Beware of Deep Knight Adventures!

[notorial dissent]

Почему?

[Deep Knight]

Потому что я хочу делать и быть на всех языках, товарищ!

[notorial dissent]

Небо поможет нам!

[Deep Knight]

The Case of the Aggregate Agent
Another Deep Knight Adventure that brings Spies Together

Chapter 13: Browse Products that will Enhance your Lapidary Experience

The drive west across Siberia from Владивосток was uneventful, with the route being easier than the last time Deep had fled from certain death using it. This was partly due to an expanded infrastructure and partly from having an actual road between Чита and Хабаровск instead of a cart path hacked through the impassible, boggy wasteland. The only difficult part were the stays at modern chain motels in Белогорск, Иркутск and Челябинск, the decorations were tacky, the beds infested with bedbugs, and the complimentary continental breakfasts really lousy (I mean, you expect that in Иркутск, but Челябинск?). Despite the traveling travails, Deep and Velna made their way to the secret Russian science city of Академгородок where he knew his comrade and former head of the American sector of the KGB, Boris Badenov, had an executive position in the Russian mafia. The Soviet Union had once been a division of the New World Order, but poor performance had led to a reorganization and sale of many of the Dark Agenda’s less-profitable divisions, which is why countries with silly names like “Moldovia” exist today.

Boris was happy to see his old friend, “Zdrastvooyte! So this is to beink your wife! Is old Russian custom to give big hug and kiss!” He gave Velna a big hug and kiss and laughed again heartily after she slapped him for the various indelicacies he attempted during both. “Bal'shoye spaseeba! Comrade Knight, your wife I like wery much! You pick good one!” He offered them French champagne, served by one of the many scantily-clad, thin and strangely angular women with bored looks on their faces who surrounded Boris. He saw Deep’s eye’s following a particularly tall, busty one dressed in shiny black leather. “Perhaps we can be to tradink for the night, you and I, da? If not that one, maybe another or two or three?”

Velna went for another slap, but Deep stopped her, “I’m here about that nuclear bomb you always said I could have. I’d use it to remove that thorn in both of our sides, Sorcha Faal, and need something extra-strength in a hydrogen fusion model, powerful but still portable. I have a Cadillac.”

“We are not to havink bombs right now of any kind. North Korea, Taliban, and Rollin’ 40’s Crips buy everything we have. Will take some time to get more, and be wery expensive. But we are to having wery nice ICBM I can make you wery good deal on. Or maybe you like missile, we are to havink Russian cruise missile. Is special kind, is made from propeller training plane with homing pigeon to doing driving using special controls. Or maybe you would be to liking T-72 tank with armor-piercing shells?”

“I think I would like to go to your place for some food and see your wife, Natasha!” exclaimed Deep, as if it had just occurred to him, “I haven’t seen her in some time, how’s the old dear?”

Boris visibly winced, and started to sweat. “She is to beink wery busy these days, what with breakup of Soviet Union and drinkink wodka, and is not to likink surprise guests for dinner.”

“After all we went through together back in the good old days? No, I insist! And I’m sure she would love a little girl talk with Velna. I’m quite proud of my wife and her knowledge of slow, undetectable poisons, and I’m sure Natasha could learn a thing or two if they put their heads together.”

“Was I to sayink you were to havink to payink for ICBM and cruise missile and tank? I was meanink that I am givink them to you, my wery good friend, for free! And one dozen technicians to beink settink them up and trainink the pigeon. Also, you stay at my Dacha at Козьмодемьянс! Is wery nice place with big fireplace, Russian steam bath and mirrors on bedroom ceilink.”

“I would really like a bomb,” lamented Deep, “but if you can’t beg, borrow, or steal one, then I guess I’ll have to make do with that, and the help of you and your staff.” Seeing Boris balking a bit, he added, “Although I still think we should pay Natasha a call.”

“I am beink at your service!” said Boris, feigning enthusiasm. “What you are to needink? I make list. Malishka! To beink comink here! And bring your steno pad.”

