18 Wednesday Sep 2019
Posted in Books For Sale, Other Columns
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Made a major tech breakthrough today with The Substitute! Anything can be accomplished if one swears hard enough and long enough at a computer. How major is major? I (not you) can now read the beta version on my Kindle. This weekend, cover art unlike the crude thing over in the margin will take shape (I hope).
Get those card$ ready.
17 Tuesday Sep 2019
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There’s much more to novel writing than I had imagined. Well, the writing is fine. The editing, formatting, etc. is a bear, especially with my (new) low-power computer. 400+pages makes for some awkwardness. I’ll make do for now. But! After The Substitute sells 10,000 or so copies, I’m upgrading to the fastest, most powerful thing I can find. Y’all can help with that. Thank$. – P
13 Friday Sep 2019
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Hey! Finally, an “original” article that doesn’t involve me merely adding sarcastic comments to a news story! This one’s about fiction.
Yes, friends, it’s been a little over a year since I first delved into the genre with a few discombobulated short stories. Now, we’re getting VERY CLOSE to my first novel, The Substitute. I trust you’re debit and credit cards are charged and ready.
It’s kind of funny. The book originally started out as a non-fiction work about how bad the schools are – because we just can’t have enough of those, right? But then, along came Mr. Tom Ironsides and literally hijacked my idea. It morphed into a dramatization overnight. Honestly, it has been a little more than I thought I was ready for. But, then again, it seems there is no perfect time to do these things. The reader may find the final product, while I hope entertaining, a little amateurish? Your judgment.
My saving grace was the guidance of Thomas Moore, author of A Fatal Mercy, etc. He said kind things like: “You’ve got a great voice. And, a good ear.” I said, “YEAH!” – like I knew (know) exactly what those terms mean…
I read several books on how to write a novel and I consulted some of the copious (dubious) material all over these internets. In the end, I’m amazed at how close my work is coming (unintentionally) to following the conventional format.
The outline and all the notes were originally geared towards a factual expose. A few short stories emerged, became chapters, and Ironsides took the thing and ran with it. Yet and still, it has three acts. There’s a hook in the first chapter. Those turns, challenges, and critical events magically showed up on their own. Climaxes – plural – fell into place without my realizing. Towards the end, there is a resolution of a kind. It’s not total. In fact, it can’t be, given the subject matter. Yet, I think it works and well.
So, when writing a novel, or anything really – do it. That’s about the best I can offer. My Afterword includes an appropriate quote from Clausewitz. That, and the rest will be along before long.
And, I have some more books in various states of preparation. If I discover anything worthwhile as those grow, I shall report it.
Okay, The Substitute: I’m thinking maybe $7-8 for Kindle and $16-18 for a high-grade paperback. In the event of decent interest, a hardcover isn’t out of the question ($35?).
Soon.
04 Wednesday Sep 2019
Posted in Other Columns
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fiction, firearms, gun control, prepping, Tom Ironsides, TPC
Not (directly) a TOM Ironsides story! You’ll see:
Just Another Ordinary Fencepost Hole
Larry’s Small Farm in New Hampshire, Saturday, August 31, 2019, 9:04 AM…
Bert watched his mother and his sisters ease down the long driveway to the road. He listened until the hum of the Sequoia’s V8 faded away. Then he ran down to the barn, finding “Little” Larry (all six-foot, three inches of him) digging around under the F-250’s bed cover.
‘Lar! They’re off. Bet they won’t be back until the mall closes.’
‘Kay, Bubba. I got everything we need. Let’s go find dad.’
Larry, Jr., recently turned eighteen, and his younger-by-three-years brother rolled gently into the back field, headed towards the distant clump of firs and junipers in the far corner above the woods and just uphill from the creek.
‘They changed the story about the Texas shooter. Again.’ Bert read headlines from his phone. ‘Now, they say it wasn’t random and he spoke to the FBI first. No white supremacy links either.’
‘Yeah. They do that. They’ll change it again. Next, he’ll be a black zionist working for the FBI. Then, they’ll move on to the next one. Dad says they need better scriptwriters.’
‘Is that a red flag or a false flag?’
‘False. But, one leads to the other. Or, it will. That’s why we’re doing our um, fence work today.’
Larry, Jr. slowed as he passed a row of newly dug post holes and a stack of heavy timbers. Behind a large cedar, the boys caught a glimpse of their father, already at work. Big Larry, Larry, Sr., was raising the auger out of a new hole when he noticed the truck approaching. After carefully clearing the PTO assembly, he pulled the John Deere 4052M out of the way and shut it off. He met his boys at the tailgate.
