My Island Lair

Graham Bleathman

My Island Lair shall be non-volcanic. A comfy 30-room, full-service bunker with sun-roof and submarine cove. The control room will overlook the western beach and depth chargers shall line the coast. The underwater den shall be nestled in coral and will have a natural geyser for a jacuzzi. There will be a remote-controlled window separating it the piranha tank, and the natural acoustics of the cave will amplify the water-muffled death-screams of my guests.

The roof shall be partly covered with solar panels to power the facility, while the rest of it shall be split between the open aviary and swimming pool. The turrets shall face the lagoon and the anti-materiel guns shall always be loaded. The bedroom shall be built with an elevator that would take the entire room to the roof, to sleep under the stars and beside the moon when I see fit; mosquitoes and assassins will be kept at bay by an invisible laser mesh.

Movement to the Island shall be highly controlled. Tourism would be illegal and only work visas shall be issued. Backpackers will be shot on sight, and trail markers shall be placed to lead them through my private firing range.

A large number of the hench-staff shall be involved in gamekeeping; specifically, breeding larger, more ferocious specimens of the local fauna and flora. The beaches shall be kept spotless clean, to better hide the mantraps, and the lagoon shall be kept free of pollutants and shipwrecked children. The only foreign object in the crystal clear waters of the lagoon will be my cloaked yacht, that will be powered by tide turbines working silently and constantly just under the surface. The seawater filtration plant shall be disguised as a meth lab.

My henchmen shall all be local and a percentage of my evil profits shall go to build local infrastructure. The local football team shall proudly wear my banner on their backs and every victory shall be tribute to my patronage. Schoolchildren shall learn to sing my praises and chemical obedience will be fed into the water supply so that all may follow me willingly.

My Lieutenant would be intelligent, but not intelligent enough to overthrow me. His days will be spent micro-bossing the henchmen around, and finding new ways to exert his power over them in petty ways. The Scientist shall only be interested in new and interesting ways to Science, or at least to steal it from the good ones.

My Floozy will be a practical woman who will not fall overly-made-up-head-over-stiletto-heels for the first Hero that comes along, and will consider her stake in my Empire of Evil very seriously. Her reports on increasing efficiency and expansion into the human trafficking market shall be taken seriously at board meetings and she will be given more responsibility in matters should she show initiative. Friday night shall be date night, always, and hawaiian music shall be the entertainment, crab, the entree.

My dirigible will be stored in the jungle when not terrorizing the primary urban centers of the civilized world. It shall double as a rain-cover for my Tesla Death Ray Tower. The weather shall be controlled, scheduled and canned, and rain shall taste like lemons. My computer shall have Kate Winslet’s voice, and my submersible yacht, No Free Launch, will be the portable headquarters and broadcasting station of my Ska-Punk Cover Only Pirate Radio Station ScummFM.

In the unlikely event of a Hero-related evacuation, no attempt shall be made to shake fists, gloat, or cry over my falling empire. No Island Lair is forever, and no tears shall be shed. In fact, it should be rejoiced, because as my enemies will celebrate their ‘victory’, I shall already be on my way to my Ice-Mountain fortress, with my Floozy, Lieutenant, Scientist, and sundry hench-staff.

Until then.

(Originally published in 2011.)

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