CHAPTER THREE -
THE RED MENACE
Somewhere in Scotland. Django strolled into his local jobcentre, wondering what exciting adventure would await him this time. In the past it had often doubled as a place to be given special assignments or find more exotic job offers than the commonplace. Of course not everyone was observant enough to notice this. To the trained eye though, could be found such interesting delights as bounty hunting, some mercenary or spy work and even the chance to go back in time and be an 18th century poet, during the week and come back home at weekends. Today however, the jobs available lacked a certain spark. Shrugging, Django went to the desk of his adviser. This was not his usual adviser but that, in itself, was no cause for concern. The fact that none of the employees present seemed familiar, was a little puzzling though.
"I'm ready for my next assignment." Django broke the ice. These office types liked it when you would seem eager.
"Excuse me?" the stern, bespectacled woman frowned.
Ah, Django thought smugly, not been fully briefed. These officials were always a little disorganised. He tried again. "The computer factory in Silicon Valley was destroyed. I'm ready for more. And quite frankly, the beer money's beginning to run dry."
The job adviser observed him gravely.
Django was getting frustrated. He looked around. "What's with you? You lot aren't usually bothered about speaking freely with others around."
"I must ask you to leave." the stern employee informed him.
Django reached across the table and furiously grabbed his nemesis. "Now you listen here!" Django growled through clenched teeth. "Is this anyway to treat one of your top operatives?"
A powerful hand gripped Django's shoulder. "I'm afraid I must ask you to come with me, Mr Django." a strangely familiar voice intoned, carefully pronouncing every word in monotone. "All will be revealed. But please do not make a scene."
Django slowly turned in his chair, where he could now see a group of men with slicked back hair, black suits and dark sunglasses. Django swung round, but the butt of a gun was brought down on him. He lost consciousness.
****
When Django awoke, he was tied to a chair, in a small dimly lit room. The man who had spoken to him and knocked him unconscious was coldly observing him.
"I did not introduce myself earlier, Mr Django. My name is Agent Smith." the man revealed in the same monotone as before. "I must apologise for the earlier confusion. I'm afraid your local jobcentre is no longer being used for the more exotic opportunities you are looking for. That operation and it's employees has been moved to a new location. You see, Mr Django, we have reason to believe that the operation has been compromised by a mole."
Django was shocked. "A-a mole?"
"Yes. We believe that the KGB have gotten to someone, unwittingly to that person. We further believe that the KGB have been brainwashing the mole to take on extra assignments, in the belief that they are carrying out their usual assignments. This brainwashing is carried out, using a combination of vodka and Milla Jovovich movies."
"Oh come on!" Django berated laughingly. "That's ridiculous!"
"Indeed." Agent Smith assented. "Mr Django, do you keep vodka at home?"
"I have some left over from Christmas." Django answered warily.
"Does drinking vodka lead to you addressing others as Comrade?"
"Er....I think you'll find that's a bit of a joke, mate."
"I see." Agent Smith responded to the unsatisfactory answer unamused. "Mr Django, why did you blow up a computer factory in Silicon Valley?"
"I was defending the French from an infestation of corporate zombies." Django asserted confused. "Look, I really don't see what this has to do with anything."
Agent Smith was beginning to get impatient. "Mr Django, what reason would Milla Jovovich have to turn to you, while watching a film and tell you to play Blondie's "Contact In Red Square" backwards?"
Ooh! He knew this one! Thinking for a bit... "It contains a message." Django explained. "It gives the names and locations of...." Realisation began to dawn. Oops!
Agent Smith was intrigued. "Mr Django?"
"I think I should get myself a lawyer.... or something." Django paled. But wait a minute! Django decided it was his turn to ask a question. "Exactly why was the computer factory employing demons there anyway?"
A bead of sweat trickled down Agent Smith's brow. He stood up quickly. "I am not at liberty to give out that information. This interview is over!" ****
Drusilla was enjoying a luxurious bath, in the comfort of her hotel suite. There were some things in life that money couldn't buy, Drusilla observed. But for all else, there was a dead person's credit card. She wondered briefly, what the evil ex had been up to of late. The silly sod had gotten himself a soul. How all the worms in the ground must get together and laugh at him. Drusilla however, had always been a survivor. Always ready to move onto the next project. Speaking of which....
Drusilla giggled at something wicked, the bathroom tiles said, and reached for the phone beside the bath. Punching in a number, she was delighted to hear the cheerful voice of Direct Enquiries. "Hello dearie, I'd like to find an agent in Los Angeles. I want to have a sit-com." Lying back and cheerfully listening to the confused operator (who really wasn't much help at all), Drusilla let out a contented sigh. Her time with the FBI was already a distant memory.
****
Time had lost all meaning for Django, in his windowless cell, with it's constant artificial light source. Who knew what time of day it was? He hadn't been able to get much sleep since they'd moved him to this sterile, underground prison. Django looked up at the television monitor as it flickered. He knew they were using it to monitor him constantly. Django looked on with curiosity at the curious flicker that seemed to disrupt it now. A full burst of static followed.
A new image appeared. The silhouetted form of what appeared to be a very tiny girl in a Victorian dress and with a bow in her curls. Words tapped out at the bottom of the screen: There's worse things than Big Brother watching you.
"Oh yeah?" Django answered the screen incredulously. "Like what?"
Being forced to watch Big Brother, the screen replied.
Django laughed. "Yeah, well you've got me there."
It's true you know.
Django frowned. "What is?"
About the KGB using you.
"Yes." Django sighed. "I thought so, to be honest."
I can get you away from all that. If you'd like.
"Who are you?"
Call me the Matchmaker.
"How can you help me?"
Just follow my instructions and directions carefully. And bring some cake. I've been a bad example again, but I must have some or I'll go mad!
