AGENT BUMBLER: POMP AND CIRCUMSTANCE

Copyright 2024 Brent Alles / Just B Cuz Productions

He remembered training. To endure possible waterboarding, he needed to know how it felt. Strapped head-down on a sloping board, mouth and nose covered. Water pouring over his face. DROWNING. He didn’t think anything else could be that excruciating. Until today.

“Amy Ackerman,” a voice droned. Polite applause. Amy, in cap and gown, proceeded across the stage, shook hands with the school principal at the podium, and waved to her family. A slight “whoop” was heard.

Top CIA operative Bob Bumbler had survived many missions in the field. Nothing could have prepared him for this, however. The ultimate endurance test. His daughter’s graduation ceremony.

“How much longer will this be?” he grumbled to his ex-wife Nichole. She gave him an exasperated look.

“It’s a big class, Bob!” she hissed. “Sorry that it’s such a pain for you to actually be here for one of your daughter’s milestones. Considering you missed most of the other ones.”

Unfortunately, Bob had no answer for that. So many days and nights in the field, away from his family, fighting the evil organization known simply as WRONG. Missed birthdays, sporting events, and recitals. Of course, everything was classified, so his family couldn’t know anything about what he really did. They thought he was an international business executive whose “company” had him traveling the world. That meant his life with his ex-wife and daughter could be summed up in three words: Missing in Action.

Still, he’d rather be dodging bullets than have to sit here and listen to the principal read the damn phonebook.

“Tom Anderson,” the principal murmured. Tom, a gawky lad, tripped a little on his way to the principal. This raised Bob’s interests just a bit before he returned to his apathetic funk.

More names from the principal followed, and then finally the moment came. “Rebecca Bumbler.” Bob’s beautiful daughter bounded across the stage and excitedly shook the principal’s hand. Becky could always be counted on for enthusiasm. Bob gave a quick hoot of approval, which drew a baleful glare from Nichole.

“All right, now we can go, right?” Bob optimistically suggested.

Nichole looked aghast. “No, there’s a whole ceremony here! We’re not leaving until it’s done.”

Bob considered the cyanide pill hidden within a false tooth. No. Too easy.

“I need to use the can,” Bob said.

“Make it quick,” Nichole replied. “The keynote speaker will be up soon. Some guy who tried to swim across Lake Michigan or something.”

“Did he make it?”

“Well, no.”

“Great metaphor for the graduating class, then. I’ll be right back.”

Bob muttered “excuse me” an interminable number of times to people in his row as he headed towards the restroom. On his way, he mindlessly fingered the newest invention from CIA Tech Ops that was in his pocket: automatically fastening zip ties. These definitely would come in handy in the future for securing enemy agents. 

Bob did his business and then went to the sink to wash his hands. He held a zip tie in one hand, curiously regarding it. How did they say these things worked again?

Unfortunately, he inadvertently hit the trigger button on the device. The zip tie immediately secured itself firmly around both of Bob’s wrists!

“Shit!” Bob exclaimed. He tugged and strained, but nothing was making the device come off. He bent down to try to use his feet to pry it off. This was certainly fortuitous, as that was the exact moment the WRONG assassin chose to fire his weapon. The silencer muffled the sound, but the bullet ricocheting off the bathroom mirror definitely got Bob’s attention.

“Shit! Shit!” Bob clambered into a stall, kicking the door closed, trying to think of his next move. How did WRONG know he was here? There had to be a leak. No time to think about that now. He had to figure out a way to do away with his assailant and make it back in time for the high school band to badly play the recessional.

Bob could hear footsteps approaching. He fumbled to grab another of the zip ties. Several of them fell to the floor. He somehow managed to grab one. He could see now where the trigger was. Only one chance…

As the assassin swung the restroom stall door open, ready to fire, Bob flicked the zip tie, making sure to hit the activating button right before he flicked it. The zip tie hit its target, the groin of the assassin, and quickly secured itself in a place the WRONG minion really didn’t want to be secured. (Luckily for Bob, the assassin happened to have an erection from the excitement of being able to kill Bumbler.) As the zip tie tightened, the assassin screamed and writhed on the floor. Bob quickly smashed his Doc Martens boot into the thug’s face, sending him into blessed unconsciousness.

Unfortunately, Bob’s boot then hit one of the zip ties on the floor, triggering the device, and it quickly bound itself around both of Bob’s ankles.

“Dammit!” Bob hopped away from the unconscious assassin and tried to make his way back to his seat. A voice buzzed in his regularly worn earpiece, which everybody thought was a hearing aid to deal with early-onset hearing loss.

“Agent Bumbler, we know you just disabled a WRONG assassin,” said the voice of another CIA operative. “A covert team is on their way to deal with him. We’re trying to figure out a way to disable the zip ties remotely. In the meantime, get back to your seat and maintain your cover!”

Bob tried to think of reasonable explanations for his predicament as he hopped back to his row. He decided the best approach was to pretend that nothing was wrong. Let these other idiot parents think what they think.

As he fell back into his seat, Bob innocently looked at Nichole. “Did I miss the keynote speaker?” Even with his wrists bound, Bob managed a polite clap as the band began to play “Pomp and Circumstance.”