There was nothing remarkable about the boardroom in the slightest. It was plainly adorned, with nothing except for some generic-looking still lifes mounted to the walls. The long table with accompanying chairs spoke to no particular style, and the view outside of the room gave no spectacular vistas to behold.
Even less remarkable were the men in black suits who filed into the boardroom and sat down. Although they were all of different races and ages, they were all nondescript men with nothing else to set them apart. Some wore glasses, some had their hair slicked back like Pat Riley in his Lakers-coaching days, and some of them wore their standard-issue black suits uncomfortably.
As they sat, Fabian Rourke entered the room, dressed in pinstripe grey, standing out decidedly from the rest. He sat at the head of the boardroom table with a briefcase that he opened on the tabletop.
After perusing through some papers, he shushed the murmurs of the other men and proceeded to begin the meeting.
"Thank you all for making it out here. As you all know, it's the end of the second quarter and the shareholders are anxious to hear the quarter-end reports. I'm going to skip the minutes from the last meeting-- you know, I never got that whole 'minutes' thing to begin with. I mean, I know why it's done, but why call it 'minutes'? Why not call it 'all the shit we talked about last time?'"
The rest of the men laughed freely. Fabian's youthful vigor and sense of humor often kept the Council meetings from divebombing into banality.
"We'll start from the bottom this time around. Nimbus, what you got?"
Mr. Nimbus began to speak nervously. An expert in his field, he was nonetheless ill-equipped for public speaking.
"Ah, yes, well, the pop cultural barometer has been, uh, swinging... in quite healthy ways. After the Trial Of The Century took people's minds off of current events such as Rwanda and Kosovo and Bosnia, I instructed my staff to focus on more celebrity trials... it, uh, seems that we've hit some sort of jackpot in that area, because as all of us here know, celebrities are-- on the whole-- dirtier and more decadent than normal folk. This can, er, be attributed to the special privileges that Council Corps affords them. No doubt Mr. Latham--" Nimbus motioned to the man seated to his right --"will brief us properly on that when his turn comes up... but as far as I'm concerned pop cultural affairs are swiftly moving towards a greater divide between our, um, agents, and the other side. We have training programs, um, in effect at the moment to breed new cultural icons in the near future. Depending on, er, whoever takes over the White House in 2000, we have a slew of agents-in-waiting, fully unaware of their purpose until it's, um,
trigger time. Council Corps sponsors these up-and-comers, of course, but we are never sure whether we're going to be working for Red or Blue, so we... we cultivate potential operatives for either side. It's a way of, uh, hedging our bets, so to speak..."
Nimbus fumbled with papers and coughed and seemed completely unprofessional, but this didn't faze Fabian Rourke.
"Good work, Nimbus. Latham-- hit me with your report."
Mr. Latham, in contrast with Mr. Nimbus, was cool, calm and collected.
"As Nimbus pointed out, my division keeps the world's powerful people-- the rich, the famous, the influential --in check by doing what the CIA and FBI used to do, before the work was outsourced to Council Corps. For example, we have Gates in our pocket, for sure, thanks to information that we gathered on him a while ago. If he knows what's good for him, he's with us. But we had a slight breach recently, no thanks to this whole Lewinsky thing... why she is playing for the other side is still unclear, and most likely she was merely sloppy as opposed to treacherous... I think Tripp's tape recordings made it hard for us to send out discreditors."
Fabian asked Latham, "Is Tripp from the other side?"
Latham replied, "As far as I know, Mr. McGinty, no. I have my men looking into it. Nimbus and I have been working an angle in the press, though-- I mean, have you seen what this Tripp looks like? She looks like a fat man in drag. Totally unappealing."
Chuckles in the boardroom abounded.
"Luckily, Nimbus' people are developing Operation Makeover for future implementation, and she won't be able to benefit from that because it's our territory. Paula Jones taught us a lesson-- never let them reinvent themselves. I mean, Jones was still dog-ugly after all the work, but now that we have the plastic surgery industry in our camp, Tripp won't be able to get out from under the campaign we have ready for her."
"Can we get her to stay on our side?"
"No, Mr. McGinty. I don't think she can be trusted."
"Obviously, neither can Lewinsky, and she was with us," Fabian replied.
Latham furrowed his brow. "I wonder about that, sir."
"You think she was a double?"
"Possibly. I'll let Strindberg fill you in on that. But as far as my report goes, we are keeping an inventory on all of our blackmail materials. Video technology has allowed us to gather more and more incriminating evidence against people who know too much, or just people with big mouths. The great thing, though, is that most of the surveiilance we do is
voluntary-- thanks to Nimbus' campaigns, Americans are becoming more and more vain. Thus, they videotape themselves doing the most insane things-- illicit things. Sex with underage girls, drug dealing, murder even... we don't have to send spooks out into the field. All we have to do is send plumbers. Thieves. Burglars. It's as if these people
want to be put into compromising positions-- they're doing half of the work for us!"