‘I take it the women are off and shopping?’
Junior answered, ‘Yes, sir. They left about five minutes ago.’
‘Good. We’ll have plenty of time. We can even get another section of actual fence up.’
Bert was still a little puzzled about the logistics and the secrecy. ‘Dad, why can’t we tell mom or Brooke or Liv? Kind of feels like we’re sneaking around.’
‘Well, son, we are. For this operation, the fewer who know anything, the better. Women have a way of … talking about things. We’re not asking for permission or forgiveness. We’re men. We do what we have to without resort to pointless discussion. Especially with something as critical as this.’ He paused as Larry, Jr. pulled the bed cover back. ‘Well, men. Let’s see here. Larry, for your brother’s benefit, why don’t you walk us through what we have? Kind of explain as you load ‘er up’
‘Okay, dad.’ Junior lowered a large black plastic tube to the ground, standing it upright. He unscrewed and removed the lid. ‘This is the Mono Vault. The big one. Now, all we do is fill it with goodies. Start passing me those long flat bags, Bubba.’
‘Are these the new guns we just shot last week?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why are they sealed up now?’
‘We cycled ‘em to make sure they work. Then, I cleaned the heck out of ‘em. Dad and I soaked ‘em in Cosmoline and vacuum-sealed them last night while you distracted the women. Wicked good job, I’d say.’
Junior lowered the arsenal into the tube – an H&K 416 A5 chambered in 5.56mm, a 417 A2 in 7.62 x 51 NATO, and a Benelli M4 tactical 12-gauge shotgun.
‘The bags keep them dry?’
‘The vault should do that. The grease and the vacuum will keep them from rusting. Thanks, brother, those smaller bags too, now.’
Two H&K pistols, both in .45ACP and both similarly protected, were added. Then came the ammunition – 1,000 rounds of 5.56, 400 rounds of 7.62, 100 rounds of buckshot, and 400 rounds of .45ACP – all neatly packaged. Everything fit perfectly with room to spare.
‘Where’d all this stuff come from? And, whose idea was this?’
Larry laughed. ‘Same answer for both questions – your uncle Thomas. He says that with all that’s happening, it’s time to start caching. He provided the Mono Vault and the guns. Amazon sells the tubes in all sizes and… PVC pipe will work too if they start banning more than guns. And the guns, any good store has. Uh… Tom kindly provided all these, sans any contact or paper trail. He says it’s best not to have any trace of the purchase or ownership. Period.’
‘Well, how’d he get them?’
‘Son, I learned a long time ago that it’s better not to question Tom’s methods. Okay, let’s add the rest now.’
A few more bags and a coffee can rounded out most of the space. Junior continued the explanation. ‘That’s a cleaning kit, magazines, some spare parts, slings and holsters, and a few survival items. Knives and water tablets, etc. Not sure what was in that black bag. Dad?’
‘Another gift from your uncle. Probably auto sears or something for the rifles. A grenade? Better not to know sometimes. Oh! And, I have a few more little things to top it off!’
Larry proudly added a travel humidor full of Cuban Cohibas (also from Tom), a cutter, lighter, and matches, and a bottle of 18-year-old Oban Scotch Whisky. With everything in place, they closed the primary lid and carried the vault to the waiting hole. Larry explained it’s creation,
‘Boys, I’m glad I didn’t have to switch to the backhoe. No big rocks, luckily. I dug out five adjoining holes to match the diameter of the vault with some extra space on the sides. There’s a little dirt down at the bottom. If you could get that, Bert. Thanks.’ He watched as Bert manually lowered some post hole diggers into the ground. ‘Should be a perfect fit. The vault is forty-five inches deep, or tall, and my bit is forty-eight. I bumped it a little deeper with the hydraulics for a margin. Anyway, it all worked great.’
Bert finished routing out the hole and they lowered the vault into place. Next, they backfilled around the edges, adding several bags of gravel at Larry’s instruction.
‘It’s very important to keep good drainage. Water can cause these things to buoy up and float. It shouldn’t be a problem with our good soil. Anyway, my going a little deeper will keep the frost away from the lid.’
With the fill added, they lowered and sealed the heavy outer shield lid. That, they covered with about two inches of dirt.
‘Scrap time, boys.’
The trio started scattering rusty scrap steel and iron in and around the hole. Over the lid, Larry placed a partially bent railroad track plate.
‘What’s all this for?’ Bert asked.
His brother answered, ‘To foil metal detectors.’