[Deep Knight]

The Case of the Acrobatic Agent
A Kama-Sutra-from-Front-to-Back Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 14: Secret Elements Responsible for Famous Products

The drone of a sputtering engine filled the countryside near the Fortress-Monastery of the Order of Sorcha Faal near the village of Железнодорожныи, which you have probably never heard of, but it’s between Щербинка and Ярославль. Its carrier pigeon pilot steered it on a carefully planned course directly over the building, where it exploded. A fiendishly designed fertilizer bomb, made with a mixture of fresh and especially odoriferous chicken manure and fermented fish entrails, had the dual effect of punching some holes in the roof, and dispersing the fertilizer. As it settled and penetrated the rooms of the still-sleeping-off-their-hangover Sisters, they awakened groggy but gagging and ran outside, seeking relief. They found a parked 1970s-model Russian tank that hadn’t been there the night before and didn’t look like one of theirs. The convent’s many burly guards were too busy trying to block the smell while ogling the flimsy bedclothes or nakedness of the Sisters to investigate. Finally, a Sister with an obvious bearing of authority walked out dressed in a long flannel gown with little pink roses on it, sneering and yelling for everyone to go back inside. Obviously oblivious to the smell, she seemed annoyed at how it nearly incapacitated the others. Suddenly, and without warning, the tank turret turned and pointed its cannon at her head. A few rounds later, with a dazed and stunned look on her powder-blackened face, Sorcha Faal fainted.

“I knew those armor-piercing shells would stun her if I used enough of them!” exclaimed Deep as he climbed out of the top of the behemoth. “Chain her up and do it quickly, it doesn’t take long for shape shifters to regain consciousness.” Tying shackled Sorcha to the hood of the tank, much like a hunter does with a prized trophy, the squealing tracked vehicle made its way back to Boris’ Dacha, where Velna was waiting with a large ICBM, fully fueled and ready to go.

“What does it mean?” screamed a now-conscious Sorcha, obviously a bit miffed at her kidnapping.

“Simple,” said Deep smiling broadly, “we’re sending you on a free space vacation that would cost some billionaire tourist tens of millions of dollars. Only you’ll be chained to the tip of the nosecone. Between the vacuum of space, the cosmic rays, the vaporizing heat of reentry, and explosion over the target, your molecules should be pretty effectively reduced to their component atoms and widely dispersed. I’ve never tried it before, but I’m willing to bet it will kill even you. I see from the look of terror in your eyes that you agree.”

Sorcha spat in Deeps face to show her disgust, and given the state of Sorcha’s oral hygiene it was pretty disgusting, and laughed. “You’ve tried and failed before, Agent Knight, and I understand it both ruined your career at the Dark Agenda and my being a character caused millions, maybe billions, to stop reading your books! What makes you think you won’t fail again?”

“Those same readers will come back to watch you die, but probably won’t be all that excited about our trash talking back and forth, so I’m gonna cut this short,” said Deep, stuffing a large drain plug into Sorcha’s mouth. “Mwgglliqux!” replied Sorcha defiantly, but you could see her confidence fading.

“If you’ve finished loading the explosive into the nosecone we can strap her to it and send her on her way,” said Deep, “and frankly the sooner the better, she still smells like that fertilizer bomb.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that first,” said Velna, concern in her face, “A full load will kill thousands of innocents. More importantly, given the poor accuracy of this model, it might come down far enough from ground zero to miss Erasmus of America entirely. I’m afraid we’ll have to think of another plan!”

As Sorcha fought against her chains in a vain attempt at escape, you could see she found the idea of her final resting place being in and around Seneca South Carolina unattractive. Which, besides killing two birds with one stone, was the idea. Yet, Velna was not only right, Deep was so head-over-heels in love he had been willing to take her suggestion and use manure to ferret out the Sisters of Sorcha Faal instead of only high explosives. This kind request of Velna’s saved scores of neighbors, although the smell made them wish they were dead, and would probably make the local crops grow better for years. How could he limit the damage and yet assure Erasmus’ well-deserved death? And would it bring back his readers?

Sure it was a bit risky, but “Risky” was Deep’s middle name. What he needed was a bold plan and a way to coax Boris out of the tank, where he was wisely avoiding contact with Sorcha and playing slap and tickle with one of his angular-looking girls. A dummy grenade with the pin out should do it.

