“Revelations at the Ice Cream Stand”

c. 2007 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(5-07)



It was a quiet morning in Thompson. Sunlight had just begun to filter through treetops at the edge of our yard. I had both of our canine residents leashed and ready for a brief excursion. Coffee steam rose playfully from my cup. Together, we walked across the empty road, facing east. Quigley, the family Pomeranian led our team with discipline and resolve. I sipped coffee while considering the brightening sky. Riley, our new Lab puppy, bounced and fidgeted while following our march. His black profile blended into the waning shadows.

Suddenly, there was a chirp from my cell phone. I jumped with surprise. "Who’d be calling me so early?" The number in my Caller ID display was a line of gibberish. Something made me feel cold. But I answered after a deep breath. "Hello?"

"Good morning Mr. Ice," the caller said, without emotion.

"Uhm… may I help you?" My throat was dry.

"Rod," he said. "It is good to speak with you. I work to protect our… national security. We have similar goals. You are a very independent fellow. A journalist that won’t be silenced."

I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"We’ve been reading your reports for many years," the caller continued. "No one else wrote about the ‘Tube Farm’ mystery. That was very courageous. Then you uncovered the plot to turn Burton Village into a truckstop by breaking local spirit through the ‘Pancake Water Tower.’ Your work has been commendable."

I coughed. "Look, sir. I write for entertainment. Do you understand?"

There was a long pause. "Rod, you’ve been skillful in using the guise of local humor to cover controversial messages. Like your cryptic meeting at Thompson Drag Raceway with secret personalities, for example…"

"Look, Agent X," I insisted. "All of that was fabricated. Like a comic book! Or an episode of ‘Heroes’ on NBC."

"Of course!" he chortled. "Raw truth makes powerful figures fearful. A journalist must take care not to be eliminated."

My blood pressure began to rise. "Let me offer you some advice. Go back to Washington and tell them you got lost on the way here… or that you got your North Korean sources mixed up with ones from North Kingsville. Tell them anything. But leave me alone! Okay?"

There was another pause. "Rod, did you know that Hillary Clinton will be elected to the White House in 2008?"

"That isn’t news." I said with sarcasm. "Tell me Dennis Kucinich will win the Oval Office… now THAT would be a story!"

There was a distinct sigh over the phone. "We deal in fact, not fantasy, Mr. Ice!"

I laughed out loud. "Many people suspect that Hillary will win, easily. But others reckon Barack Obama will make it a lively contest."

The Agent snorted. "Obama will be her Vice President."

My skin tingled. "Really? I’d guess he would be better off to wait until 2012…"

"Politics is a game of compromise," he observed. "For that reason George H. W. Bush accepted the same position in deference to Ronald Reagan. Do you remember?"

I nodded. "Yes, of course…but how can you possibly know who will win a contest before it’s over? What about John Edwards? Or Fred Thompson? Or Rudy Giuliani?"

He snorted with indifference. "The choice has been made already!"

Quigley and Riley were busy playing in the grass. They wrestled over ownership of a withered tree branch. Neither was big enough to carry the treasure away.

I had grown impatient. "My pets are restless. I’m in the middle of a morning walk. This conversation is going nowhere. So let me say goodbye!"

Ending the call abruptly made both dogs snap to attention. I gestured down the road. "Okay boys, here we go!"

Silence made the brightening day strangely ominous. No birds were singing. The sunrise was pale, and unfulfilled. We strode carefully at the asphalt’s edge, though there was no traffic in motion. The world around us had… stopped!

Then, I saw it. WE WERE NOT ALONE!

In front of the empty Thompson Ice Cream Stand, a black limousine was waiting. It bore no markings or license plate of any kind. A tinted window opened, dramatically. I could not see inside.

My phone rang again. The sound made me jump!

"Rod, you were rude just now," Agent X said. "That is out of character. But as you can see, we don’t need to speak by electronic means. Would you approach my vehicle, please?"

Quigley growled defensively. Riley hid in a thicket of tall grass. But after considering my options, I complied at last. The vast slab of metal seemed to consume sunlight, like a black hole. The surrounding air was unusually cold.

"You are very persistent!" I observed. Only a slit of light revealed that anyone was inside the vehicle.

"Indeed," he responded. "What I bring to you, today, is of great importance. You must carry the message to your readers. Unprecedented actions are going to commence in the coming years. Their development will be possible because of silence from Washington. But not all of us at ‘The Company’ agree. That is why I am here. YOU can help us foil the plot, and maintain sanity in the USA."

I gasped. "Me? A small-town reporter??"

"It must be a grassroots effort," he insisted. "My identity… and my partners… need the cloak of anonymity to remain alive. As before, you can communicate the message! We need your help!"

"Okay, since you won’t take a hint…" I said with resignation. "Tell me. What’s the scoop?"

Agent X stroked his chin. "It is a three-part strategy. The first phase has already been implemented – gas prices are rising to insane levels. This non-violent step will precede the next two. As unrest increases, our domestic beer supply will be targeted by foreign operatives. Once crippled by coordinated strikes, our breweries will no longer yield product. America will be a desperate, thirsty land."

My jaw dropped open. "Now who is dealing in fantasy?"

"The threat is quite real," he replied.

"Okay," I said. "What is their plan for an encore?"

"Selective poultry breeding has begun already," he whispered. "A brood of wingless birds is being developed at a secret farm in Kentucky. The genetic code will be spread… through clandestine means… industry-wide."

"Birds that can’t fly?" I said, mockingly.

He frowned. "It would be better characterized as ‘Limbs that can’t fry’ I think… no more Buffalo Wings. No more beer. No more SUVs and pickup trucks. No more America as we know it now."

I shuddered. "So, I’d guess that President Hillary would react immediately?"

"In principle," he agreed. "But without substance. Many progressive leaders will call it a blessing of consequences. They already desire action on the crisis of domestic obesity. Many also want to eliminate personal autos in favor of mass transportation systems. The calamity will serve their needs. And, unify citizens against a common threat."

I was stunned. "The government would just… let it happen? Wouldn’t voters rebel?"

Agent X smiled at my ignorance. "Don’t you read Alex Jones? Everything is decided at the Bohemian Grove. What the nation is allowed to witness constitutes public relations material. Nothing more. It is a puppet show for adults. A dependable cycle between left and right is maintained to keep regular citizens hopeful and… cooperative."

"So, who do YOU work for?" I wondered aloud. "Us… or them?"

He was amused. "A question with merit, Mr. Ice. The answer is a matter of perspective. Look inside yourself… to whom does your own loyalty belong?"

"The people!" I shouted. "And liberty!"

"Very good," he said in reflection. "Then serve their needs. Write the story now. Spread the word. Our cause is just!"

The limousine window rolled up, suddenly. A squawk of tires sent gravel into the air. I narrowly avoided being knocked to the ground!

Quigley and Riley were glad to be on the move. We returned home, immediately! My wife was waiting with a fresh pot of coffee.

"So," she smiled. "Did your walk help those gears turn inside your head? Tell me you’ve got an idea for the next newspaper column."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, yes… I’ve got an idea. But I think another feature on pork rinds would be a safer bet…"

Liz bit her lip. "Huh?? What are you trying to say?"

My words came deliberately. "I’m saying it isn’t safe to leave the house before having a cup of Joe… don’t ever let me do that again!"