Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound Annual 3

“Dr. Tatum,” the director began with a long pause after stating her name, “do you believe that bringing grief and hardship to my doorstep is your sole station in life?” She stared through the steeple of his hands where his face was masked, and she tried to glean his mood from his expression, but too much of his face was hidden to tell exactly where the question was coming from. She did have an idea of where it was going, and she answered in a question.

  “Sir, I don’t know what you mean?” she replied so that he could clarify. If she could just get him to commit to a specific incident, then she could figure out how to address his concerns. His fingertips parted and then rested on the table as if everything that he had carried to the desk was now laid out onto the cold surface of the wood.

  “Let me clarify . . . ,” he started.

  “There we go,” she thought to herself.

  “Where is Sherry Lance?” he asked. She paused before answering.

  “I do not know . . . ,” she started, and then he held up one hand as if to say stop.

  “Where is the man that you hired last? Phil?” he continued.

  “He died at the hands of . . . ,” she responded, and was once again stopped with the gesture of the same hand.

  “And Shakespeare Crush?”

  “Ah, that one I know,” she replied in a clearly frustrated manner. Not frustrated with him yet, but with her own inability to give definitive answers to the previous questions. “He’s on assignment in North Carolina.” There. That should slow him down.

  “Where is Isaac Pound?” he resumed.

  “He’s also on assignment in North Carolina with Crush,” she explained. Two in a row. Her percentage was moving up.

  “I’m glad that you can answer for those last two agents. Good,” the director remarked. “I read your report from last week, and it seems that though they are on assignment, they have neglected to report back to you on their progress at the expected interval.” He leaned forward with his dry lips appearing in the dim light. “Is that correct?” he asked as he licked his lips and then wiped the moisture off of the pruned up ridges.

  “There are many ways to look at it,” she rationalized. “Crush and Pound are dependable field agents, and as you know with other branches of the government, field agents that go in deep sometimes are not able to communicate back to their contacts. It is all a part of covert activity,” Dr. Tatum clarified. The director remained stoic as he waited for her to finish, but she had no other comments for her defense just then. Once he had digested all of her words, he sat back in the dark, and he contemplated quietly where he was going with the meeting.

  “I will make this as plain as possible for you, Dr. Tatum. I don’t like the way you manage, and in my mind, it is time for a change. You will retain your employment with the government of the United States, but you will be reduced in rank to a field agent. Your pay rate will remain locked in where it is, though, it will be several years before you are eligible for a raise,” the director explained as he pushed his chair away from the desk and stood to his feet. “There is an assignment that my last two agents, Seth Hogan and yourself, are required to look into, and I do hope that you two don’t turn up missing like all of your other companions.” Dr. Tatum took the demotion and the subsequent shot across the bow with her head held high.

  “Yes, sir. Will do,” she replied and refrained from expressing any of her personal opinions in the heat of the moment. Satisfied, the director reached a file across the desk, and she accepted it with no hint of a smile or frown. She had her pride, but she would have to swallow as much of it as possible to make room for her new duties. She removed the paper clip that held the folder closed, and she opened the file’s contents out onto the desk.

  “Dr. Tatum. Please take the file with you and report to the location specified in the instructions,” the director said, and she took that as an order and dismissal. With a calm but brisk effort, she cleaned the contents of the file off the desk as the dust motes swirled uncomfortably in the air. She turned to leave the room with the dismissal, and out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the octopus’ eyes on the lamp blink with the movement. With a gentleness that belied her feelings, Dr. Tatum closed the door to the director’s office and left him alone in the dark. When her shadow disappeared and her footsteps had turned a corner, the director flipped his mobile phone open and texted a message.

  “It is done,” the message read, and he waited patiently for the response.

  “Will she do your bidding?” the message returned.

  “It seems so. When the building in Baltimore is clear tomorrow, please close the doors temporarily until further notice,” the director typed into the phone and pressed ‘Send’.

  And just like that, the DAM was closed temporarily for restructuring with four agents on assignment. Four agents who would have no one to contact for assistance except for the director.