The Peaceful Affair: Chapter 22
“Mmm, that smells good,” declared Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Jefferson, as he entered the apartment that evening. “What is it, Captain?”
“Canned meat loaf and mashed potatoes, sir,” replied Captain Napoleon Jefferson from the kitchen bunker, where she was busily mashing potatoes with a hand grenade.
“When will dinner be served?” asked her husband, taking off his coat and arranging it in the duffel bag.
“Twenty hundred hours, sir,” came the timely reply.
“Location?” inquired the colonel.
“Mess hall, sir,” answered the captain curtly.
“Very well,” replied the senior-ranking Jefferson. “I shall now retire to my quarters.”
“Sir,” his wife called after him.
“Yes, Captain?”
Saluting, she reminded, “Just reminding the colonel that in honor of our wedding anniversary, tonight’s dinner will be dress uniform only.”
“Very well, Captain. Carry on.”
Half an hour later, sweat covering his entire body from the colossal exertion, Thomas Jefferson had finally figured it out: Twenty hundred hours was when the big hand touched twelve and the little hand touched eight. And not a moment too soon had he succeeded in this acute cerebral feat: The little hand was fast approaching eight and the big hand was at eleven. Softly cursing time and again, the colonel donned his dress uniform in three-and-a-half minutes sharp, took all of forty-one seconds to remove the gift from its hiding place in the Senior Officers Club (majors and above), and reached the mess hall in a dignified forty-nine seconds, just as Old Clock Moses, wise beyond his years, sounded the first of eight chimes.
“Colonel in the mess hall — ten hut!” cried Napoleon Jefferson and rose swiftly to stand at attention. Her husband strode in and performed a detailed inspection, finding the mess hall to be in satisfactory condition. He then handed his wife a khaki military rose and a wrapped box.
“Thank you, sir,” said the captain, maintaining a posture so erect one could readily understand her being constantly assigned to flagpole duty.
“At ease, Captain,” replied the colonel graciously.
“May I open the gift at present, sir?” asked his wife respectfully.
“You may, Captain,” responded her husband, deeming protocol could be slightly relaxed on such an occasion.
Captain Jefferson unsheathed her formal sword and delicately unwrapped the present, only to find the past inside: Encased in a magnificent leather pouch was their finest moment, when the two had been sent on a mission in CENSORED to CENSORED the CENSORED CENSORED of the CENSORED CENSORED. Captain Jefferson gave the colonel a curt military kiss.
Dinner ensued silently, ending after seven minutes precisely, whereupon the formal dance began. Colonel Jefferson marched over to the music player, selected the single available single in a highly decisive manner, and launched his favorite military dance march.
The martial marital couple engaged in a ceremonial war dance, swaying and rocking to the gentle breeze of the march, until the colonel executed a most lamentable error, wielding his sword to the left rather than to the right, consequently sending the two spinning straight into a rain dance.
“Light showers in the living room,” announced the weatherman, a lively chap who used to work at Ocean Planet as a marine dolphin, “with a small chance of thunderstorms in the mess hall.”
Instantly realizing it was time for some quick etymological action, the captain sprouted “umbra”, a dense Latin word meaning “shaded area”, watered it with a diminutive to form “umbella”, swiftly transformed the small Latin cutie into a fine Italian “ombrella”, finally to engender “umbrella”, which she placed proudly within the bosom of the Queen’s English. In the rainy debriefing that followed, the colonel commended the captain’s deeds, and mentioned he was considering recommending her for the Silver Stair, a military decoration awarded for etymology in action.
All in all, it was quite an ordinary wedding anniversary.
“All in all, it was quite an ordinary wedding anniversary,” commented the colonel, and strangled a nascent yawn. “I think it’s time we readied ourselves for tonight’s mission.”
The two left-righted to the briefing booth, where the colonel began his sermon forthwith, only to discover a blue herring had chosen to lounge in his throat. “I can’t brief! I can’t brief!” he shouted chokingly, prompting his wife to successfully perform a high milk maneuver, involving the baiting of the herring with goat milk.
Fifteen minutes later, with the colonel garbed in his splendid red-and-azure camouflage suit and the captain clad in her pink-lace commando outfit, the husband gave the order and the two headed out into the pregnant night.
The stealth helicopter landed quietly on the roof, and the pilot handed the keys to the valet who stood next to the Stealth Helicopter Valet Parking sign.
“I’ll wait for you in the Jacuzzi,” the aviator informed the couple, pointing to a sign reading Jacuzzi — Stealth Helicopter Pilots Only. The colonel nodded as he and his wife poured out of the flying vehicle.
“Alfa, this is Beta, do you read me?” Lieutenant Colonel Jefferson crackled over the portable communications device he was wheeling behind him.
“Beta, this is Alfa, just finishing Chapter Six,” came the captain’s reply.
(“Who are Alfa and Beta?” asked a little boy. “I think they’re a couple of Greeks,” answered his father.)
At that moment Bartholomew Skypie, who moonlighted as a recon pilot, alighted on the captain’s left shoulder. The lofty seagull whispered, “The coast is clear — from coast to coast,” and handed his bill, which the captain filled with the standard fee of peanuts.
Colonel Jefferson rolled his right hand into a feisty fist and lifted his entire arm, a taciturn signal that meant “we move gingerly into the building and all the way to the apartment’s front door, without toppling any begonias”. He and his wife then moved gingerly into the building and all the way to the apartment’s front door. The begonias were overjoyed at surviving the ordeal.
The nameplate on the door read Noro Myx — Famous Detective.