[Deep Knight]

The Case of the Agleam Agent
Another Strangely Glowing Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 15: Your Taste Buds are your First Defense Against Food Poisoning

Boris shot out of the tank like a shot, leaving his pants unbuttoned and his companion trying to get everything back into her little black dress. “Don’t be to doink this!” he advised, “Is not funny. Well, maybe more funny than real grenade, but you interrupt me in one place Natasha not have bugged. Is hard to be swingink sexy spy these days with high tech surveillance and jealous wife.”

“Your marital problems aren’t any of my concern, although you probably would do better with Natasha if you gave her a good orgasm or two now and again. And flowers, perfume, diamonds, and sable coat wouldn’t hurt either. All she wants is to feel wanted, like a complete woman, and the earth move as you rutt around like animals. But I don’t need to talk about how you should boff your long-suffering wife instead of these bimbos right now, I need a way of making your ICBM more accurate. Can we rig up another carrier pigeon as a pilot?”

“Is wery hard to train bird to beink rocket pilot and surviving G forces, is takink wery long and costink wery much moneys. The only thing I am to having is radio homing device, but this is taking high-power microwave dish at point of impact to guide in. If signal is strong, can come down right in middle of dish.”

Deep’s mind raced at a hundred miles and hour and took a sharp turn. “I think I can work with that! When’s the next flight to South Carolina?”

“My only concern is Sorcha,” said Velna, speaking up, “If she’s a shape shifter, won’t she find some way to escape?”

“Is what you are sayink true, that she no can die?” asked Boris, “If so, maybe Natasha and me can watch her together at my Dacha, killing her, making love, then killing her again! Is Natasha’s favorite foreplay, to makink her wery hot. Would be like second honeymoon and sure way to keepink Sorcha Faal from escapink!”

“Great idea! Yes, it’s true that bullet’s won’t stop her, and neither did slicing her up or burying her in a tomb of steel reinforced concrete. Stick to the knives and guns section of the Illuminati edition of the "Kama Sutra" and I’m sure you’ll be OK. Now crate up the microwave dish and get us some Aeroflot tickets.”

Boris whipped out his smart phone. “Is daily direct flight from Moscow to Columbia SC, and have two seats open on next Siberian Air shuttle to there. If you are to hurryink, you can just make it.”

A day later, a plain, white van pulled up in front of a run-down house on the outskirts of Seneca, just down from the sewage treatment plant and next to the slaughterhouse waste reprocessing facility. A new group of minions, chosen from the Illuminati Academy football team, were playing movers with overalls monogramed with the names “Mister Happy,” “Captain Winky,” “One Eyed Willy,” and “Harry Johnson.”

“Mister Erasmus?” stated the minion dressed as Mister Happy, “Sir, we have orders from the Joint Chiefs of Staff to install this communications equipment on the roof of your house. They said you would know what it was about.”

“I knew my 11 calendar years in military academies would come to the notice of the boys in the Pentagon again! But remember my online ultimatum, I won’t become the czar of anything until they execute Obama and pass my Omni Law.”

“As I understand it, sir, that’s what this is all about. I’m to tell you that everything will be explained using the equipment once it has been installed and you should go inside, sit in the approximate center of your home and wait, and nothing more, not that the military, the Confederate States, the World Court, the Citizens Grand Juries of the Republics, and Pope Francis are ready to follow your leadership in the coming battle of good against evil, so I won’t.”

Erasmus returned his wink. “I understand,” he said, drawing out the last word to make it more meaningful and dramatic.

The other minions were already unloading the ladders and installing the dish went quickly. A fluency in the Russian language was a requirement for Communist Conspiracy 101, so there were no problems with the unpacking instructions or set up. The house went dark when they diverted the main 220 VAC power buss to their dish, but either Erasmus was blissed out at the thought of someone listening to him, or that this was a common occurrence and he thought it was yet another non-paid bill, and did nothing. Velna, waiting in secure upwind location with an unobscured view of the house with Deep, called Boris with the coded go code “The Dicks have done the dish, send Sorcha suborbital” before the minions were finished packing up to leave. She told Deep that when Natasha had answered her heavily-accented voice was positively glowing. It took Boris some time to get to the phone and he sounded exhausted as he confirmed he would launch the shape shifting sister immediately, even though she could hear Natasha in the background begging for Boris to let her kill Sorcha one more time.

