Extra Special Agent John Campbell, of the Impossible Mainstream-media Force (IMF), left his office, his steely eyes darting up and down the wet and windy Wellington street.
Behind those nerdy glasses and that government employee appearance lurked a man who’d stop at nothing to manipulate, emotionalise and “enhance” a good story to within an inch of its life.
Campbell turned the collar up on his raincoat then slipped inside the battered telephone box. Activating the hidden panel, he scanned his thumbprint then entered the 8-digit security code.
“Incorrect. Re-enter code.”
“Shit!”
“Incorrect. You have one more attempt then the phone box will self-destruct.”
“Damnation! You’d think I’d remember my date and year of birth.”
“Code accepted!
Extra Special Agent Campbell. Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to penetrate the secret meeting being held in central Auckland between the three leaders of the future centre-Right coalition government of New Zealand and find out what the hell they’re talking about.
The complete lack of political news is causing consternation amongst the Parliamentary Press Gallery in particular, and the wider MSM in general. Many reporters are seeking propaganda withdrawal counselling and are on the brink of entering real society as dysfunctional beneficiaries.
Joining you on the mission will be Quite Special Agent Jack Tame who will provide technical support and other services, as required.
Should you or any member of your team be discovered the IMF will disavow any knowledge of your actions.
This message will self-destruct in 5 seconds.”
Campbell put the receiver down and was about to ring Tame when the phone blew up.
“Gets me every time.”
Central Auckland - Mission Implementation
The Special Agents met in a quiet corner of a non-descript hotel lobby, a short walk from the location of the secret coalition meeting.
“It’s great to be working with you again, Extra Special Agent Campbell.”
“Call me JC. We may need to communicate quickly and efficiently in life-and-death situations, Agent Tame.
Excuse me….working again? I don’t recall….”
“We collaborated on the same Election Night Special together. But I’ve spent a fair bit of time in the field since then and my mission skills are now second to none.
And please call me JT….JC.”
“Funny, I don’t remember you. But I rarely recall other agents I work with. My mind is so focussed on the job at hand and the verbose, flowery dialogue I’m compiling in my head for the post-mission report.
And, I think you’ll find your skills are second to one…me!
Oh, and our initials sound too similar. You call me JC and I’ll call you Tame.”
“What about Jack?”
“No. Tame’s good.
So what’s the plan?”
“Our intel says they’re meeting on the top floor which is accessed by an elevator with an 8-digit passcode. The emergency stairwell is guarded by multiple security at all times.”
“Piece of cake! I’ve done loads of jobs like this.
We decode the password - it’ll probably be the building manager’s date and year of birth. We wait in the toilets until one of the three leaders has to go, hopefully for just a number one. They’ll be drinking so much coffee it shouldn’t take long. We drug him then I put on the face mask of whichever one turns up.
I go into the meeting and find out all the juicy stuff then we high-tail it back to the news studio.”
“What if two go to the toilet at the same time?”
“Even better! We drug the two of them, then we both put on face masks.
Unlikely though. I mean it could be a bit awkward standing at the urinals making small talk with someone who you’re playing hard ball with.”
“What if all three go to the toilet at the same time?”
“What the hell are you on, Tame? They’re not mates out on the razz on a Friday night having a who-can-piss-the-highest contest.”
“Sorry. Just covering off every eventuality, like they teach us at Agent Training.”
“Right. Let’s meet back down here in ten. We’ll head over and get that code out of the manager.
No Mr Nice guy on this mission, Tame. Do we understand each other?”
“Whatever you say, JC.”
The Special Agents approached the building with a confident air and a don’t-mess-with-me demeanour. Then it all went horribly wrong!
“You didn’t say anything about a revolving door!”
“What about it?”
“I hate revolving doors. I have a phobia about them. I got stuck in one when I was a cub reporter at RNZ. It took literally many minutes to free me. Going round and round and round, but not able to commit to the gap. I was traumatised.
Now I know how a goldfish feels, stuck in that glass bowl with people staring in at you from every direction…. pointing and laughing.”
“We can go in together and hold hands if you like.”
“Listen here, Tame. I’m an Extra Special Agent. Do you think I go around holding hands with Quite Special Agents? No, I do not!”
“OK. Well, like any good Quite Special Agent, I did bring a backup solution with me but honestly didn’t expect to use it. It was only if the elevator failed or we couldn’t bribe or beat the passcode out of the building manager”
“Anything’s better than the revolving door, believe me.”
“These gloves have special sensors which adhere to glass and concrete. They power on and off when you roll your hand. You can literally climb up the outside of the building.”
“I have to admit I’m not partial to heights either but it’s the lesser of two evils.
Hold on! That means only one of us will be able to get up there.”
“Ta Ra! 2 pairs of special gloves, just in case one malfunctioned.