The colonel wasted not a second: He gyrated thrice, threw rice, jumped twice, and added ice. The marital harmony between them being blissfully blissful, the captain was able to decipher the gesture in no time at all. It meant “we move in”.
They moved in.
To keep darkness at bay, the two donned their night goggles.
Which way? signed the captain with her left foot.
That way, pointed the colonel with his pinkie.
How do you know? gestured his wife by raising her fife.
It says so right there, answered her husband, employing his pinkie once again to designate an infrared sign that read Commandos Through Here. The dyad stole into the indicated passageway —
Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.
The colonel had bumped inadvertently into a handsome Domino, creating a domino effect that knocked over all twenty-eight Dominos. He and the captain walked swiftly to the last fallen one, and created a reverse domino effect by pushing the chap to an erect position.
Once they were all up the captain signed surprise by raising both her fists, and then gestured, Why, it’s the Domino brothers. What’s an Italian special-ops team doing here?
I might ask the same of you, signaled Three-Dots-Four-Dots Domino, the team’s leader. With his night goggles on he could easily be mistaken for Two-Dots-Four-Dots.
As might we, pawed a group of three furry felines that pussyfooted out of the shadows.
Colonel Jefferson knew of only one team able to descry shadows in total darkness. The Persian Cats! he motioned.
Indeed, they smiled catlikely.
What is going on here? signaled Captain Jefferson. This is beginning to look like a commando reunion.
It does, my dear, doesn’t it? signed a burly brontosaurus who had not gone extinct at all but simply undercover.
The colonel had had enough of signtalk. This is all very nice, he signed, but we’ve got a mission.
Then take a number, signaled a Russian roulette as he revolved into the conversation.
Captain Jefferson raised her left foot along with her right, a gesture which undeniably meant, A number?
The Persian Cats all raised their forepaws in unison, indicating an infrared sign that said, Commandos: Please Take A Number And Wait Your Turn. The colonel struck a match to sign his fuming over the holdup, and blinded all goggled, who gestured protest by placing their right hand, foot, or paw over their hearts. Acting by the seat of his red-and-azure pants, the colonel bade he and the captain take a seat.
Look, he signaled exultantly, as his eyes fell upon the cocktail table, they’ve got the latest issue of Command Os. Acting in perfect accord with his gender, the colonel leafed quickly through the pages of the magazine until he reached the centerfold, which held a stunning calligraphic O wearing nothing but a turret, her chocolate-colored curves bespeaking indubitable sign-language origins.
Men, waved Captain Jefferson disgustedly, thinking how willingly that tender gender would follow any dubious character in a tank top. Defiantly, she picked up a copy of Arm Me, which boasted a beautifully carved chess set on its cover.
This wait is very heavy, gestured the colonel after fifty-seven minutes and twenty-two seconds.
Removing the brontosaurus from your lap may well lighten it, his wife signed her take on weight loss.
Excellent idea, motioned her husband, and signaled a meteor, which caused the burly brontosaurus to go extinct. As soon as the burden had lifted their number came up. The two triple-jumped instantly as if there were no tomorrow, nor today, nor the day before yesterday, then galloped to the end of the corridor, and braked in front of the red traffic light. The infrared sign atop the light indicated Case Puzzle lay to the left, State Secrets was to the right, and Little Woman And Little Man rested in the room straight ahead. When the light changed from red to red the goggled pair turned left until they reached the Puzzle Chamber.
Expertly, Colonel Jefferson opened the open door and the twosome slid inside the room. Their eyes immediately engaged in sending their brains sundry visual messages concerning the surroundings: walls, ceiling, desk, chair, incomplete jigsaw puzzle.
There it is, signed the captain. Myx’s Case Puzzle.
Grab it, motioned her husband with two fingers and a big toe. Careful not to jumble up the pieces, the captain placed the puzzle in a self-sealing envelope and handed it to the special-delivery representative.
We’re out of here, the colonel motioned toward the future, and the two backtracked through the passageway, via the front door, and onto the roof. Shampooed and cleansed, the Jacuzzi-minded pilot greeted them in a magnificent pink silk robe, courtesy of the house. All three poured into the flying contraption and soared into the night’s star-spangled sky.
Back in their apartment, Lieutenant Colonel Jefferson and Captain Jefferson headed straight toward the briefing booth, which had transformed in their absence into a debriefing booth.
I see the package has already been delivered, signed the captain by raising her right fist to her nose.
“We can go vocal now,” said the colonel out loud, somewhat startled by the sound of his own voice. Quickly, though, he gripped himself and proceeded to conduct the debriefing session, which consisted mostly of gossip about the illicit dove affair on the rise between Five-Dots-Three-Dots Domino and the Persian Cats’ sister-in-law. Finally, the pair proceeded to examine their newest acquisition closely.
“There are some very interesting pieces here, sir,” commented Captain Jefferson after a methodical evaluation.
“Indeed,” agreed her husband. “Look at this Dodgson piece here and some of the pieces it dovetails with.”
“Fascinating,” said the captain. “And what do you think of these Canadian pieces, sir?”
“Exceptional. A commendable purchase,” her husband commended.
“Shall I place it in store, sir?” asked his wife.
“Yes, Captain,” replied the colonel tersely.
Captain Jefferson grasped the precious item, and walked over to a nondescript gray door, beyond which lay a flight of stairs. She descended cautiously, the air getting cooler and damper with every step. At the bottom, she surveyed the collection of wooden shelves contentedly for a moment, and then placed Myx’s Case Puzzle on one of them.
Back in the living room, she reported to the colonel, “The object is safely stored in the vine cellar, sir.”
Listening to their favorite and only single, the colonel just nodded absentmindedly.
