machievelli Posted March 5, 2008 Share Posted March 5, 2008 THE TRUE STORY ABOUT WORLD WAR III OR CHIMPS, IMPS, AND THE SSBI I was hard at work at my computer, pounding out the latest story in a four part series on prostitution when my Uncle burst through the door of my apartment, looking like a wino. Uncle Simon, of course, is not a wino. He’s actually a tenured professor at Cal Tech. But the disguise was perfect. Even down to the sour odor of someone that didn’t remember his last shower. “Uncle Simon!” I called. The statement nasal from the hand that held my nose. I stood, but he waved for me to move back, listening at the door. Then the door flew open, and three men in suits came charging in. They were flashing badges in one hand, and guns in the others, but before they could make any sense, they tripped over Uncle Simon. What it sounded like was; “Free-awk!” “Don-eek!” “Hold- aieee!” There was now a pile of people on the floor, and all I could hear was groaning. One of the men leaped to his feet, favoring his left ankle. He fired, three rounds into my computer, then shot the phone off the desk. “No calls!” he ordered, unnecessarily. The other two had staggered to their feet, and the guy covering me dropped his badge trying to hold it and grab out his cuffs at the same time. “Simon Le Canard! You’re under arrest!” He picked up the badge, and dropped the gun in the process. “Uh, guys, This is Le Canard.” the third guy motioned toward Uncle Simon. “are you sure? The Luddite asked. He shot the fluorescent desk lamp to keep in practice. “Yeah. I took a class under him at Cal Tech before I joined the SSBI.” “The SSBI?” I asked. “The Super Secret Bureau of Investigation.” The Klutz said. He was trying to get the gun from behind my couch where he had kicked it. “I’ve never heard of it.” He found the pistol, holstering it. “Why should you have? After all, it is a secret.” he sniffed. The Luddite shot the time zone clock off the wall. “Whenever you’re done giving everything away, we can take prisoner and go.” “I’m done.” The klutz motioned. “What about this guy?” “Are you a nuclear advocate, pro or con? Are you at this time studying for, or do you already have, a doctorate in Nuclear physics?” asked the man handcuffing Uncle Simon. “No to both question.” I answered. “Sorry guys, he’s out of our jurisdiction.” He hoisted Uncle Simon like a gaffed marlin. “Too bad.” The Luddite looked around, then swept my Casio calculator onto the floor, and stomped on it. They turned to go. I looked at the ruins they had made. “What about all this damage?” The Luddite looked around. “You needed to redecorate anyway. I think you should go for Danish modern.” The door closed. I checked the computer, It was shot, literally. One bullet had blown the monitor, another the hard drive. I sighed, then rooted around in the closet. I had an old IBM Selectric, and I lugged it out. I plugged it in, ran a sheet of paper down, and had just raised my hands when Uncle Simon came running in, and slammed the door again. I took appropriate measures. Clutching my last source of word processing to my chest, I dived under the desk. I cringed, expecting all hell to break loose. Then I felt a finger tapping me tentatively on the knee. It was Uncle Simon, peering under the desk. “What are you doing under there?” “Simon, I love you like a father, but if those crazy bastards are behind you, all bets are off!” “Crazy- oh. Stephen, my dear boy, the SSBI has captured the wrong man.” “But-“ I stood, hugging the typewriter, and stared at him. “-it was you! The same clothes, the same, oh god, the same smell.” “My boy, when I set out on this mission, I commissioned a robot from the Di-electric Mechanical Man company of Yankton. I stared at him. “They took a DUMMY.” he explained. “I’m lost. What mission?” “To contact you, or course. My fellow scientists and I have the most important story of the 21st century, and the SSBI wants to know what it is.” “The explanation hasn’t helped so far.” “Not surprising. You see, the SSBI is an organization set up under President Clinton during the last administration. It started because of all the nuclear secrets stolen by the Chinese. Its job is to police the scientific community and assure that we don’t just blab out secrets to anyone who asks. Right now it only has a few more than 40 field agents-“ There was an explosion in the street. I dropped the typewriter, which landed on my foot. I hobbled over to the window, staring down at the crater in the road, with the remains of a car still smoldering in it. “They must have gotten too rough with it.” Uncle Simon commented. “Where was I, oh, yes, they have less than 40 field agents, and they have been trying to catch not only me, but the organization I represent.” “Organization?” “We used to be called the Combined Headquarters of International Molecular Physics Society, or CHIMPS, but we changed the name to just the International Molecular Physics Society, or IMPS because we didn’t