Alan Moore’s “League of Extraordinary Gentlemen” inspired this homage. However, instead of literary classics I use 90’s American Television as my gimmick. Shits & Giggles ahead.
Nikita’s fingers shuffle down a row of dusty book spines. Finally, she snatches up a thick tome. It’s binding cracks open like arthritic knuckles and reveals pages of foreign script.
How such a valuable book ended up hidden in a high school library is of immediate interest to the Special Agent.
“Where did you get this?” Nikita emerges from the stacks barking at her hostage.
“PTA Donations.” The librarian deadpans through his British accent.
Nikita smashes him across the jaw with the ancient book. “You’re lying!?” But it’s no use – he’s passed out.
With the priceless text in hand Nikita steals a Porsche from the student lot and speeds East, towards the desert, away from Sunnydale, California.
* * *
“May I have one of those?” President Bartlet thinks a Morley cigarette might keep his hands from shaking. “They don’t like me smoking in the Oval but, hey, it’s one of those nights.”
A cigarette smoking man, the only other person in the room, hands Bartlet the whole pack.
The President lights up, “When you get the job there’s no mention of all this ‘top-top-secret’ business.”
“Best not to think about it.”
A call from Nikita interrupts them. She’s on a pay phone along the I-Five. Everything is going to plan. She has the book.
The President enjoys a moment of relief, his sense of control returns. “These conspiracies; it’s over. After this mess is straightened out I’m shutting it all down. Tell that to your paranoid masters.”
The smoking man shows himself out, “Your time here is limited, Mr. President… but the Syndicate is forever.”
* * *
Johns Hopkins University is a place where new ideas and old ghosts intermingle freely. Here; Detective Frank Pembleton expects to solve a murder.
“I’m a scientist.” Dr. Spengler points to the ‘Paranormal Psychology’ plaque on his door. “I can’t d+o your job for you.”
“An educated guess then? Please? I’m at a dead end.” Frank lays out crime scene photos of a woman wrapped in plastic and washed up on the Patapsco River. “She used to be on that news show out of DC; the one with the single mom and the two dollar Dan Rather.”
“I don’t watch TV.”
Frank sucks his teeth, “There’s a dozen dead women across the country that fit this same profile.”
“Not sure what makes you think I can help.”
Frank hastily gathers up the photos and snickers bitterly, “Just this stupid dream I keep having.”
“Dreams? About me?”
“Sometimes I see a little man in a red suit and all he can say is your name. So.” Frank taps his bald head furiously, “Here I am.”
“Detective,” Spengler touches Frank’s arm, “This man in your dream; does he appear cloven hoofed?”
To Be Continued…