“It’s next on the Left.” said the driver.
“Perfect,” said his passenger.
“Just the way I like it.”
Agent Hipkins, code-name Mr Red, checked into his 2-star accommodation and found his room. He dropped his case on the bed and Left his jacket on the back of the door.
Another undercover mission, another cheap hotel.
Secretly recruited at university by SIS (Socialist Indoctrination Service) and planted as a sleeper into the top echelons of the State, he had recently been activated and anonymously assigned to the “intelligence” section of The Disinformation Project (DP).
Both as a deep-cover operative, and in his day job in national governance, Hipkins was fully committed to eliminating dangerous, if not all free speech in NZ and eventually the World, until only safe and reliable socialist government propaganda was Left.
Fresh from infiltrating the far-right majority group, Standing for Women, and their protest in Albert Park, he’d played a covert role in organising the mainstream transgender activists. He was pivotal in “liaising” with media and the police, and supplying projectiles and a liberal quantity of tomato sauce to the “peace-loving” anti-protest mob.
His choice of a motorcycle for getting around the crowds easily on the day had been inspired and the helmet kept his identity hidden.
Mind you, that stupid bloody woman taking a selfie in the road had almost ruined everything. She’d be Left with a bruise to remember.
Not one to bask in his success, he’d just collected his latest mission instructions Left for him at the dead-letter drop outside TVNZ studios.
He checked his watch. Only an hour Left until the meeting with his new contact. Hipkins memorised the directions, then tugged a ginger hair from his head with barely a squeak. Putting the Do Not Disturb sign outside, he stuck the hair across the join between his hotel door and the frame.
Luckily, the door was painted tan brown.
He exited the building and turned Left. Walking briskly but casually, he glanced occasionally in windows to check if he was being followed. You could never be too careful.
Suddenly veering Left through the traffic, he quickly crossed the road then took a sharp Left into an alley.
He whipped his bomber jacket off and reversed it, showing the Eminem design, then tugged his pants well down at the back. Pulled out a baseball cap, jammed it firmly down across his eyes, then inserted a pair of earphones.
Transformation complete!
Unable to see clearly in the dim alley, and concentrating on his new walk, he rap-swaggered straight into a vagrant.
“You all Right, mate?” Hipkins heard the old man ask.
“Definitely not.”, he replied, affronted. “Far from it.”
“Got any spare change Left on you?”
“That’s more like it. Here, take it all. Now, out of my way and get straight down to the local WINZ office and apply for a state house.”
“You’re a Right good sort, sir. But there’s no point, I’m not Maori.”
“Give it back. I’m reporting you to the Human Rights Commissioner for political abuse and extremist language. He’ll see you get what’s coming to you.”
Hipkins snatched back his coins then headed off at speed.
If he was being tailed they’d be Left for dead now.
He Left the alley and entered a square, directly across from the rendezvous. Almost time.
His contact should be sitting under the statue of Queen Victoria - was that meant to be some kind of warped colonialist joke on the part of his handler?
And they’d be reading a copy of The Guardian - that was more like it!
Hipkins scanned Left and Left…then Left again but to no avail.
Maybe they were on the other Left side of the statue.
He executed a Left-leading circuit and…..sure enough, there they were.
From the clothes it was clearly a woman…or a petite transgender male. Her face was hidden behind the paper and Hipkins could have sworn she was reading the political section.
He sat down beside her on the bench and took out his own copy of the Guardian.
To ensure both operatives made contact with the correct person a code phrase had been agreed.
Nonchalantly, Hipkins asked, “Ever been to the Left Bank in Paris? I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”
The mystery woman replied, “No, but I’ve been up the Eiffel Tower without my bag which I conveniently Left at the Gare du Nord Left Luggage facility.”
Preliminaries complete, both smiled and turned to each other. Shock transformed their faces as recognition dawned.
“Chippy, it’s you!”, the woman gasped.
“Mr Red, remember. Never use real names.
What the hell are you doing here?”
“Same as you, I guess. Working for the greater good of global socialist dominance and authoritarianism.
It’s so good to see you again.”
“Now listen….. Miss Scarlett! Let’s keep things strictly professional.
I’ve got to say, your code-name’s a bit Cluedo-ish, isn’t it!”
“And you didn’t get yours from Reservoir Dogs, I suppose?
Oh, forget all that. Nobody’s listening.”
“The last person I was expecting was you….Jacinda. I thought you’d gone to work for Klaus.”
“Yes, well, that didn’t work out, as they say. I did my best to learn German but it’s such a rough-sounding language I found it clashed with my kind and caring nature. So, I decided to come back home and use my talents to further far-Left extremism and progressive wokeness.”
“That’s commendable but we have a mission to complete and we can’t let our past relationship get in the way.”
“When I was your old boss, you mean?”
“Exactly! I’m the senior agent on this mission and you are to follow my instructions.
Are we clear?”
“Jawohl, mein Fuhrer!" Oops, sorry.
That’s how Klaus liked us to respond to his commands at the WEF.
So, what is our mission? They never told me”
“Things are getting rather hot on the Covid vaccine front.”