Fabian Rourke laughed. "As Mr. Burns would say,
excellent!"
Latham laughed, being a
Simpsons fan himself. "Thank you, Mr. McGinty."
"Okay," Fabian continued. "Next, politics. That's you, Strindberg."
Strindberg stood up to deliver his report. "First of all, Lewinsky was not a double agent. I can verify this with the following briefs, of which I took the liberty of making copies for all of us to look over. " Strindberg passed stapled Xeroxes of the briefs to everyone else in the boardroom. "Unfortunately --and this is no disrespect to you, Mr. Nimbus, because I admire your work and have seen its effectiveness --unfortunately Lewinsky can be considered an example of Nimbus' campaigns being too successful."
"How do you mean?" Nimbus asked, out of turn and with a tinge of hurt.
"Well, in Lewinsky we have the perfect Narcissist: a woman who was so self-absorbed and centered upon herself that issues of national security went out the window when it came time to fulfill her fantasies... fantasies that are a direct result of Operation Vanity and all of your work, Nimbus. Like I said, it's not meant as a dig... if anything, it means you're just too damn good at what you do."
"I don't take it as an insult, Mr. Strindberg," Nimbus replied. "But it scares me to think that a breach of this magnitude can, er, derail our progress. It's counterproductive. But, I'm glad you are bringing it to my attention, at least... now we can work on, um, ironing out the kinks. I apologize if I seemed a tad, I dunno,
upset."
"And I apologize for coming off accusatory," Strindberg remarked.
"Okay, enough of the niceness," Fabian said. "Continue, Mr. Strindberg."
"Thank you, Mr. McGinty. Now, if you look at Lewinsky's psychological profile, which is on page 22, you'll see that the young lady has a predilection for men in power. Coupled with what is commonly referred to as 'daddy issues', we have a woman who saw an opportunity to achieve a pure narcissistic state... unconsciously, of course. All of our work is done on subliminal levels, so Lewinsky is just as confused as to why she did what she did as anyone else. People in these situations chalk it up to 'passion' or 'emotion' but since we here at Council Corps have empirically proven that there are no such things as emotions and passions, we can only conclude that it was a reaction to our own technology. Lewinsky is a Frankenstein monster, if you will, a creation that turned on its creators... only she doesn't know that she turned on her creators."
"Interesting," Fabian Rourke said, his hand scratching his chin. "What is the likelihood of this happening again?"
"Mr. Yoyo can take over on this point," Strindberg said, as he sat down.
The mere mention of Mr. Yoyo's name made the entire room go silent. The stocky Asian man, who sat quietly as the others waited to hear his report, let the silence ring out for a good deal of time, until Fabian Rourke had to prompt him to speak.
"Mr. Yoyo, we're waiting."
"You will not like my report, Mr. McGinty."
Fabian Rourke did not smile. For the first time since the beginning of the meeting, he was angry. Mr. Yoyo evoked strong feelings in people, and Fabian knew that, even though Yoyo was allied with Council Corps and everything they stood for, to trust Mr. Yoyo completely could be disastrous for all involved.
Plus, even though he didn't mind being called "McGinty" by his unsuspecting staff, there was something about the way Mr. Yoyo said it... as if he knew that it wasn't Fabian's real name.
"Try me," Fabian said to Mr. Yoyo.
Yoyo sighed. Then, he reclined in his chair, his fingers bridging each other, and began to speak.
"The likelihood of something akin to the Lewinsky affair happening again is very high. This is not a reflection on your work, Mr. McGinty, nor is it a reflection upon the work of your intelligent and industrious staff. Council Corps has succeeded in its goal for over three decades thanks to people like us, who know that out of chaos there must be order. We set the standards, we organize the folders, we keep the numbers level... but I have always thoroughly rejected the science behind your assertion, Mr. Strindberg, that emotions are nonexistant. I reject it because I believe in chaos-- that is why I head the Mayhem Division. It is a dirty job, and I am well-suited to implement its policies. And in my line of work, there are a few things that I have learned.
"One of those things is: you cannot underestimate human incompetence. It is incompetence that makes the world go 'round, not efficiency, not progress, not order. Although I agree that we as a corporation must keep the reins of power firmly in our hands, I do not agree that human error can be eliminated. That is the reasoning that the other side holds dear to, and look what it has done for them-- nothing. Their victories over us are miniscule compared with their errors. Likewise, our minor triumphs over their forces only keep us from acknowledging the one absolute truth that binds all things together."
Fabian, exasperated, asked, "And what is that truth, Mr. Yoyo?"
