Michael Casey Head of Mi5 and Mi6 and why not? ©
By
Michael Casey
Well I read they want a new head of MI5 and MI6 so I thought I’d apply for both, if I don’t get one then I get the other. But don’t tell anybody it’s a secret. I mean If Dame Judy Dench can be M then I can be her top boss, I am M or Michael already, I just want to go higher, through the Glass Ceiling, but having a glass ceiling in a spy place sounds stupid. It’s like somebody losing the Plans of the building, it’s too ridiculous for words, it could never happen. Oh it just did.
So they said stand by your man, I was doing line dancing at the time, and somebody whispered in my ear, so I slapped his face, I’m not that kind of man. I only like women, it was a test to see if I could handle anything, I certainly wouldn’t handle a man, I’m a one woman man, loyal. Then we danced a bit more, the man was persistent, so I slapped his face again, he said his name was Bond, James Bond, I didn’t believe him, he looked like a Colin to me. Or CO LIN if you are American, the things the Americans do to names, it’s just STRANGE, but spelt badly and wrong.
Then later a Korean girl marched passed, perfect line dancing, wearing a KIM T-shirt and a dangerous smile. Obvious I told her I loved Kdrama and maybe Yoona would marry me, or a clone of Yoona. They are very clever in North Korea they clone anything. But she said all she could offer was an extra bag of rice, she was from the local take away.
But really that was a cover, she was in MFI, the furniture store, constructing a cover life. Really she was a spy, I knew it, the way she carried a bag of rice gave it all away. Later as we waved our cowboy hats in the air she spoke, meet outside the public toilets at noon, and you’ll be picked up and taken for your interview. Then she kissed me lingeringly and felt my amble behind, before slapping my face hard, she’d seen Where Eagles Dare, so she was playing her part well, too well.
Outside the public toilets there was a queue of old ladies, there always is, the only bench in the town is there, so old ladies fight over it so they can sit and have a fag. Or cigarette if you are a confused American. A car pulled up, I thought it was a drugs dealer, Fatty get in, he shouted at me. The old ladies thought I was on the game, moi, a male prostitute or something. But it was all part of the cover. Hello I’m Rodger said Rodger, I really thought he was on the game, as Roger is a verb in England, and if you are American ask the vicar to explain.
He drove me to the local library, and told me to look for Sherlock Holmes, I could not find any on the shelves so I asked the Librarian Fran, only it was not Fran but the Korean girl, as she spun around it was love at first sight. Her woolly jumper and skirt were just too much for me,what with the horn rimmed glasses, she had power over me. My behind had bruises to prove it. Then in Queens English Miss Korea explained, look for Sherlock Holmes and pointed. In a corner there was a man all dressed like Sherlock, not the deer stalker one, the American tv one. And yes Miss Korea’s real real name was Watson, as in what’s on tv tonight, Elementary, obvious isn’t it?
The drug using guy in the corner was there to interview me. And why do you want to be Head of MI5? Because as James Bond is retiring I thought I’d tidy up the firm. He rolled his eyes not because of my answer but because whatever stuff he was using had just kicked in. While he tripped away, an old dear shuffled towards us and sat down.And why do you want to join MI6? Because you want more stamps in your passport.
So they pinged and ponged and asked questions, about this and that and the other. Would I do anything for Queen and Country? Would I go to bed with a man, if that’s what I had to do, and yes they’d seen that French Secret Service show on tv as well. I stuttered and fixing my gaze on Watson in the distance I tried to imagine her as a Kim, and failed, she was just too, too, too unbelievably pretty. No I could do anything but that, even sing the Meatloaf back catalogue,but I could break any man, I am 116kilos or 18 stones, or 252 pounds if you are an American. So I’m body slam them and throw their body in a ditch, providing that no Borises were there. They smiled at that for some reason.
They then took me for tea, Watson looked on admiring, she still had skin from my behind stuck under her nails, it was intoxicating her. At the transport cafe next door there was a test, could I steal a truckers heart, by stealing his 18 wheeler with my 18 stones.So I stole some truck keys and drove the MFI truck and trailer to the MFI store further up the road, the spooks aren’t stealers after all.
We returned to the library, there there was a final test. Kill Watson, could I kill in cold blood. Just like in The Kingsman where you have to kill a dog, and the British do love animals more than their children after all. So I sneaked up on Watson in the True Romance section, I fluttered my eyelids, and revealed the man with the child in his eyes. We backed up to Sci-Fiction and grappled, her tongue against my tongue, it was a tongue fight. We went through the Biology section, grappling more and more. We reached the Fire Exit, now after having distracted her, her a double agent, as I was told I was going to gently strangle her, with my old school tie,the green and red of George Dixons Grammar school for Boys.
I was never confused about my gender, though I did once wear my mother’s dress and stockings,I was just hoping I would not be outted for doing that during the vetting process, I’d just have to keep my legs crossed, and my ladies frilly knickers on. Watson fainted in my arms as her nails broke in my buttocks, it would have been perfect love making, buttocks, I mean but I’d been told to kill her. Forgive me I whispered, the happy Line Dancing memories still as fresh as paint in my mind.
Then I was hit on the back of the head and blacked out. Korean Watson was no double agent, it was all a test. I awoke half naked above a Korean food store, Watson looked at me. You did not get the job, either of them. But they said I could keep you as a trophy fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England. Then she winked. Or maybe I’m just prawn crackers.