want the governments of the world to think we were monkeying around in the political arena.” “all right. You organization is apolitical. What have you been doing?” “We control an organization named the Fellowship Requiring the Operational use of Nuclear Terror, or FRONT and they have been arranging to start World War III on our own timetable.” “What!” I whirled, lunging toward him. My uninjured foot caught on the typewriter, and I fell flat on my face. Glowering at him, I hobbled to the desk, and sat. “You’re pushing for a nuclear war?” “Of course.” He looked surprised. “Our plan for the survival of the human race depends one every nation on Earth firing all of their nuclear missiles at the same time.” I was getting a headache. “Sure.” I commented wearily. What better way to save the human race? Just blow it to hell.” “Au contraire. Our plans depend on you, and another organization we fund secretly. You will write the story, they will assure that everyone knows about it immediately.” “Sure. I write it up, print it out, and stick it in a time capsule. Some time in the next millennium, they find it and slap their head saying ‘Of course! It’s so simple!’ “ “No, Stephen. Actually the story will hit the air in less than eight hours, thanks to your writing skill and the Specialized Controlling Headquarters for Electronic Media Everywhere.” “SCHEME?” Precisely. SCHEME has links into all of the communications satellites in orbit, regardless of who owns them. After the war starts in seven hours and twenty minutes, they will take control, and blanket the planet on every broadcast frequency.” “Yeah, just seven-“ I looked at him. “Seven hours and twenty minutes?” “Seven hours, eighteen minutes, and about 20 seconds.” He looked at his watch. “The Russians are going to start the show by launching everything they have at exactly midnight, Eastern Standard Time. A sneak attack planned for tonight.” “Sneak attack? Tonight? How did you know about it?” “We arranged it.” He replied blandly. “Just like we planned on how to get you inside ‘Crystal Palace’ when the buttons are pushed.” “Crystal Palace?” Cheyenne Mountain, NORAD headquarters.” He explained, looking at his watch again. “You see the SSBI always sends two teams of three on an arrest mission. The back up team should be here right-“ The door slammed in, this time falling off its hinges, “-now.” “Freeze Le Canard!” One of them shouted. “Not to worry, gentlemen.” They looked into the empty hall. “My student and I will come quietly.” “Student?” I asked. “Student!” The speaker shouted. “You’re under arrest too!” They handcuffed me. At my request, one of the agents put my typewriter back in the closet. “Where are you taking me?” I demanded. “The Director wants to interrogate you two personally. Were taking you to LAX, then by super secret flight to Colorado Spring. From there, we go by chopper to Cheyenne Mountain.” I was silent during the drive. Not because I had been ordered to be quiet. The agents had picked up an ongoing conversation about whether the Pi-meson weighed more than the Mu-meson. Uncle Simon felt compelled to enter the discussion, leaving me to sulk in the corner. When we arrived at the terminal, I saw a plane I had only seen on film awaited us. “Hey!’ The speaker shouted. “The Director got us a B3 for the flight!” “The radar invisible plane.” I gasped. How did you know that?” He asked, suspicious. “I did an article on them three years ago.” I told him. “Well just remember, that is the most secret aircraft flying!. You never saw it, you never flew in it!” He dragged me out, and waved to the people taking photos from the gallery. He walked me past the TWA ground crew, and up the stepladder with the TWA logo on it. Inside, the bomb bay had been converted into a mock up of a 737 passenger compartment. Comfortable seating, a smiling stewardess that handed out drinks, headphones, and bags of peanuts, and the flat screen used for in-flight movies. The cuffs were removed, and I was ordered to strap in. One of the agents sat, buckling in. “Tell the Captain we’re ready.” “Yes, sir.” The stewardess called the control room, and locked the door. As the plane began taxiing, she went through the drill on what to do aboard. As she took her own seat, the intercom clicked. “Welcome aboard super secret flight 175 to Colorado Springs, Colorado. We should be there in about three and a half hours. Remember that there is no smoking, or photography allowed in the cabin. For those of you that do smoke, the other bomb bay is the smoking car. If you must have pictures, please let the stewardess know, and she will get them for you for a nominal cost.” Resigned to my fate, I put on the headphones. I switched to channel one, which is usually the cockpit chatter line. “Los Angeles Tower, this is Stealth flight 175 requesting high security clearance to Colorado Springs.” “That’s a roger, Stealth 175. What is your ETA?” “At our top cruising speed of 560 milers per hour, three