Turner looked back at the White House as he strolled away, and noticed dark clouds gathering and rain imminent. One second thought, he mused, the stormy clouds had hovered for days, and the rain, although threatening to let loose, wouldn’t come. “Damn climate change,” he thought.
Turner immediately noticed the sound of footsteps matching his pace, and he didn’t have to look sideways to know who it was. But he did. A Black Hole Ops agent matched him stride for stride. He was as cliché looking as Turner first imagined: a neck the size of regular man’s thighs, fists and knuckles nearly scraping the sidewalk, and a brow sloped like a Neanderthal.
Assassins blended in, but not him. You could see this man coming from miles away. He was made for the fast and dirty wet work: no skulking and sneaking for this beast.
“BHOpeep, at your service,” the stranger said quietly as they approached the exit gate on the White House lawns.
“Why do you Black Hole Ops assholes have such strange names?”
“My job is the keep the sheep together, and believe it or not, I enjoy a good laugh now and then.” There was the sound of pages flipping, as if BHOpeep was going through a notebook or a legal pad and his humorous moment had passed as quickly as it began.
“In this case,” he said in a voice so quiet that Turner couldn’t believe a neck that size was even capable of, “The President is on a need to know basis.”
“But he’s the Commander in Chief.”
‘Peep ignored the remark. “You don’t need to know anything either.”
“I’m the director of National Security. If not us, who?”
The agent called ‘Peep grinned from ear to ear. Perhaps, to him, this was one of those humorous moments. “The information is buried deep within the rotting bowels of the Government, trapped within the inescapable gravity of Black Hole Ops.”
Turner was taken back a bit, but this was not the first deep state agent he’d dealt with. He knew there was a clever, off-the-books way of getting the information he needed. “What about rumors, gossip? Can we share tall tales?”
The two men showed their IDs to the guards and took a right turn on Pennsylvania Ave towards the Treasury Department.
“Sure,” ‘Peep replied, “I gossip like an ol’ lady.”
“I as well,” Turner replied, walking briskly, feeling the moisture rising in the air. “Let’s gossip about agents down…”
‘Peep was still matching Turner’s pace step for step. “Seems some of our scientists—Government scientists, mind you—secretly continued operations we disbanded years ago—and succeeded.”
Turner allowed the moment to hang in the air for just a beat. “What type of operations,” he finally asked, as if he were nonchalantly asking about a new bagel shop that opened blocks from the White House.
“We had strange—almost supernatural experiments going on in the 1960s.”
“Hmmmm,” Turner stopped to stretch. “Before my time…”
“These experiments involved subjecting civilians to psychedelic drugs like LSD, Psilocybin, toads…”
“You talkin’ about the MK Ultra projects?”
“What does this ancient history have to do with my missing agents?” Turner voice was clipped, and he resumed walking more briskly than ever. “I don’t have all day.”
‘Peep’s spoke more clearly, and his voice sounded guttural, like a deep growl. A sound Turner expected to come out of a neck that size.
“The point of experimenting with hallucinogens was to discover if remote-viewing, out-of-body experiences and teleportation was, in fact, a reality…something we could use as a weapon.”
Turner was always careful discussing classified information, even with a fellow agent, and it was rapidly becoming clear that BHOPeep’s security clearance was higher than his own. As he lifted his face towards the clouds, feeling the moisture hitting his skin, he knew that his concept of reality was about to change.
“Your scientists succeeded, and they’re the ones that did your agents.” ‘Peep shrugged, as if he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.
Turner snapped. “The Government poured billions down that rathole called research, and you’re tellin’ me two or three guys, without funding or backing or support, succeeded where the Gov’t failed?” Turner’s voice rose to a high pitch whine.
“The Government didn’t fail completely,” BhoPeep responded, sheepishly.
“What did we get out of it? All that Timothy Leary shit? As the Director of National Intelligence, Turner was embarrassed he had to ask the question.
“We got statins.”
“Yeah,” The ‘Peep grinned like a wolf. “Old people think statins lower cholesterol, so they don’t ask questions and take it willingly.”
Turner stopped and face the Neanderthal standing beside him. He was thinking of all the friends he knew taking this common medication. “What else do these do statins do?” he finally asked.
“Statins cross the blood-brain barrier, and, within a very short period of time, cause full-blown dementia.” The agent laughed out loud, throwing his back towards the clouds, as if this were the funniest thing in the world. “The medical community knows it. The government knows it. We love it.”
It took a moment for Turner to put the pieces together before he offered a conclusion: “This takes them out of the workforce,” he said slowly.
“You got it,” Peep replied, “making room for younger, stronger, more pliable workers.”
“Workers that perpetuate the system.”
“Yep. That’s what we do. It’s called a pharmaceutical lobotomy. These old people won’t suffer long, though. They’ll lose their minds and die soon enough. Then their medical costs and social security payments stop, and a big albatross is taken off their kids’ back. Everybody wins.”
The agent took an abrupt left turn on 15th Street and cut kitty-corner towards G Street and the Metro Center, leaving Turner flatfooted, mouth wide open.
“Turner,” ‘Peep yelled, not bothering to look back, “Remember, you can’t find me. But we’ll be in touch.”
Turner waived his arm to stop the agent, desperate to continue the conversation.
‘Oh, one more thing,” ‘Peep turned, his whole block-like body now facing Turner, raising his right hand and forming it into a cup, yelling across the street: “Remind me to tell you how remote-viewing might have been used to take down your agents.”