I made it back without detection — the microfilm inside. After all those years of mind-numbing training, I had nearly completed my first on-field mission. Now it's just a matter of releasing the files.
But I'm constipated.
Ring. Ring.
The Agency keeps calling, but I'm preoccupied — planted on the toilet, legs numb, trying to deposit the files. It’s been an hour. Any second now, they'll bust through the door and eliminate me on sight, convinced I've gone double. Why can't I just get up, answer the phone, and tell them the truth? That I'm incapable of doing simple tasks like shitting out classified files. How could they trust me with more field assignments?
I tried everything. Water. Prune juice. MiraLAX. No movement.
My mentor warned me.
”Beans, Agent 32! Lots of beans!"
"I hate beans," I said.
"Then chia seeds! Fruits! Nuts!"
"I'm on keto."
"Oh, for crying out loud! You wanna be a spy, don't ya?"
I did. So, I tried shoveling beans down my gullet, but I'd gag every time. I can’t stand the texture. The taste. The association with gas. That’s the primary reason I avoid fiber: I don’t want to be bloated. I get gassy easily. How can I pretend to be a swarthy, suave weapons-dealer if I'm crop-dusting farts all over the place? Plus, you've got all the boozing and the expensive, red-meat-heavy meals — what chance do I have? I can't be ordering a bean salad at a high-stakes dinner with a criminal mastermind. He'd call me a sissy.
I figured my body would eventually let me pass the files because surely my body would know how much this meant to me. But I suppose my anxiety got the better. It was my first big assignment after all. All my life, I wanted to be an on-field agent — just like my father, and his father before him. It meant you were a professional. Reliable. The best of the best. A patriot. You could meet your mate for life. Just like Dad did.
She was a flight attendant on his flight back from killing a diplomat in Beirut. After he passed the consul's dossier, he seduced my mother, and they made me. Grandpappy, before Dad, was so elite at his job as a soldier-spy that he was chosen to be the subject of a cloning project, and that's how my dad came into the picture. That’s something I could reveal to the future love of my life – that I’m a product of a clone. It would be a secret kept between us, and maybe if I were good enough, they’d make me a clone son, and clones would be accepted into society and loved by all. Maybe that’s why I’m backed up. Clone genetics. Or maybe I’m anxious about keeping it a secret that my dad’s a clone of my grandfather. Or maybe—
Ring. Ring.
I can't keep ducking them. God, why am I like this? Maybe I'm not cut out for this. Maybe I'm meant to assist our spies from the office. There’s a certain type of importance to that job. We’re performing our duty for the country behind the scenes. And hey, that girl, Janice from IT, is pretty cute. Maybe I could ask her out for lunch. We'll get salads. Maybe she'll reveal that she too failed at being an on-field agent because she was also constipated. We'll laugh about it, then laugh again when we realize we both have to go to the bathroom after our fiber-intensive lunch. But that would be kind of gross. I don't want to be thinking about Janice on the toilet on a first date. But I'm doing that now, aren't I? A hypothetical situation of us pooping at lunch while I'm trying to shit out files. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Ploop. Ploop.
Yes! Yes, I did it! Oh, thank God! Sorry, Janice. Our lunch date will have to wait. I'm hitting the big leagues. Oh, baby.
Ploop. Ploop.
There it is, baby. I hope they send me to China next. I'd love to woo a pretty Chinese lady during a high-stakes poker tournament while I pretend to be some fancy diplomat. Oh, thank goodness.
Ring. Ring.
Weird. That doesn't sound like it's coming from my phone.
Ring. Ring.
Jesus. Is that coming from the toilet?
Oh, my. What is that blinking red light in my waste? Is that the files? Is that—
Boom.
--
"Target eliminated."
"You're positive?"
"Agent 32 is no longer constipated."
"Good."
"So, the device worked?"
"Seems like it."
"Wow. I never thought I'd live to see the day we can read minds. This is a huge breakthrough, Janice.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“So, as long as the device is inside a person, we can read their thoughts?"
"Yes, Agent 27."
"I'm sorry you had to listen to that."
"It's okay."
"Well, now that we've taken care of him, I need you to suit up. You're hitting the field."
"No way?"
"Yes way. Congratulations, Janice. From here on out, you will be Agent 33. Now, get out there. And don’t forget, soldier.”
“Yes?”
“Eat your fiber."
“Affirmative, sir. Affirmative.”