hours, twenty-eight minutes. Say about 7 PM their local time.” “That’s a roger. Have a pleasant flight.” I ordered a triple Jack Danials. * The flight was uneventful. The movie was Speed III, Where Keanu Reeves is trapped in a Cessna commuter airliner with the altimeter set to explode if he drops past 4200 feet or below 300 miles an hour. Unfortunately, the only classical music they had was soft hits of the nineties. I tried to sleep through it. We landed at the Air Force Academy, and were hustled into a helicopter. Fifteen minutes later, they dropped us on the helipad, and a Hummer carried us down the tunnel into NORAD Headquarters. NORAD, the North American Defense command Headquarters is also known as ‘Crystal Palace’. It is a small city tunneled under Cheyenne mountain itself. It was built when they assumed that warheads could reach 100 megatons, but wouldn’t hit within a mile on the best day they ever had. It was still in use because modern theorists believed the rock over our heads would still stop the super accurate 1 megaton bombs of today. With less than an hour remaining before the deadline, I was praying that the theorists hadn’t been on mood alterants when they made that claim. They patted us down, then stuck us in a disused broom closet. “Are you quite satisfied?” I shouted at Uncle Simon when we were alone. “I don’t know what the punishment is for this, but if it’s the firing squad, I want a gun!” “Stephen my boy, calm down. Once the missiles fly, we won’t have any problems. In fact they will release us by 2 AM EST at the latest.” “We get out of here by Two AM anyone’s time, I’ll buy breakfast.” “A deal, my boy.” The door opened, and a husky man in an ill fitting suit entered. I recognized him immediately. Alfred Knox, Nuclear physicist, and head of the Nuclear Commission. “Well, Le Canard. We finally caught you.” He took out a cigar, and lit it. “While we’re talking, I’m having you entire group arrested.” “What about our rights?” “First the answers.” He looked at Uncle Simon, and pointed with the stogie. “Who’s the mouth?” “May I introduce Stephen Le Petard. My nephew.” “Stephen Le Petard? The scandalmonger?” “Freelance investigative reporter.” “Whatever. I’ll make sure you get to report the arrests and trial.” He considered. “I think Leavenworth Penitentiary still has a paper.” “Knock it off, Knox!” I snapped. “I have an article due in the morning, and my editor will be screaming for my release by noon! A lot of people are going to be asking questions.” “Really?” he seemed pleased. “If people question an investigation of the SSBI, that brings them under my jurisdiction, and I can arrest them. Thanks, kid, you’ve made my week.” “Why are you in charge of this outfit?” I demanded. “Why not a professional from the FBI or CIA?” “I am a professional.” He protested. “What agent in either organization knows bupkas about Nuclear weapons?” “He is after all a Nuclear Physicist” Uncle Simon admonished me. “Just because he’s a party hack, and never got above a C-minus in his classes doesn’t make him less than that.” Knox looked at him sourly, He stood, and knocked on the door. The three agents came in. One carried a heavy chair with straps. Another carried a box of video tapes the third pushed in a stand with a TV/VCR on it. They forced Uncle Simon into the chair, and strapped him down. There was an attachment that held his eyes open, and held his head so it wouldn’t move. “What are you doing?” I demanded. “I don’t have time for proper torture. So I had to come up with something quick. My men raided the President Reagan Library.” A look of horror appeared on Simon’s face. “You mean-“ “Yes. If you don’t talk, you will see every movie Ronald Reagan made, back to back.” He turned to the box. “Starting with Bedtime for Bonzo.” They dragged me out as Uncle Simon pleaded for mercy. * They decided to let me wander around. After all, with a seventeen ton door between me and the outside world, and a company of Special Air Police assigned outside to augment the 50 man Air police inside, what was I going to do? Shoot my way out? The world situation looked normal in the Big Board room. Russian troops surrounding Chechnya, and strung along the Chinese border. Chinese troops massed on the Russian and Indian borders. Libyan troop in the desert, with markers saying they ran out of gas, and the Republican Guard surrounding Bagdad. SAC was at 30% status, and the board was lit by red and green spots as troops world wide maneuvered. “What’s that?” a general shouted. A yellow spot had suddenly appeared near Los Angeles. A technician leaped into action, fingers flying. “Nothing on the DEW Line! PAVE PAWS reads negative! AWACS has nothing! No image on the satellites! Whatever it is, it’s not registering, sir.” The yellow spot disappeared, then suddenly appeared near Tierra Del Fuego. A man by the board slapped it sharply. “It was a firefly, sir.” The General gasped. “You mean the MiG 35 hyper mach stealth fighter?” “No, sir. A