PART TWO
WASHINGTON FBI HEADQUARTERS
2.00 A.M. THURSDAY SEPTEMBER 9
By Stas’ Wiatrowski

Agent Lox Smoulder sat pouting in front of his Powerbook, waiting impatiently for the search engine to finish its business. He should have been home in bed hours ago, but the work of the FBI never stopped.

He was scanning the results of the search when a shadow obscured his doorway.

“Working late Agent Smoulder?” It was Assistant Deputy Skinny, Smoulder’s supervisor. “Are you still looking for links between Internet pornography and international terrorism?”

“Yes sir.”

“Well, anything suspicious, make sure to leave the URL on my desktop. And no more donkey stuff, okay?”

“Yes sir.”

Smoulder had not looked up during the conversation. Instead he had been scanning titles such as:
Strict But Fair Nuns
Comrade Helga’s Proletarian Gangbang
Cousin Filthy’s Den of Second Rate Smut
And so on...

And each time he clicked on one of these lines of hypertext, either the URL was a dead link, or he found himself in some Family Values Ned Flanders Prayer-o-rama Homepage.

No porn anywhere.

Smoulder twirled a pencil between his fingers, and then with a savvy thrust shot it out of his hand up into the porous Styrofoam panels in the ceiling of his office, where a collection of small sharp objects was housed. A little too self-confident, he gave it too much spin and the blunt end hit the ceiling and bounced off, landing the pointy end on top of his slick haircut.

He used language deemed unsuitable even for Cable Television and rubbed his cranium as another shadow crossed the threshold and moved into the gloom. A woman’s shadow this time.

Agent Layna Sultry walked in with her arms crossed over her bosom, as if protecting herself from the irrationality that Smoulder was about to unleash upon her. Even at this late time in the evening her linen suit had not a crease in it, her titian hair was perfectly combed around her lovely face. The only slight sign of disarray was that the small mole near her mouth was visible: usually she covered it in pancake.

Ah, Sultry,” Smoulder said, leaning back, grabbing the pencil which had landed in his lap. “What brings you here at this late hour?”

“You do Smoulder. You called me fifteen minutes ago, or have ‘aliens’ wiped your memory again?” Sultry did sarcastic quotation mark signs around the word aliens. Smoulder snapped his pencil.

“Sultry, I called you here because I have been trying to access pornography on this computer for the last two hours.”

“And this is different from any other night of the week how?”

“Every site is off line. Even the pay sites.”

“I hope you’re not using FBI funds to bankroll your little autoerotic fixation here.”

“That’s beside the point Sultry! And this is beyond coincidence. Someone -- or some thing -- is shutting these sites down.”

“Smoulder, have you ever considered lithium? Or maybe some Aropax. I can’t decide between manic and obsessional with you. ”

“There’s more to it than just this internet stuff Sultry.”

Sultry gave a little half smile. “Smoulder, there always is...”


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