Yoyo smiled as he answered. "It is this: The more things change, the more they stay the same. And if we continue to delude ourselves into thinking that we can change the course of humanity, through mind control, through media manipulation, through lies and deceit, then we are no better than the sheep that we herd daily through their mundane lives. We must avoid falling prey to the very vices we accuse the masses of indulging in. Maybe Nimbus' vanity campaigns are taking a toll on us as well as on their intended targets."
Nimbus became outraged and screamed, "Yoyo, you're full of shit!"
A clamor arose in the boardroom. Murmurs and mumbles filled the air. Finally, Fabian "McGinty" Rourke calmed everyone down and began to speak.
"Okay, okay, okay... Enough. Now, listen here. Yoyo, don't you think those thoughts haven't crossed my mind? Don't you think that I havent contemplated that line of logic when I was working my way up through Council training? I am not ignorant to the dangers of our work. Maybe in Tokyo they do things differently, but over here, we have to toe the line and work with what produces results. Nimbus' work is far from perfect, Yoyo, but he gets
results. If we are to create a completely narcissistic society by the end of this millenium, if we are to reach our goal before the other side makes a play, if we are to reach our destination in order to subvert all of the other ogranizations out there who want to throw their hats into the World Domination ring, then
we have to keep our focus. We're not doing this because we are power-mad, Yoyo. We are doing this because people out there in the real world don't know any better! They make horrible decisions based upon their
desires... they have thrown logic out of the window and are strangers to consequence. The collective IQ of the United States alone is pathetically low, and so we have a lot of work to do. We need to reintegrate the world into a new society that they won't be able to transit into unless we supply the psychological cocoons necessary to soften the blows."
"I understand, sir." Mr. Yoyo's face betrayed no sign of what he was thinking.
"I hope you do," Fabian continued. "As a Mover, your job is far more field-orientated. You take big risks constantly, and I know that it is more stressful than any other post here, save my own. But I need you to do me a favor and get that notion out of your head. It won't help you in this line of work. In fact, it will hold you back-- it will handicap you. I don't need someone making moves for me who thinks it's a fruitless affair. You can't carry out assassinations or bring down puppet governments while thinking that way, Yoyo."
Fabian wiped his brow. Then, he smiled again.
"Is that your report?"
Yoyo said, "I wasn't done. I apologize for digressing."
"Well, finish up."
"Certainly. The main thing I have to report is that there is much uprising in the Arab community, specifically the radical Muslims who see America and the West as 'infidels'. Something is being planned, that I can tell you. An act of terrorism, perhaps."
"On par with Oklahoma?" Fabian asked.
"Bigger," Yoyo replied. "Harsher. It is bound to change the game 100%. We might not know where we stand if the Arabs make their move."
Fabian turned to a man named Simon who sat to his left. "Simon, what's the military lowdown?"
"Yoyo's telling the truth. However, we are in the dark. We're thinking it may be another attempt on the Twin Towers..."
"Yeah, that worked out
real well," a man named Corsair said aloud. Everyone except for Fabian laughed.
"We got lucky with that one," Fabian noted. Simon nodded his head in agreement and continued to give his report.
"Indeed, we did. Our ties to the feds & the spooks were stronger back then. Nowadays, the military is reluctant to work with anyone because of what President Clinton has done to the military budget. Luckily, Council Corps isn't seen or viewed as being partisan in any way. That's what's kept us alive for the past ten years or so."
"Are the Arabs in cahoots with the other side?"
"No, they're in it for themselves. But you can thank the other side for the rise of Islamic fundamentalism in the first place-- remember how we said Lewinsky is our Frankenstein monster? Well, terrorist groups like The Core are the Frankensteins of the other side. They are the results of their intervention into places like Iran and Afghanistan, the offspring of the drug routes in Pakistan. They are more likely to bite the other side's hand than ours. In fact, the Twin Towers bombing was supposed to happen on Bush's watch, not Clinton's, but they were a little behind schedule and at the time they saw no difference between the two camps..."
"There
is no difference," Mr. Yoyo chimed in.
Simon, annoyed by that outburst, replied, "Yeah, well,
we know that. Thankfully, the average citizen doesn't."
Fabian smirked. "This is one regard where I will sort-of agree with Yoyo, people. Keep in mind always-- there are no party sides. Don't get wrapped up in thinking that the other side is that much different from us. Only in tactics do they differ-- they prefer to treat the masses as inanimate objects, subjecting them to soul-crushing experiences as opposed to redirection. The other side props up morality and religion and values but it's just a charade. They want the same thing as we do. As for the radical Arabs, they actually believe the Qu'ran and all that shit. That's what they want-- to set mankind back a thousand years. It just won't work."
"So what do we do?" Nimbus asked.
After a pause, Fabian Rourke said, "We turn up the ratchet, that's what we do."
Fabian's staff concurred. "Yes, Mr. McGinty," they all said in unison.
CHAPTER SIX COMES NEXT WEEK...
