THE CITRUS AFFAIR
A bitter-sweet tale of hi-tech espionage.

By Colin Morris

Chapter Eight

Orange had a bitter taste in his mouth because of Clementine, how could he have been such a fool as not to realise that Clementine, FBI AGENT Clementine was acting incognito as his therapist in his day centre where he was acting incognito as well, and why was she? Something was up, he didn't know what, but she hadn't said anything, why? And he hadn't said anything. Why? Because he knew that the whole of Frantic, the agency he had given his life to would laugh their arses off. This GRin stuff was getting him down. Still they'd agreed a plan, one day he'd sort the rest of this bollocks out.

They had agreed that the only option they had was to penetrate Dr Yes's computer (known as 'YES!') and that was here in this building. The only way to penetrate 'YES!' was in his bunker.

After the dust and Woodchip had settled Orange noticed the mess and the draft on his back. There was dust and Woodchip everywhere and those carpets looked expensive. Clementine meanwhile was inching (centimetering, if you prefer) across the room, "God it so quite", she thought holstering a Barreta, god didn't answer so she carried on with her discreet surveillance.

Meanwhile Orange, having finished wondering how Dr Yes was going to get the dust and Woodchip out of a huge, priceless, chandelier with at least a dozen pure white-ish Persian cats curled up asleep inside of it, and having dragged his eyes away from a huge cocktail bar, that would have shaken not stirred him (remember why they call you "Agent Orange" he told himself), he snapped into action.

Burr Wizz were the first sounds Clementine heard, bing bong the next, as she stared absolutely incredulously at the several objects that could kill faster than most doctors in the world, but then Orange had ethics at O level. There at the end of her magnum, which she uses for situations involving noises (even funny ones) was Orange whirring and buzzing like a fly in heat, as she shouted over the noise and worried about the cats, Orange moved. It wasn't graceful, it was not pretty, but there in front of her where once was a wheelchair was the Jag' Vannette or the Black Olive as O had named it, he slipped it into gear and trundled across the room.

Clementine, even FBI AGENT Clementine was impressed and asked "Is this because your a wheelchair user and you can't ...." Whoosh, the noise was deafening, the lights went off, The Black Olive smashed against a distant wall, fell on its side with Orange and the Clementine underneath.

Members of the local deaf club 2 miles away swore they heard something.

"It was a bomb in the basement", Clementine declared as she scrambled from the wreckage, "motion detectors", moaned Orange as he just lay there wondering where all the pretty canaries had come from and why they were flying in little circles round his head.

"Come on get up", urged Clementine, in his dazed state for an instant he tried, then Clementine apologised. "There's a spare chair back at the van", Clementine raced off, while Orange surveyed the damage. There are a lot odd and very technical expressions he could have used, but he chose "buggar", gave up on the Olive and surveyed the room from his new perspective. Underneath the remains of a Louis XIV faux writing bureau on the far wall he could see a faint green glow.

Clementine returned with the chair, Remploy red courtesy of the NHS, Orange groaned as he lowered himself onto the black shiny PVC 'seat', just the thought of using it almost made him weep, in fact he would have done if Clementine wasn't there.

Clementine surveyed the dusty gloom, "What now?" "Under the desk on the far wall, there's a light". Clementine dashed over Orange sort of dashed and wobbled and creaked a bit.

Sure enough under the bureau a small green button glowed a happy and content glow. "Well?" "Well?" came the reply, as they assessed the risk of pushing anything that glowed in a place like this. They looked again Orange glowered, green glowed, Clementine clapped her hands over her ears and pressed the button (a neat trick she had learned from a girlfriend in the SAS).

Nothing happened, they waited a bit and still nothing happened. They waited a bit longer and still nothing happened. Finally Orange let out his breath and relaxed a bit, Clementine looked very very cross indeed, and still absolutely anything refused to happen. Then it did and it did big.

CHAPTER NINE