THE RED MENACE
Somewhere in Scotland. Django strolled into his local jobcentre, wondering what exciting adventure would await him this time. In the past it had often doubled as a place to be given special assignments or find more exotic job offers than the commonplace. Of course not everyone was observant enough to notice this. To the trained eye though, could be found such interesting delights as bounty hunting, some mercenary or spy work and even the chance to go back in time and be an 18th century poet, during the week and come back home at weekends. Today however, the jobs available lacked a certain spark. Shrugging, Django went to the desk of his adviser. This was not his usual adviser but that, in itself, was no cause for concern. The fact that none of the employees present seemed familiar, was a little puzzling though.
"I'm ready for my next assignment." Django broke the ice. These office types liked it when you would seem eager.
"Excuse me?" the stern, bespectacled woman frowned.
Ah, Django thought smugly, not been fully briefed. These officials were always a little disorganised. He tried again. "The computer factory in Silicon Valley was destroyed. I'm ready for more. And quite frankly, the beer money's beginning to run dry."
The job adviser observed him gravely.
Django was getting frustrated. He looked around. "What's with you? You lot aren't usually bothered about speaking freely with others around."
"I must ask you to leave." the stern employee informed him.
Django reached across the table and furiously grabbed his nemesis. "Now you listen here!" Django growled through clenched teeth. "Is this anyway to treat one of your top operatives?"
A powerful hand gripped Django's shoulder. "I'm afraid I must ask you to come with me, Mr Django." a strangely familiar voice intoned, carefully pronouncing every word in monotone. "All will be revealed. But please do not make a scene."
Django slowly turned in his chair, where he could now see a group of men with slicked back hair, black suits and dark sunglasses. Django swung round, but the butt of a gun was brought down on him. He lost consciousness.
****
When Django awoke, he was tied to a chair, in a small dimly lit room. The man who had spoken to him and knocked him unconscious was coldly observing him.
"I did not introduce myself earlier, Mr Django. My name is Agent Smith." the man revealed in the same monotone as before. "I must apologise for the earlier confusion. I'm afraid your local jobcentre is no longer being used for the more exotic opportunities you are looking for. That operation and it's employees has been moved to a new location. You see, Mr Django, we have reason to believe that the operation has been compromised by a mole."
Django was shocked. "A-a mole?"
"Yes. We believe that the KGB have gotten to someone, unwittingly to that person. We further believe that the KGB have been brainwashing the mole to take on extra assignments, in the belief that they are carrying out their usual assignments. This brainwashing is carried out, using a combination of vodka and Milla Jovovich movies."
"Oh come on!" Django berated laughingly. "That's ridiculous!"
"Indeed." Agent Smith assented. "Mr Django, do you keep vodka at home?"
"I have some left over from Christmas." Django answered warily.
"Does drinking vodka lead to you addressing others as Comrade?"
"Er....I think you'll find that's a bit of a joke, mate."
"I see." Agent Smith responded to the unsatisfactory answer unamused. "Mr Django, why did you blow up a computer factory in Silicon Valley?"
"I was defending the French from an infestation of corporate zombies." Django asserted confused. "Look, I really don't see what this has to do with anything."
Agent Smith was beginning to get impatient. "Mr Django, what reason would Milla Jovovich have to turn to you, while watching a film and tell you to play Blondie's "Contact In Red Square" backwards?"
Ooh! He knew this one! Thinking for a bit... "It contains a message." Django explained. "It gives the names and locations of...." Realisation began to dawn. Oops!
Agent Smith was intrigued. "Mr Django?"
"I think I should get myself a lawyer.... or something." Django paled. But wait a minute! Django decided it was his turn to ask a question. "Exactly why was the computer factory employing demons there anyway?"
A bead of sweat trickled down Agent Smith's brow. He stood up quickly. "I am not at liberty to give out that information. This interview is over!" ****
Drusilla was enjoying a luxurious bath, in the comfort of her hotel suite. There were some things in life that money couldn't buy, Drusilla observed. But for all else, there was a dead person's credit card. She wondered briefly, what the evil ex had been up to of late. The silly sod had gotten himself a soul. How all the worms in the ground must get together and laugh at him. Drusilla however, had always been a survivor. Always ready to move onto the next project. Speaking of which....
Drusilla giggled at something wicked, the bathroom tiles said, and reached for the phone beside the bath. Punching in a number, she was delighted to hear the cheerful voice of Direct Enquiries. "Hello dearie, I'd like to find an agent in Los Angeles. I want to have a sit-com." Lying back and cheerfully listening to the confused operator (who really wasn't much help at all), Drusilla let out a contented sigh. Her time with the FBI was already a distant memory.
****
Time had lost all meaning for Django, in his windowless cell, with it's constant artificial light source. Who knew what time of day it was? He hadn't been able to get much sleep since they'd moved him to this sterile, underground prison. Django looked up at the television monitor as it flickered. He knew they were using it to monitor him constantly. Django looked on with curiosity at the curious flicker that seemed to disrupt it now. A full burst of static followed.
A new image appeared. The silhouetted form of what appeared to be a very tiny girl in a Victorian dress and with a bow in her curls. Words tapped out at the bottom of the screen: There's worse things than Big Brother watching you.
"Oh yeah?" Django answered the screen incredulously. "Like what?"
Being forced to watch Big Brother, the screen replied.
Django laughed. "Yeah, well you've got me there."
It's true you know.
Django frowned. "What is?"
About the KGB using you.
"Yes." Django sighed. "I thought so, to be honest."
I can get you away from all that. If you'd like.
"Who are you?"
Call me the Matchmaker.
"How can you help me?"
Just follow my instructions and directions carefully. And bring some cake. I've been a bad example again, but I must have some or I'll go mad!
