I thought back to my early days with the Agency. Back then, back when I'd first transferred over from the Company, some of the others and I formed a little outfit that we liked to call "the Project." We were putting together a program known only as "the Operation." Only a few members of the Project knew that the outcome of the Operation, if it went according to program, would result in a huge shakedown at the highest levels of the Agency. At least, that was the Plan.
As the "outsider inside," having only just come over from the Company, my knowledge and insights would be crucial. Certain phases of the Operation were wickedly subtle, and my information, along with my personal knack for inscrutability, was to play a key part in the central deception involved.
But there were other phases that were not so subtle. Phases that required more direct action: intimidation, even elimination. There was one man in the Project whose Job it was to handle such Tasks. He reveled in it. To the targets he hunted for us, he was known by several names: "The Devastationer"..."The Destructicutioner"..."He Who Hunts Us." But none of us knew his real name. His whole life was a trail of blind alleys, false fronts and conflicting loyalties. And when everything went South, he was left holding the Bag.
Now it seemed likely that some of those chickens were coming home to Roost.
As the "outsider inside," having only just come over from the Company, my knowledge and insights would be crucial. Certain phases of the Operation were wickedly subtle, and my information, along with my personal knack for inscrutability, was to play a key part in the central deception involved.
But there were other phases that were not so subtle. Phases that required more direct action: intimidation, even elimination. There was one man in the Project whose Job it was to handle such Tasks. He reveled in it. To the targets he hunted for us, he was known by several names: "The Devastationer"..."The Destructicutioner"..."He Who Hunts Us." But none of us knew his real name. His whole life was a trail of blind alleys, false fronts and conflicting loyalties. And when everything went South, he was left holding the Bag.
Now it seemed likely that some of those chickens were coming home to Roost.
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