‘Yeah,’ added Larry, ‘Not that anyone’s going to be looking way back here. But, if they do, then this junk should throw them off. They’ll just figure it’s old trash and move on. They’d have a hard time finding it anyhow.’
‘How will we find it again in a few years, dad?’
‘Placement is everything. The tube is set equidistant between that large rock and the corner fence post. It’s exactly twenty-one feet between them, so it’s ten and a half feet from the rock to the tube. Remember that. I notched the rock on the right line just to be safe. No-one would ever notice that or understand what it means.’ He pointed to the granite boulder, jutting out of the ground amid the evergreens.
They worked a little more and covered the hole well, blending it with the surrounding ground. In a few weeks, it became undetectable. Later that day, a decent section of the new wooden fence was erected. That evening, while waiting on the women to return, the three lounged around just outside the barn doors. All three enjoyed a few beers, and the Larrys smoked two of the Cohibas, a pair saved from burial at the last moment.
‘And again, men,’ Larry expounded, ‘Who do we tell about this?’
‘Nobody.’ They answered in unison.
‘That’s right. Okay, I’ll tell Tom later. Show him, in person, rather. He said not to even mention this in code on the telephone.’
‘He’s really serious about all this, isn’t he?’
‘He really is. He expects some sort of gun ban before things get really bad. And he expects the bad part in a decade or so. He’s used the term civil war a few times. Hate to say I trust him, but he does know war. Says if it comes, it will be short, but very bad. Not much that common people can do for the duration. It’s surviving the getting there and the aftermath that matters.’
‘Our little cache will help if it comes to that, dad, Bubba. But, what about … you know, heavier weapons?’
‘Well. The advice from the pro is to stay out of the way while the big actors duke it out. But, he told me that maybe the next time we’re together – sometime soon – he’ll explain in detail how to go arms shopping, for free, courtesy of the government. Again, that’s another subject he’s extremely well versed in.’
‘Dad, speaking of shopping – I see headlights.’
‘Alright! Remember to act impressed by the shoes and purses and so forth.’
They all laughed. It felt good to start a Labor Day weekend with responsible preparedness. For the moment, it felt pretty good finishing those brews and smokes.
AS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED AT TPC!
Formatting… Anyway, this story gave me the spark! – things have been a little rougher the past four weeks than I’ve let on – to get back into the FICTION! Just this afternoon, I have powered through the first 102 pages of the novel – maybe the final edit. Getting there! And, soon, friends.
Also, the above featured “prepper” lessons – in dramatic format – for dealing with the coming (it is coming) attacks on the 2A. Be ready. Dig deep. I’ll have … Tom Ironsides will have more suggestions soon. Cheers!
04 Wednesday Sep 2019
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Soon. Expecting a TPC post sometime – a different kind of Ironsides story. The fiction is all I feel like doing. Even with the recent slowdown. Trying to recapture that “spark.”
07 Wednesday Aug 2019
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Here follows ONLY a short Ironsides story. Check TPC for the full feature.
The Great Good Friday Delivery
A Tom Ironsides Story
(partly concerning Covington, GA…)
Atlanta, Georgia, Good Friday, April 19, 2019, 11:57 AM…
‘Is that your radar detector? Damn! You need one.’ Ariana felt a little car sick as her uncle punched all 840 horses, firing out of the exit ramp from the Downtown Connector, onto I-20, like a bullet from a rifle.
‘No. That one’s a multi-spectrum jammer. Supposed to confuse laser too. Diffuse it,’ he said, indicating to one switch in a row of custom toggles, below the touchscreen and beside the red START button. ‘That one is a smart scanner. Watches the Po-Po before they can watch us. THAT one is an EMP. Standard stuff.’
He rocketed into the HOV lane, headed East at triple-digit speeds, the SRT Demon purring throatily.
‘What are… cal…trops?’
‘For when the EMP doesn’t work.’
‘Is all that legal?’
‘As legal as these idiotic speed limits.’
‘Why the hurry? And, what were you doing back there?’
‘Just want to put a little distance… Yeah, you’re right. There’s no need to rush quite so fast. Not my business anymore really.’ He slowed … slightly.
‘And… What business was that, Uncle Tommy?’
‘Did you get everything you needed back at Emory … Emory Hospital?’
‘Yes. Again. Not me. It was for the med school roomies. I don’t like hospitals any more than you do. Was having a nice talk with that cute boy when you flew up like a bat out of hell. So… You were coming from where?’
‘I agree. Traffic’s not quite LA, but it vies with DC or New York.’
‘What were YOU DOING?!’
‘Dropped something off at the Federal Reserve.’