Hope for the best and plan for the worst - the IMF motto. Or is it the other way round?
Now we can both still complete the mission.”
“I’m impressed, Tame. Keep this up and I’ll ask for you again. If I can remember your name, that is.”
“The toilet window is round the side, up the alleyway. Nobody will see us climbing from there.
You go first and I’ll be right behind you. Remember - roll on, roll off.”
“Damn my first-world phobia of revolving doors!”
The two Special Agents started the climb.
Both had done kapa haka in their younger reporting days so had excellent hand-eye-tongue coordination and flexible wrists. They quickly mastered the hand action and were able to make good progress. In only 20 minutes they were almost at the toilet window on the top floor.
Then it all went horribly wrong, again!
“Agent Tame. My right hand glove has started flashing and doesn’t seem as grippy as the left one.”
“That’s a sign the batteries are getting low. We’ll have to hurry.”
“Just another metre then….aah!
It’s come off. I’m dangling by one glove.”
“Hold on, JC. I’ll just climb past you.”
“Oh please, take your time! The other glove’s started flashing now.
Move your ass, Tame! That’s a direct order.”
“Let me get one hand through the open window.
Right, I’m here. Take hold of my free hand.”
“We talked about the hand-holding earlier. I can’t do it. It’s an IMF hierarchy thing.”
“Please yourself but the other glove will pack up soon with twice the weight on it.”
“Fine! Now pull me up to the window.”
“In retrospect, we should have just held hands and gone through the revolving door.”
“Maybe. But that would have subjected me to intense hurt and anguish, not to mention tears and a possible trouser accident. And, it’s not a patch on the story I’ll now be able to tell at our next office party.”
Tame reached down and unlatched the main toilet window and they climbed through, then hid in the end cubicle and waited.
One hour later…..
“What’s keeping them? It’s very cramped in here.”
“Maybe they don’t drink coffee. Or anything, for that matter.”
“It’s important to stay hydrated. It’s good for your skin tone and texture.”
“Really! You obviously drink a lot.
Sssh! Someone’s coming. Lock the cubicle and stand on the toilet in case they look under the door. Then when they wash their hands we can peek out and see them in the mirror. That’s when we’ll make our move.”
“It’s Seymour from ACT. Give me the face mask. This’ll scare the shit out of him.”
“I’ll jab him with the sleeping dart when he turns around. It’s very quick acting.”
Extra Special Agent Campbell left the cubicle and walked to the wash-basin next to David Seymour. He couldn’t wait for the ACT leader’s shock at seeing his doppelganger looking back at him.
Then it all went horribly wrong, again…. again!
“Winston! I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Huh? Oh bugger! Quick jab him.”
“Hold your hand over his mouth and lower him down.
Right, he’s unconscious. It’ll last for at least an hour. Get him in the cubicle.”
“You idiot, Tame. You gave me the wrong mask.”
“They look the same when they’re scrunched up in the bag. Except for Luxon’s mask which has no hair.”
“Mistakes like that can torpedo missions, you know.”
“In my defence, all centre-right politicians seem the same. I often mix them up. They all espouse boring, conservative, old-fashioned notions about freedom of speech and the importance of one-person-one-vote democracies.
They lack the edge, vision and fanatical minority drive of the far Left.”
“Fair enough. That’s perfectly understandable, but don’t let it happen again.
Now, give me the correct mask.
How do I look?”
“Scary but brilliant! A perfect match.
Now, I’ll attach the voice mimicry set and you’ll look and sound just like him. Luckily, you’re a similar height and build too. I’ll get Seymour’s clothes for you to change into.”
Ten minutes later, Extra Special Agent Campbell, now impersonating David Seymour, walked to the meeting room.
He just had to get a copy of all the conditions of the new coalition agreement, exit stage Left, then a quick change and he’d be back at the IMF with the scoop of the year before News at 6 aired.
What could be simpler.
“David! Where have you been? We were about to send out a search party.”
“Bit constipated, Winston, that’s all. All these meetings, the sausage rolls and no real exercise has made me a bit bunged up.”
“Luckily, we’re all done and dusted, so you can hit the gym, and the salad bar, and get things moving again… in every sense of the word.”
“All done, you say Chris? Really?
Shouldn’t we have a thorough recap of all the key points, just to make sure nothing’s slipped through the cracks?”
“Oh, come on. It’s all been recorded and sent to each of our Party Boards for formal ratification. You’ll have another chance to discuss it then.”
“Yes…. right. I’ll just take a printed copy with me for my own records then.”
“You know the rules, David. You should do - you suggested them. No written records which can easily fall into the wrong hands. Everything’s electronic, encrypted and firewall secure.”
“Right. We’re done as far as I’m concerned. See you guys on the government benches.”
