he departed off the plane and into John C. Fremont International Airport. First, the politics swing like a pendulum. Sure, the parties back home switched power, from Federalist to Democratic-Republican with the occasional Bull Moose for flavor, but nowhere near as bad as California, which is easily the least stable of all the American states. The whole economy nearly came to a screeching halt as years of ultra-conservative government under Wayne, Goldwater and Reagan suddenly underwent a 180 when Hendricks somehow became President. Rock stars as President, thought Shadrach crabbily as a group of young layabouts snickered at his clothing, muttering various geometrical references which meant nothing to him- how is "square" supposed to be an insult?
He entered the rather unassuming California Intelligence Agency building. The first thing he saw brought back every reason he disliked California. That bastard Sonny Bono. And look. He has the Director's pin. Shadrach thought he should really keep a better track on what's going on in the intelligence world as he made sure his Derringer was loaded under his trenchcoat. His last experience with Sonny Bono turned violent rather quickly. He remembered it well. Without going into the messy details, let's just say it involved lots of skiing. Basically, Bono doing a whole lot of it, and Shadrach getting nearly killed while he tried to wrap things up. Sure, he shouldn't have tried to strangle Bono after the bastard made fun of his hair. But he just screamed out "Strangle Me".
Drat, getting off track again. Have to remember not do that. Right-o. Back to the CIA HQ.
Brushing past Director Bono without saying anything, Shadrach went straight for the help desk. As an OSS agent, he could get help with from CIA with the proper papers. A flash of said papers and his OSS badge won him an audience with a human resources director, an evil-looking desk jockey whose skin was an interesting shade of brilliant orange. Of course, what Shadrach needed would take a lot of convincing from the Californians to let him have it. Jim Carrey was easily their best agent. I mean, most of the time he needs to impersonate someone, he doesn't need the slightest trace of surgery. The human resources man grinned and said we would need to see the Director.
Blast.
Bono swaggered in, as if this were just another Swedish ski chateau. After some terse chitchat (most of the terse parts coming from Shadrach, while Bono tried to bait him into conversation). The orange guy filled most of the conversation. "Well," sneered Bono. "Carrey? That's quite a request, young Agent Mendelson," he said with heaps of patronization in his voice. "We can let you, but he's very valuable. I want a weekly report on his activities on my desk every Friday." Bono's voice grew more and more smarmy with every syllable. Shadrach did not like the idea of doing paperwork for the bastard, but it's for the good of the country, he told himself. Finally, when he was done griping to himself, he asked for the other thing he needed. "I need a bimbo- no, not for me, for an assignment, " he added, seeing the glowing look on Bono's face. "You can get me one, right? It's for SPR work. You know, some girl that recently failed some Aaron Spelling casting audition or another. Bono flashed me another one of his asshole should-be-a-car-salesman-but-I'm-Director-of-the-CIA grins. "Course I can. Have I ever steered you wrong before?".
Created: 2001.1.28
Updated: 2001.2.15