‘Something like a bomb?’ She laughed even as she considered that with this particular uncle, anything was possible.
‘Not yet. Oh, wow. Yeah, it’s time. Hey…’ He pulled out his phone and handed it to her while glancing in the rearview mirror. ‘Can you. This app. Press where it says fly, F-L-Y, and then let me know if it says okay or turns green or… I gotta watch that car. I hate roof racks on sedans. Ski racks. Looks like the damned cops from a distance.’
‘Okay…’ She tapped the “FLY” button and waited. ‘Alrighty. Turned green. Says… “drones launched?!” What the hell is this?!’
‘Swarm. Microdrones. For eavesdropping…’
‘You’re spying on the Federal Reserve?!’
‘No. Not me. Just doing a favor for some old friends.’
‘The CIA is… What’s going on?’
‘Steinberg Island.’
‘What does that weirdo have to do with the Fed… He’s dead, right?’
‘And burning, one would assume. You know about the island. There’s a few things the media has been a little less than forthcoming about. Things they probably don’t know either. And, there are a few things the Company would like to understand a little better.’
‘That’s! The CIA? In Atlanta? Is THAT legal?!’
‘As legal as that private central bank…’
She was aware that Tom had quickened the pace again, perhaps in an effort to evade the ski rack. Or, maybe he was just having fun. She pressed him on the special delivery: ‘How were they even open today? A holiday.’
‘Those Pharisees don’t observe Good Friday! Hell, I’m surprised our schools did. Good thing. Company wanted those little boogers deployed ASAP. I just got them last weekend. I hate robots, but gotta admit, they’re kind of cool. Hover around. Obey voice commands too.’
‘What do they do?’
‘Fly around covertly, looking and listening. The big ones plug into USBs or something. They’re looking for a link. Links.’
‘To?’
‘You’d rather not know. Besides, I was just doing a favor. Call Langley for details.’
‘Uh, no. I’d rather not know.’ She looked out the window as they blasted under the I-285 overpass. ‘You still get paid for doing those favors?’
‘For honor and country. Pay enough for his patriot,’ he said wryly. He noticed her cock an eyebrow. ‘Sometimes cash just shows up. Little here, little there. Like old times.’
‘How much is a little, here or there?’
‘…uhm… yub n. mo fan enbuf bor fa nub sopp….’
‘MUMBLE a little louder!’
‘Maybe enough to buy thousand-horsepower, mid-engine Stingray replacement for this slow heap? Definitely enough to buy my favorite niece an ice cream! Oh. And, could you turn that phone off – it’s not my usual, more of a burner – just put it in the duffle bag in the back? Really, I’ll buy you an ice cream…’
His perpetually amused (or flustered) favorite niece powered the phone down and reached back under the roll cage for his bag. ‘Uncle Tommy. What exactly is this black metal thing in here?’
‘In the bag?’
‘Duh!’
‘M4 with an M203 attached.’
‘Like an assault rifle.’
‘Assault. Yeah. That big tube is the grenade launcher.’
‘You say that like… Only you, only you.’
‘Hey. I mean, it was the Federal Reserve. You never know. Couple of handguns and a subby might not be enough.’
‘Never a dull moment. My family…’
‘While you’re back there. Uh. You know Lorna pretty well, right? Redhead. Irish. Insane. You think she’d fit back there if I was on top of…’
‘You are the most horrible … MAN! GAWD! You do owe me an ice cream.’
Tom reckoned he did owe her something. Lunchtime was upon them and he thought he’d spied just the place.
‘Amici!’ He exclaimed.
‘Amici?’
‘There’s always something going on at Amici… That’s what the billboard just said. Some kind of I-talian joint. Covington. Like the next exit. That, or one in Madison, wherever the hell that… Here we go!’
Tom shot across all lanes and down a tight, circular ramp into Covington. He was supposed to stop at the bottom. Instead, he cooly drifted onto the surface street, tires screeching, the Demon continuing to purr. Ariana thought she had a good idea of what “G” forces were. In short order, they found the restaurant on College Avenue. Tom parked in a little lot nearby.
‘Is it safe to leave all that firepower in there?’
‘Yeah. Nobody could bother ‘em. Whole thing is rigged to self-destruct if anyone tampers.’
‘Again. You say these things like it’s… Oh, well. Whatever. I’m hungry.’
‘Let’s see what they have!’
Inside, they were greeted by an attractive girl, maybe close to Ari’s age. Tom instantly took a liking to her.