“But what about The Treaty Referendum? That was one of my key policies.”
“Yes, and it was all thoroughly discussed and we reached an agreement in the end.”
“And remind me …please. What did we agree on again?”
“David, I’m a little concerned that you’ve forgotten. Are you sure you’re feeling OK?”
“A bit hot actually under this ma… this…. eh ….. light. Gee, these lights are hot, aren’t they?”
“Strange! You’re not sweating.
Whereas Chris’ head looks like he’s been caught in a rain shower. And my shirt collar’s stuck to my neck. But you, not a drop.
Loosen your tie off. Here, we’ll help you. We’re all on the same side of the House now.”
“No! Let go.”
“Come on, David. It’s for your own good. I think you’re a little delirious.
I’m a fully trained first-aider from my time as CEO of AirNZ. You’re in safe hands in my waka.”
“What the hell’s this stuck to your throat? No wonder you’re hot. Give me that.”
“You have a lot of flabby skin around the base of your neck, David. No wonder you always wear a tie. There's a good plastic surgeon at my golf course who could tidy that up for you.”
“Respect my personal space. All this intimate touching is so inappropriate.
I don’t even hold hands with my immediate junior colleagues at work.”
“I should hope not! MP's have had to resign for less.
Wait a minute. Your voice sounds completely different. I’m getting a very uncomfortable flashback to one-sided campaign interviews with our MSM.”
“And that skin’s not real. What the hell’s going on here?
Grab his hair and pull, Chris. I’ve got the bottom part.”
“Tame! Get in here, now!
I’m blown. The mission’s compromised.”
“My God! Extra Special Agent John Campbell of the IMF.”
“What have you done with Seymour?”
“He’s fine. Sleeping like a baby in the end toilet cubicle.”
“JC, are you alright?”
“And running to his master’s voice we’ve got Quite Special Agent Jack Tame. Who else!”
“This is a scandal. It’s on a par with Watergate.”
“I think you mean Three Waters, Chris?”
“And just what are you going to do about it, eh?
The IMF will ensure no mainstream media outlet investigates your claims. Instead we’ll paint you as paranoid and unfit to govern.”
“Great counterpunch, JC.”
“Except, like all our discussions, we’ve recorded the whole thing and you’ve both been identified on tape. If you look up you’ll see a CCTV camera, as well.”
“We were going to wait until Monday to release our agreement conditions but I think we can speed things up in light of these recent events.
And we’ll be announcing it simultaneously with exclusive interviews on The Platform and Reality Check Radio.”
“Ouch. We’ve just been KO'd by a Right uppercut.”
“You can’t ignore the mainstream media. They’ll go apoplectic!”
“We can and we will. Now, where the hell are my clothes?”
“David, you’re back! And looking a lot better than the version we just unmasked, even in your undies.”
“I’ve had enough of this. I’m off back to Northland to enjoy the scenery before I have to head down to our cesspit of government.
Miserable bloody place!”
Mission Aftermath
Following the mission debacle, Extra Special Agent John Campbell was disgraced and demoted to Not-At-All Special Agent-in-training.
Despite many verbose, flowery letters of appeal, largely blaming Tame for the mission failure and citing his own emotional door trauma as a mitigating factor, the IMF rejected Campbell’s case, then installed a new revolving door at the entrance to their building.
Not-At-All Special Agent-in-training Campbell resigned the following day, a broken man.
As for Quite Special Agent Jack Tame, he kept his position but knew that he’d never rise any higher in the organisation.
Failure - as well as freedom of opinion on a host of issues including co-governance, climate change, transgender rights and the Treaty “partnership” - is never an option at the IMF.
Derek Mackie is a former geologist with a keen interest in current affairs and a penchant for satire.
3 comments:
Derek, Sir Peter Jackson is looking for ideas for new New Zealand made film - can I suggest you contact him regarding you "IMF Story".
It can be filmed in both Auckland & Wellington and to promote NZ, it should contain (for all travel between Cities) - copious amounts of "our natural green paddocks, wind turbines" [which should please the Greens], plus road trash, livestock, and our Country Towns.
The only problem is who from the NZ Actor's pool will step forward to play any of the parts offering?
Any suggestions?
Maybe Temuera Morrison could play Winston Peters??? Tem's great, isn't he.
I'm struggling to come up with 4 other "inclusive minorities" to play the 4 whities, though.
Sir Peter's bound to have the right connections.
Dear Mr Mackie.
Thank you for your response to my comment about your article.
Since "reading your reply" I too have been sitting and both contemplating and researching just who within the NZ Actor's pool we could suggest to Sir Peter Jackson who he could/might/possibly - consider/think about/ potentially use.
Let me see, what are my results .....? Hmm. Could you wait till tomorrow, I might have some information. The again .. !
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