After a few weeks of preparation, Shadrach and his agents were ready to set up in Baton Rouge, the capital city of Louisiana. This time, they would set up under the cover on a tobacconist shop- Shadrach would be the widowed tobacconist, Lillian would be his daughter, old Sven would play Shadrach's father, and David would have to pretend that he was Shadrach's conditionally manumitted manservant. He expected someone in David's position to complain- while being black in the Southern Republic in some places can be an advantage if you're good at playing dumb, it's mostly very, very bad. The bimbo was planted in Little Rock, as an intern in Governor Clinton's office. Carrey would stay in a hotel until he was needed.
The ruse, of course, worked like a charm. Little is more southern than the corner snuff shop, even though the continued act made them all want to vomit. After a few weeks, Lillian was invited to join the local knitting circle. In private, Lillian moaned about this at length. Lillian is by no means a seamstress. She has something of a repressed Valley Girl- she was raised in by a Bridgewater software engineer and a Fall River anesthesiologist. She made a conscience effort to suppress that part of her background in college, but it still came out. Still, the closest she ever came to jeopardizing a mission was back in Nantes, where she went off to meet a local anti-government sort at some godforsaken bistro or another. Glad she didn't have to any paperwork for the night, she zoomed off in her Firebird, blaring Led Zeppelin at several hundred decibels. Or so the gendarmes said when they brought her in- going 80 down a main road with a song that somewhere, probably, in France's tangled law code, is banned playing out here window is very unbecoming of a young Frenchwoman. Luckily, Shadrach managed to talk the rather angry police into lowering it into just a fine.
But when Lillian managed to suppress the whole Neponset Valley-Girl thing long enough to get into the local knitting group, Shadrach knew it was time to insert Carrey.
"Alright," said Shadrach, clearing his throat, "Let's go over the plan". They were in the hidden basement of the tobacco shop, poring over their plan. "Sven and I knock out two of the Mansion Guards on sentry duty and take their clothes. Barnes, we'll insert you in as a manservant- to be frank, they all think you look alike." David nodded. A damn good agent, thought Shadrach, with all the indignities the young man had to go through. 4.0 grade average since forever and a degree in Political Science from Harvard, and he has to pretend to be a manservant. I should be the one pretending. Realizing that he had stopped talking, Shadrach went back to the plan. "Right. Angelina, you stay on the rooftop across from us. I'll radio if things get bad." Shadrach looked apprehensively at Lillian, who didn't return the look- she was too busy gleefully fiddling with her large, nasty looking rifle. Shadrach hoped that things didn't get messy. Putting this situation partially in her hands- then he remembered that she was a good agent, and he didn't have to worry- still, it was unnerving.
Shadrach checked his equipment on the van ride. Rope- check. Stun Gun- check. Derringer- check. Swiss Army Knife- check. Radio- check. Sleep Gas grenade- check. He was all set. The van was there. At first, it went without a hitch- there were two guards in two separate pillboxes on the lawn of the mansion, both hung over, still, from last night's partying. Good old Mardi Gras, thought Shadrach. Glad we don't celebrate it. Easy stealthy approach, stun gun to the back of the neck- bingo. Old man Sven seemed to have dispatched his target as well. After taking the guards stuff, he hogtied the young man and put him in the little back room of the pillbox and changed. The battle harness the guards wore must've weighed 80 pounds- Kevlar vest, Kevlar armguards and leg guards, Steel helmet, night vision goggle, about six guns, a saber, and steel-toe boots. He didn't see David anywhere- he must've gotten in. Shadrach and Sven were about to go escort Carrey, who looked like a flawless David Duke, into the mansion when he heard tires squealing. He looked to the street- three '95 Edsels. Those weren't southern cars. Then the first one that come to a stop produced a man- a large, belligerent-looking black fellow with an equally large and belligerent-looking firearm. Damn. The Sons of John Brown. How appropriate.
Lucky, thought Shadrach as about ten of the militants piled out of the cars, they don't have night-vision goggles. It'd be easy to avoid them. He told Sven and David to move out- this wasn't their night. He heard a snort from the other line.
"We'd have to wait 'till next damn Mardi Gras to get as good of a chance, and I'm not waiting!"
"BOOM". A shot from the pillbox next to him rang out. One of the sneaking terrorists feel to the ground.
Stupid, irascible old man thought Shadrach as he pulled out one of the guards multitudes of pistols. Open firefight. Damn. It'd been awhile. Like nearly every man his age, Shadrach had served in the Ayatollah's War, but he was a fry cook. He was engaged in combat, if you can call it that, only once, and that's when an angry recruit decked him for frying his burger too well.
Lillian came over the radio. "Should I shoot?" she asked. Shadrach wanted her to, but that would blow their cover- if they won the fight, they'd have some explaining to do if a random female sniper helped them- no, they were going to handle this themselves.
Firefights are damn confusing. Shadrach kept trying to get proper aim, but those loud gunshots threw him off. Of course, Sven was cowboying, firing wildly and occasionally hitting something. Stupid old man, thought Shadrach as he once again tried to acquire a target, once again interrupted by a bullet smacking the hard concrete of his pillbox. At about that moment, Barnes leapt out of the mansion door, steak knife in hand. Looking like an Olympic hurdler, he cleared the porch railing while hurling the badly balanced knife at one of the militants and landing in a well-manicured bush. The knife's hilt smacked the biggest terrorist square in the forehead, rendering him unconscious. He seemed to be the leader, and the other militants picked him up and scrambled out. The fight was over in about twenty-five seconds. They heard footsteps from the mansion- about damn time. Not wanting to look like the seemingly docile soup chef had just done a highly brave, and hence highly conspicuous, act, Barnes rolled out of the bush and pretended to faint. The man to come out of the door was none other than Governor Duke.
"Say," he said in an unmistakable politician voice. "What's your name, soldier- Shadrach, right?" "Duke" grinned and winked. Shadrach nodded back. It was back to HQ. Mission successful.
Created: 2001.1.28
Updated: 2001.2.15