‘So, yes! This is my NIECE. Not my, you know. I’m a lonely single man out for lunch. Like she’s really not even here. You get off anytime soon?’ They were seated in a booth near the bar; the hostess rolled her eyes upon departing.
‘Hey, Uncle Tommy! I wanna show you something on my phone.’ Ari said, scrolling for something. ‘Lorna. The waitress. I think I’ve got something to finally cure your case of the puppy lust… Here it is!’ She handed him the phone, a contact displayed:
CARMYN (U TOMMY GF): 828-555-1212
‘How did you get … that???’ He asked, still staring at the correct phone number.
‘You’d rather not know. Vicky and I work covertly too sometimes.’ She gave him a devilish grin. ‘Hate for your goddess actress girlfriend to ever find out about … you know. Gonna be a good wuttle wunkle now?’
‘She uh… She kind of knows. YES! Yes. Very good. Bring this girl an ice cream. AND a balloon!’ The waitress had just appeared.
‘Nah. I’m on a holiday today. And, I got me a designated driver,’ she said. ‘You guys have Long Island Iced Tea?’
Over lunch – “The Works” pizza, with liquor for her, water for him – she pried hard about Carmyn.
‘I know what she looks like. I wanna know what she’s like. Anything like, can I ask about this, like Aunt Elizabeth?’
‘Well. Yes, and no. There’ll never be another Lizzy. But, yeah, gotta admit, she’s on that level. I think.’
‘Does she act … famous? You know…’
‘No. No, very sweet. Down to Earth. Nothing pretentious. You’d never know except for all the fans out and about. Autographs and so forth. And, she puts up with me. Very warm hands…’
‘I want to meet her. Vicky can’t wait either! I think mom might even be interested.’ Ari was giddy as she grinned across the table. ‘When was your last date?’
‘Last week. Sunday at the Masters. Oh, the high school girls told me that CBS showed us standing by number eighteen. Tiger time. Standing and kissing.’
‘Rockstar! I’ll bet those girls wanted to… But, you were always popular. Awe. That’s sooo sweet!’
Tom was happy to have the conversation drift off of the morning’s illicit business. And, he valued Ariana’s opinions more than she knew. In turn, he pressed her about the boy from the pool party months earlier, the one from Emory, and more.
They were just getting ready to leave when a bearded man wearing shorts and a dress shirt walked by talking on the phone, headed for the bar. They’d noticed him earlier in the courtyard just outside the window, talking on the phone and smoking a cigarette. Now, he was ordering a lunch toddy.
‘Apple, frozen. Yeah, the Beam.’ He told the bartender in an upbeat but slightly gruff voice. He returned to his phone conversation, ‘So yeah, man. I think they’re gonna legalize it. Decriminalize it. Maybe five, ten years. Ten tops. I have this plan. Lemme talk, les’ talk biz-niss. Aaah, yeah!’
‘He seems happy,’ Tom said as he steadied a wobbly Ariana on the way out. ‘As do you.’
She half hiccupped a reply, ‘Oooow. Frozi Apple sounds good. Next time!’
It was more of a tipsy walk than a drunk walk, but she tipsy-walked him around the downtown square. She forced him into a series of shops, one of which he was delighted to find sold cigars. Outside of a real estate office, she opened a little paper box and pulled out a copy.
‘Got a dollar, Uncle Tommy? It’s The Piedmont Chronicles!’
‘Never heard of them,’ he said, fishing out a dollar bill.
On the ride home, a little slower than before, she tipsy-read the week’s news to him. There was another local restaurant featuring bands ‘n burgers. Someone once lost a gaggle of children at the beach. They were informed the solution to pollution was marijuana diffusion. There was more.
Tom glanced over. ‘Wait. Back up and read me what that one guy said about Steinberg. About the vampires and satanists in Congress. Sounds pretty informed.’
‘Sounds crazy.’
‘Yeah. About as crazy as literal reality.’
She fell asleep on the way home, owing to the length and depth of Long Island. After he dropped her off with the (be good for Carmyn, think about Carmyn) blonde roommates, he picked up the newspaper she’d left behind. Thanks to the “craziness” he was reminded of something. Maybe of someone. Suddenly something might have made sense about the Steinberg bombing. Could it be??? Maybe it wasn’t just the NCS that made special deliveries. Maybe it really was a Good Friday.
