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ROCK-Salt! Art Proctor

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Member Since: Apr, 2006

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A novel. a few pages at a time.
By ROCK-Salt! Art Proctor
Sunday, May 14, 2006

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A page or two here,
a page or three there.
Maybe you'll get hooked.
Into reading the entire thing, and,
I'll, finish my book.

     From "CIA to Shining C"IA
   
Chapter one, first few pages.
 



             

E     Everett Arthur  Briggs;  Bret, to all that know him, was sitting  with his laptop, in his recliner, writing on a poetry site, he'd joined , on the net.  He found it a good way to clear out the old. “Poetry comes from and creates, alternative realities, the first, sometimes called, “muse”, is a state, almost like, the words and pictures, are coming, out, of what it is you see, in your mind and heart. The second is that you also, hopefully, titillate; the senses and  create a different reality,  in readers, as well.”
” From heart to mind to pen, and then to reader too.
That’s what I love about poetry, that’s why I take the time;
 It inspires escape, to better scenes,
 Something else, on which
,To dwell
       and may, help heal a wounded heart, or
 Steer a soul, away:
From hell.”


                                           

Bret wrote as he pondered the choices, to declare "the end" or rattle on.

"The end , me tinks!. I gotta lay down for a while, until this head ache subsides. and catch a nap."

He posted his write, and turned off the computer. He’d recently returned from Burma, wounded, and crushed by the blow that his dear friends may be dead; murdered and butchered by a cruel and most powerful enemy.

As the head, of Pac5, he laments and rues the wasted missions and failed attempts at bringing in his dire enemy: Colonel Sojung. Or better yet making him dead.

A somewhat clandestine operation, Pac5 was formed and established, to insure basic human rights through out the Pacific Rim. It is attached to Section 6, CIA. Bret had way more responsibility than he’d ever wanted, or thought he could handle. Working closely with Interpol, the 18-man force secures intelligence and acts accordingly, to insure no mass slaughter or any other form of murder or torture go unnoticed and unchallenged by the civilized world.

Bret, leads men from the 4 corners of the globe,( funny how a sphere can have 4 corners, huh?.),six different nationalities and all; the "crème de la crème", of their respective nations, and or affiliations.
Bret washed his face, and took his pants and shirt off. He fell onto the bed. He wondered where that last line of the poem had come from, as he was more used to sending them to hell, than steering them away. Hmmm.

He grabbed the comforter, and wrapped it around himself, hmmm, and drifted off, almost immediately.


   Limping slightly, Bret arrived at Brad’s office. His face showed signs of weariness and sadness, for, although the assignment had been dubbed a success, Bret knew that is was instead a terrible tragedy and a complete failure.


"Who the hell writes this shit," Brad asked.

"I never read down far enough to find a signature. With this kinda crap, they probably just send it without a signature." Bret answered.

The mission had been a nightmare, with two of Bret’s closest friends and colleagues most likely dead and the staged "accident" in the Mercedes, that accounted for his limp, and the ace wrap around his ribs.
"Sorry ‘bout the snitches," Brad spurt out, "we’ll all miss them."

Brad had met both Dang and Twai, and more than once, he’d used them in critical situations, requiring trust and stealth. What he didn’t know was that Bret considered them family, and that his use of the word snitch, made Bret’s neck hairs bristle.

Oh, well, snitches come and go right? Bret could barely disguise the disgust he felt; and was getting ready to openly aver his feelings.

Joel broke the ice, with a question as to Bret’s health and condition. Bret just shrugged and made his way to the kitchen/break room. The pain emanating from his eyes and his irregular gait was answer enough.

Joel and Brad followed him to the coffee machine.

"Look! I really don’t want to go over this crap again. You have my report, and you two can summarize this thing for the boss, without my help. I believe I was compromised, and right now no amount of debriefing is going to change a damn thing. As a matter of fact: I’m on R&R as of right now!!!"

With that, he turned, put a creamer in his coffee, walked out of the room and out of the office and, was gone.

"I think your use of snitches was more than he could take, you idiot. He and those two were real close, he considered them adopted kids, for Christ’s sake,"

Dick Whiting, the big boss, who’d overheard and watched the whole affair, commented: "They were snitches, and the only compromise I can see is Bret’s sentimentality. They might be alive today, if he hadn’t delayed immediate action, over useless musings and doubt. That ass Sojung used Bret’s concern for their welfare to create a bad end for them all. That’s the way I see it and that’s the way it’s going down. And I expect his highness to be in my office at 0900 Monday morning!"

Dick, followed by Joel, left Brad staring out the window, shaking his head and "shaking", imperceptivly.

Bret awoke with the realization that he was seeing something that happened after he had left the office.

‘Odd’, he thought, little things out of the ordinary were occurring in the past few days.

‘Oh well,’ His phosphorescent watch face, showed, 4:21am, and he snuggled down, and slept anew.








                          Watch for chapter one, continued,--- coming soon.-------------Art Proctor--- 5-14-06
 
  


 


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


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Reviewed by Birgit and Roger Pratcher 5/16/2006
Sounds as if it might develop into something very interesting, looking forward to read on!
Birgit and Roger

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