lightning bug.” “Not the Long range Chinese Missile!” “No sir. I mean the insect.” “Oh.” I looked at the clock. Ten seconds to midnight in New York. I found myself praying that Uncle Simon’s crew were as efficient as the SSBI seemed to be. The clock clicked over at midnight. As alarm sounded. “Launch warning! We have multiple launch warnings!” Someone shouted. On the map, streaks of fire rose. “Location!” “Russia, People’s Republic of China, England, France, South Africa, India, Pakistan, Israel, Monaco-“ Monaco? “Full launches by all countries. Sub launches have begun.” “Go to Defcon 1!” “Sir! Our missiles are launching!” “Who gave the order? No one gave the order!” “Sir,” an officer at a desk marked tracking raised his hand. “Something strange about those launches.” “What the hell else in new? Who the hell are you?” “Tracking, sir. All of the launches are going crazy. The missiles are aiming at precise points. Ethiopia, parts of the Rain forest in Brazil… Wait, four missiles are aimed at Cheyenne mountain. One Russian, one Chicom, one Canadian-“ “Those bastards!” “-and one from Harlem.” “The Dutch are firing at us?” “No, sir. Harlem New York, about 145th street.” “O-kay. Time to impact?” "Harlem missile will impact in two minutes. The Canadian missile one minute after that. Russian will hit in five, mark. Chinese will hit in five and fifteen seconds. Mark.” Everyone ducked, expecting fiery death to pluck us up. Only the quiet, “Impact.” broke the silence. Nothing. He started the countdown for the Canadian missile, which also didn’t make any noise. Then the Russian Missile arrived, and finally the Chinese. Nothing. “Damn it-“ “Sir, according to our radar, four missiles have impacted on the peak of the mountain.” “Then get someone out there to investigate!” Some poor private was volunteered, and thrown out a sally port. As we waited the reports were coming in. All of the missiles had deployed parachutes, and landed at their new targets. Ethiopia, target of the combined tactical nuclear might of Europe was the first to report. Russian missiles, Borscht and cabbage stew. Chinese, Beef lo Mien. English, Kippered herring and Earl Grey Tea. French, Brie cheese and pate do fois gras. South Africa, Weiner schnitzel. Indian, Mulligatawny stew, and Basmati rice. Pakistani, Saffron Chicken, with notes on how to place it on a bed of (you guessed it) Basmati rice. Israel, Gefelte fish, bagels, and lox. There was also an explosion in a British post officer in London which sprayed the walls with Irish stew. If that wasn’t bad enough, the volunteer returned. He told them what he saw, and we all had to look. Ten minutes later, Uncle Simon was revived. “We have been trying to stop the threat of Nuclear war since the 1950s.” He explained. “But all anyone wanted was larger, meaner bombs. When we formed CHIMPS, we decided to take matters into our own hands. Our members in every nation filled the warheads with foodstuffs, and assured that they would go where they were needed most.” Knox had just been watching SHCEMES report that an answer would be out within the hour. “But how do you explain this? Everyone saw them take off! Lots of people saw them come down! If this gets out, we’ll all look like idiots!” “Precisely.” Uncle Simon was satisfied. “So what will happen is the President will call all of the World leaders, and announce that the threat of large scale war with nuclear weapons is a thing of the past. That the missiles were expended to assure that no one would ever consider it again. We even chose the date with that in mind. “What’s so important about the 31st of March!?!?” “Ah, but in New York?” “All right the first of April.” It took him a moment to get it. “Still-“ “No argument. Either the President announces by 2 AM EST what we have suggested, or we will release the truth at 3 AM. And that will kill the President’s chance of reelection.” * I did end up buying breakfast. Before the week was over, I had papers talking a million plus for my services. And that’s the truth. As the reporter on the scene, I was the first to break the story, and won a Pulitzer. My stories, and my taped interviews, are still being watched worldwide by history students. The President announced it as something they had spent years working on, and was reelected as a true man of peace. There’s talk of giving the Nuclear club as a whole the Nobel peace prize. But now I’m covering the Agricultural Gap. You see, we know which Baskin Robbins was knocked over for the Chocolate ice cream in the Harlem Missile. We have purchase orders for the whipped cream in the Canadian one. We even know which state supplied the crushed nuts that were sprinkled on it. But no one has figured out yet where the Chinese got an 800 pound cherry. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Arcesious Posted March 5, 2008 Share Posted March 5, 2008 Rofl. Nice one. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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