02 Friday Aug 2019
Posted in News and Notes
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Or, an update about my fiction. I just finished the second re-write and edit of my forth-coming novel featuring Thomas H. Ironsides and his transition from being to spy to being a teacher. The working title, which I think I’ll stick with, is “The Substitute.” Much has changed since I first started cobbling this one together:
There’s now a real “arc” to the story. There’s an ending – kind of necessary, no? It’s a loose ending too (for those tie-ins…). I cut the chapter-count from 48 to 34. The word-count only dropped from around 100,000 to just over 98,000 (out with the superfluous, in with … something). The pagination was reduced from 424 to 415. I wrote a Preface and secured a commitment for a Forward (if a novel needs a Forward). I wrote and then killed an ending poem (sucked…), but I do have a special “joke” at the very end. That greyscale pic over on the left-hand side (PC mode) is a model for a potential cover photo.
I’m serious about the tie-ins too. Or about sequels, expanded universe, what have you. Got another 120-150 pages of related outside material growing in the hopper. Anyway, this one will hopefully debut this fall. I’m thinking $18-20 for a nice physical copy and $7, $8, $? for Kindle. If all goes well, I may consider a “deluxe” hardcover, an audiobook and maybe LARGE print. If I were you, I’d consider buying dozens of all types, when available. Maybe hundreds.
Developing…
This guy:
30 Tuesday Jul 2019
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*Ed. note: This is the third time the TPC readership has been treated to a piece showcasing everybody’s favorite “company man” & man’s man – Tom Ironsides. You may remember his gig flying into Cuba, or possibly the other piece when he was a substitute teacher. This Editor has had the distinct pleasure of reading several more pieces & passages of the Ironsides saga, and folks – it’s really good. Stay tuned for future news. As always – Thx for reading – MB McCart
Author’s note: The following short story is laced with real-world current events, many the news media would rather you not know about. What better way to present them than through the eyes of our favorite spy turned teacher?
***
Of The Revolutionary Fishing Trip
A Tom Ironsides Story
Banska Bystrica, Slovakia, November 2016, 11:33 PM (local time)…
There’s a benefit to ignoring emails for a while and then slowly scanning through them before engaging any one in particular – a man can see patterns. That was about all Tom could see, his eyes nearly crossed from exhaustion. He sat slumped over his desk, staring at the screen for a few minutes, reading the same lines over and over:
Again, Dr. Ironsides, we are all impressioned with everything you’ve written regarding Pericles’s hypothetical views on the latter-stage United States empire, particularly to diminished military capacity. It was my intention to cite you as an original source. However, I am having difficulty accessing to your paper, at your department site. If there is a better sources available, please do let me no. Oh, please see if you can open the papers here at this (UMB) webpages:
//umb.sk.poly/iside/content/dir/what-takes-greeK-Us/paper/2015.hmtk
Thank you, kindly, in advance. Please contact me at once if you have an idea or wish to collaborate.
Dr. Donatello Berkely, Ph.D.
Languages, Cultures, and Societies
University of Leeds
Yeah, no. Looks just like the other one from last week … from UCLA? Smells the same too… Tom thought as he considered spamming the missive. Just then, most unexpectedly at that time of the night, his phone rang.
‘Ahoj… dobrý večer…’
‘Tom. Don’t click on that link!’
‘Who in the hell?? Are… Is that you, Freddie?’
‘Yeah, Tom. It’s Fred. Hello, uh, dobro… vector… What time is it over there?’
‘Too late for nanny-state bullshit spying, Kid. And, isn’t it about quitting time for you? If you’re at Langley…’
‘Yeah. I’m at HQ. Gonna be here a while. Spent all day digging at the Puzzle Palace. For emails like the one you’re still looking at.’
‘That you’re also looking at…’
‘Just keeping you safe, big guy.’
‘From?’
‘Can you go ahead and delete that one? I’ve already got a full capture, thanks.’
Tom trash-canned the post. ‘You been looking at my grade book too? I’ve got some really special students this semester. Even if they all fail next week’s exam, they’ll all still pass. Not that I’m expecting anything but straight A’s.’
‘I noted that you respond much faster to emails and texts from female students. That you spend a lot of time looking for parts to firearms that are banned in the EU. Saw you looking at hotels in Milan for Christmas. Price of diesel in Italy. But, no – we’re not really interested in what you…’
‘Then how about not looking at any of my goddamn business, then?! I know phishing junk when I see it. Okay?’
‘Sorry, man, but you’re on the list. Several now. That’s not an ordinary Nigerian Prince you’re dealing with there.’
‘My IIPA coverage expired in the Spring – not that that ever really mattered… Anyway, who are we dealing with? The IRGC?’
‘Yes, actually. They’ve been running this racket for a couple of years now. Just came to our attention last Spring, about the time you went out from under general protection. Hard to get a handle on. A lot’s been compromised.’
