'As long as we're going to be stuck in this wooden crate for some time along with the chicken and livestock do you mind telling me what the hell is going on?'
'Most of the information you require is classified.'
'Well, what isn't classified? Who am I going to be working for? CIA? MI6?'
'It's a joint operation? You serious? I thought you guys shared the occasional bit of information and that was about it.'
' There's been a few joint operations that have been quite successful. Overthrowing Mohammed Mossadeq, Patrice Lumumba, etc.'
'When was that? The 50's? 60's?'
'Admittedly there are a few operations that I'm not at liberty to mention. Official Secrets Act and all that. And your average CIA operative thinks that the SIS is filled with communist homosexuals and your average SIS man thinks that the CIA give away state secrets for blowjobs from Malaysian hookers. So apart from the odd bit of distrust, repressed hatred, mild xenophobia and the belief that one agency is far superior than the other, everything is peachy.'
The plane shudders a little from the turbulence and banks a little to the left. A cow moos, defecates.
I keep thinking that the two agencies are like an old married couple who can't stand each other but come from an era where divorce is not a viable option. So they bicker a lot, hide things from each other and have built a strong resistance to arsenic just in case things get ugly.
The result of a wasted life,