“Don’t tell me we’ve exceeded 95% of people who’ve pre-registered for the bivalent booster but we’ve grossly under-ordered from Pfizer….again?”
“I wish, but it’s the exact opposite!
Vaccination numbers have crashed due to all sorts of disinformation leaking out from international medical researchers who are raising serious concerns about the safety and efficacy of mRNA vaccines. Our government has doubled-down on the safe and effective Covid message and the media has been whipped into line but the cracks are showing.
We’ve been tasked with devising a damage limitation solution in the event that those in charge lose control of the narrative and are Left with egg on their face.”
“You, and all my old buddies, you mean?”
“You might think that but I couldn’t possibly comment.”
“Scheissen! I could personaly come out of this very badly.”
“Which is why you have a vested interest in ensuring our plan succeeds.
But I wouldn’t worry too much. You’ve largely been forgotten here since you resigned.
Hope you don’t feel Left out.”
“Gott im Himmel!" For once I’m glad not to be the centre of attention.”
“I’d appreciate it if you would stop exclaiming in German.”
“Sorry. I obviously picked up more than I thought from Klaus.
So, what do you have in mind?”
“We need a fall guy who was intimately involved with the whole Covid program, who promoted it from an expert scientific and medical position and who the public associate, above everyone else….apart from yourself, with lockdowns.
And, who is no longer a government appointee.”
“You don’t mean…no, surely….not Ashley?”
“I’m afraid so. Sir Ashley Bloomfield must be the scapegoat who is sacrificed on the altar of woke neo-Marxism.”
“He’d be stripped of his knighthood!”
“That’s what we’d be recommending, as well as losing his cushy new university job and generally being well and truly shamed and cancelled. What do you think?”
“It does seem a bit cruel but…..nah, he deserves it.
I mean he was an actual expert so he should have known better. Whereas, I was just following his flawed advice and trying to do my best for everyone. He clearly Left me in the dark on important issues and I cannot rightly be Left holding the baby, vaccinated or not.”
“OK. Let’s not make it all about you, Miss Scarlett.
By the way, you used the R-word in your last remark which is a blatant breach of SIS sanctioned terminology, albeit what you said was true."
“Verzeihung! Or is it gesundheit?”
"And keep in mind, Uncle Joe had to be just as ruthless when he was purging enemies of the State.”
“I never liked him much. An old pale, stale male. And the creepy way he kept putting his arm around me and calling me Little Lady. Yuk!”
“I’m talking about Joe Stalin, not Joe Biden!”
“Oh yeah, of course! I knew that.”
“So, we’re agreed?
Bloomfield must be hung out to dry while we sweep all the inconvenient truths under the rug. An ill far-right conspiracy theory never blew a socialist any good.”
“That’s a confused medley of mixed metaphors but sums things up perfectly for me, Chippy.”
“Great. I’ll report back to Kate at the DP with our recommendations. Then we can start putting the plan into action”
“Wunderbar! Oh, it’s so nice working with you again. Though it does seem strange not being in charge.”
“Those days are gone, Jacinda. You’ve Left the world of celebrity politics behind and now you’re working in the socialist shadows.
Word of advice - cut your hair short, wear sunglasses and try not to smile too much.”
“Will do….Comrade!”
“Boss will do fine.”
“Look, this is strictly against agency protocol but why don’t we grab a coffee …for old times sake. We can plot the downfall of the weasel and reminisce about our extensive political achievements.”
“I don’t have long. I’m getting the whitening on my teeth toned down a notch at the dentist to make me less conspicuous.”
“Not a problem. There's no way it will take more than 5 minutes!”
“And, if we have time, I can tell you all about my exciting opportunity working with Prince William on the board of his Earthshot prize. It’s perfect for me. I have to travel first class, smile a lot, look stunning, and say “sustainability” heaps. While only socialising with the progressive elite. And the best part is, I don’t have to run for election."
“I think you’ve just already told me!”
“The pay is exceptionally good and the perks are outstanding. Much better than my PM salary. As a dedicated neo-Marxist, money is obviously contemptuous, but we do have a child to support and hubby’s eyeing up a new fishing boat, so needs must when the colonial capitalist drives.”
“Look, let’s get on, shall we?
My disguise is top notch but if you stuff your hair up under your hat, look straight ahead and keep your arms by your side you should be fine.”
“Verdammt! I Left my hat at home.”
“Oh, well. Just go with the last two and you’ll be righ…..righ…..OK.
Phew, that was close. Come on, Hipkins, get a grip!
The dreaded R-word just sneaks up on you sometimes. Like using "he” instead of “they" when meeting the latest Young New Zealander of the Year. What’s his name? Shit, I’ve done it again!”
“You are so Right.
Righty-o, let’s go!”
“Mein Gott, you really are a dummkopf!”
“Oh, that’s so sweet! It’s exactly what Klaus said when I left the WEF.
How funny is that - you knowing the German word for darling.”
Derek Mackie is a geologist with a keen interest in current affairs.
4 comments:
Creative... Fun read.
Fun read?
I thought it was a documentary.
Would make a great short movie, they could play with themselves. Oops, play themselves.
Blockbuster for sure.
Well written, we need more of this in our sad world.
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