‘What? With tech secrets? I can see them targeting MIT or CalTech. Why the hell do they care about Pericles?’
‘Oh. They don’t. You’re right about the techies. Had about 3,000 successful cases of Infil so far. The subject matter isn’t it. Here’s what they… How they operate… You click that link and it pulls up a page that looks like your UMB faculty login – exactly like it. You, sleepy or whatever, figure you were timed out and log in again. And, they…’
‘Have my password, etc.’
‘Bingo! Usually gives them root access to not only your files but anything on the server. Very sophisticated shit. You’re a target, personally, because of … you know, obvious reasons.’
‘Well then, when you’re not spying on me – thanks – ever look at their servers? Maybe pin-point one for a good old JDAM sinking?’
‘You know what we’re doing, asset-wise, Tom. A strike? It’s virtually impossible to pin them down. Routed – on the fly – through a hundred proxies world-wide. The lock on the guy we think sent that last batch of bait ended in London. MI-6 would kind of object to dropping a Mark 84 in Kent.’
‘Dunno. If you hit Mayor Mohammad’s house they might approve…’
‘UK servers are right behind ours, hit-wise. You don’t know what’s been lost. Tehran may have the ability to build a knockoff F-35, or certainly, they know its weaknesses…’
‘Yeah. Sand and fog! Flying at night. Or, in the air! Only plane in history known to PMS. I’d think you’d try to Trojan them the blueprints for sabotage. Just give ‘em a whole plane…’
‘Tom, they may be in deep with some of our hardware controls.’
‘Deep like the Chi-Coms that make the crap? Hey! Polack joke time!’
‘Tom, no, it’s never funny to…’
‘What’s the difference between a Polack and an American?’
‘I mean I could get in trouble just for… The new HR people are always looking for a…’
‘The Polack’s still gonna have a country in twenty years! Ha!’
‘Wait. Was that really an American joke?’
‘Aha. It’s been fun, Kid. Really has. Close to midnite here, and as I don’t really give a flying f…’
‘Three more things, brother. From upstairs. Gimme a few for old time’s sake.’
‘Alright, shoot. I’m waiting on Tina and her little sister to come home anyway.’
‘Oh, I was meaning to ask about you two. Everything going okay? She sounds so nice, everything I’ve heard. One of these days, I’m going to Space-A over for a visit.’
‘Is that one of your three things?? … No, things are great. And, you’re welcome any time. Come to think of it, you’d really like her sister. About your age. Seventeen maybe?’
‘Ha. Ha. Funny, funny, grandpa. Anyway. First thing is… uh. The new Trump people are starting to get prepped here. Nothing major yet, but it’s coming, I think. Someone’s already floated questions about your notes on Steinberg and Kahneman. You remember anything recent about Dr. Pedo?’
‘Recent? Yeah. Last I heard he was crashing on Ben Bernanke’s couch. Tell The Donald to go ask Money Man. Better yet, if y’all got a spare ‘84 handy…’
‘No. He was never at the Bernanke household. Even they don’t take those kinds of risks. Mistakes. But, he has gone missing. Or, traveling or something. You heard about that?’
‘Just now, from you. Maybe he’ll have a nice accident somewhere… No, I have nothing to say about that aside from what’s already on file.’
‘Kay. Had to check. Second thing is… Are you familiar with the nocte lupi?’
‘Not personally, no. I’ve heard a few of them while camping in the hills. Whole packs of them still roam the Tatras, per diem tu nocte.’
‘We wanna know about the ones riding Harleys, Tom.’
‘Everyone needs a hobby…’
‘Yeah. Like your’s is cigars. Traffic camera in Zvolen has you on a street corner, smoking Cubans and talking to three Wolves.’
‘Even the damned street cameras! Is nothing sacred?’
‘None of the four of you seemed to know a common language, but you all sure looked like you were trying to find one…’
‘We were all into the smokes! And, they had some wicked cool bikes. Deutsche, by the way. Why them? They’re nice. Good guys.’
‘Not all of them. Again, are you familiar?’
‘With what I read in the papers. Local chickens are a little panicked. Most people don’t care. They’re into charities, kids’ hospital rides, and The Church. They like Bolivars…’
‘They’re paramilitaries…’
‘Hey! Brother… shhhhh… so are you.’
‘Russian shock troops on wheels. Putin’s advanced scouts to the Euro Zone … Okay, it was just that one time. Maybe watch out. We ID’d two of them. Odds are, they know who Tom Ironsides is … was.’
‘And, now he’s known as the nice guy who compliments ape-hangers while tobacco-izing the street… I’m gonna shoot those damned cameras out from now on! What’s the last thing?’
‘Serbia.’
‘Ah, shit. I could have guessed. What now?’
‘It may be nothing. Or, it may be that some shadows are drifting out of the dark past. Maybe wafting the Slovak way… And – this is ALL classified – it may be bound up with the IRGC and with Pedo-Berg.’
‘Highly unlikely. Not together. Whatever else they are, the Iranians are hard-liners against child-raping Satanists – at least of that bent.’
‘No. It’s not a direct link. But there is a nexus. X is looking for Y. Y looks for Z. Z sees Tom the Terror smoking with the Russian three-percenters. You need to be on alert. I’m supposed to forward you an official advisement to return to the US, but I know you won’t heed it. Not yet.’
‘Not yet?? You know I’m always on alert…’
Just then, Tom’s semi-conscious alertness informed him someone was walking up the stairs from the alley. The melodious voices of two women echoed through the apartment.
‘Moj krasny dievcata!’ Tom yelled across the rooms. The two beauties ran into his office laughing and babbling. He spoke to Freddie: ‘Hey, man. They’re back! Gonna put you on speaker for a second. Povedat “Hi!” dievcata! – muz z C-I-A…’
‘Som nahý, chlapče!!’ Tina screamed down at the phone while her sister giggled loudly.
‘Impregnovať ma! Ak nie krívat!’ Her sister yelled. The Euro trio laughed it up as Freddie sat stunned in Virginia.
‘Uh. Hello… Dolby Vermont… Ladies…’ He stuttered. ‘What did they say??’
Tom picked up again. ‘Said you sound real cute… Okay. Anything else Earth-shattering that I need to not care about? Got a party about to start here.’
‘No. Just watch out for…’
‘Hey! They’re pulling my pants off. Gotta go! My hate to the Company!’
Tom hung up and spent the next hour laughing about yoga, sushi, and that cool new Western shoe store at the mall. Senior Officer Freddie Denard lowered the receiver and glanced around at the assembled faces in his office.
‘That’s it?!’ Asked a bitter-looking woman in a pantsuit. ‘He just blows it all off and parties with two sisters.’
‘They’re hot sisters!’ Added a man wearing tactical pants, half sitting on the corner of Freddie’s desk. ‘I’ve seen a photo of the girlfriend. Nine plus. Little sister can’t be far…’
‘Shut you, you disgusting breeder pervert!’ The angry butch shouted.
You shut up, obnoxious bitch… Freddie thought. I didn’t tell him about the ISIS sniper-Navy leads either. Not trying to break his heart or send him rogue…
‘The Bude says he runs a backstop on all his hardware. The Guard couldn’t crack in even if he opened the fake files.’ A man in a lab coat added. ‘Liaison says he probably has a separate shadow system too. Something shielded. But, I get the feeling he really doesn’t care anymore. He’s not a contractor or anything, now, is he?’
Freddie thought a second and answered: ‘No. Fully retired. Apparently having a load of fun… But, he is still something. Now. Always. Folks, that was the voice of the greatest agent in Company history…’
‘Maybe so,’ said the woman, ‘but he doesn’t seem to give a damn about the deadly serious things you just talked about. You could have just zapped the revolutionary spam and let him assume the provider did it. What was the purpose of the call?’
Freddie did what the woman found impossible – he smiled. ‘I just wanted to talk to him.’
* A Tom Ironsides Novel currently undergoes editing and rewriting. Stand by the credit cards.
(Picture © by Perrin Lovett).
19 Friday Jul 2019
Posted in News and Notes, Other Columns
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Okay. As a few of you know, over the past year I have somewhat successfully invaded the realm of fiction. And, I love it. If all goes as I expect, my writing will soon be completely realigned towards that (what I consider) better manner of prose and poetry.
Now, this isn’t one of my usual book announcements – wherein I tout a book and then maybe deliver it five years later (or not). But, this week I did mostly finish the first, rough, and in need of heavy editorial attention draft of my first novel. It’s about a retired spy who becomes a substitute teacher in the public schools. From the (almost certain to) change back cover:
It’s going to be good, and it sets up both an astounding character and an interesting “universe.” Look for it when you see it. No guarantees on a time-frame; the printed manuscript is 400 pages. Much to do. More to come. And, yes. This is the protagonist of a few of my more popular shorts.
PS: Look for more teased short stories here and at TPC.
PPS: I have spruced up the site just a little. More to come/change.
12 Friday Jul 2019
Posted in News and Notes, Other Columns