[Deep Knight]

The Case of the Atheromatous Agent
We don’t have a Clue what kind of Deep Knight Adventure this Is!

Chapter 16: There’s a Reason they Call it Natural

After an unexplained delay, Deep and Velna watched an even more exhausted Boris get his ICBM launched on their smart phone. With a sophisticated guidance system instead of an explosive of nuclear payload, and Sorcha Faal well strapped to the tip of the re-entry vehicle it would have a 5 minute boost phase, 28 minutes of flight, and 2 minutes of fiery re-entry. In 35 minutes it would impact smack dab in the center of Erasmus of America’s house. Velna squirmed excitedly on the seat of the van they were using for surveillance. “You know, Deep, we’ve never had a chance to do it in the back of a van, and we’ve got 30 minutes to kill …”

Their lovemaking was once again interrupted just before contractual fulfillment by the arrival of an old beater 1960s Oldsmobile with New Mexico plates. Deep pulled his pants on and looked through his field glasses saw it was Lord Rama and Lady Tara, the infamous A&A of the initial push to announce NESARA. They had been laying low since their sugar daddy’s real children had put him back on his meds, but Deep hadn’t forgotten what a burr they were under his saddle not that long before. Strange that they should arrive now … but perhaps not so strange when he saw the wide grin on Velna’s face and her fiendish laugh. “I wanted to get you something nice for your birthday, and it’s a little early but I thought that since you planned getting a two-for-the-price-of-one assassination together, you might like a hat trick even more.”

“Honey pie!” exclaimed Deep, deeply touched, “Three in one blow. Well, technically four since it’s both A and A, not just A, but I’d as soon kick two A’s as one A any day! How sweet and thoughtful. I would give you a kiss, but I know what that leads to and my watch says half an hour has almost passed, and we only have 7 minutes left.”

Velna put her clothes back on as Deep watched the house, concerned at this new development. At first it seemed that they would stay in the center of the house, but after some kind of commotion and trying a light switch a dozen times near the front window, the 3 went upstairs in the powerless house and soon were seen climbing out the window and onto the roof. As the seconds ticked down, the trio went next to the dish antenna that provided the homing signal to the rocket and started to try and take the control box apart. Luckily they were mechanically inept, and they were giving up when a bright light could be seen coming out of the northern sky directly towards them. They probably never knew what hit them, dead center, leaving a large, smoking crater when the Erasmus home used to be.

When inspecting the high-speed video of the event before uploading it to YouTube, Deep swore he saw a glowing ember of Sorcha on the incoming nosecone, still attached with a couple of chains and white hot. Frames a few seconds before showed Erasmus losing his footing on the roof and falling upside down and downside up into the dish, placing him so the missile hit his bottom dead center. A fitting end for someone who had pulled so much out of his end during his long career as “The Albert Einstein of Smart-Assed Guys.”

Deep returned to Dark Agenda headquarters in adulation. Even Erasmus' neighbors liked the new arrangement, their property values were sure to be higher with a smoldering crater next door than Erasmus. Honors, bonuses, and time off to see what it was Velna kept telling him she had to tell him, but always put off until later. But first the drinking and overeating and triumphant march through Times Square.

After waking up late the next morning, Velna came to Deep quite concerned. “I just heard from one of the New World Order Witch Sisterhood and they need to speak with you right now!”

“Forget it,” dismissed Deep, “after what happened I’ve been avoiding them and I’m not changing that now. I realize that they want to bask in my glory too, maybe my shunning them will teach them to keep their fingers in their own orifices next time.”

“It’s not that, and it’s not only me telling you to get to work as quickly as you can! This goes all the way up to the big guy ‘down there’.”

Usually when Velna referred to “the big guy down there” she was making suggestive suggestions to Deep that led to unmentionable acts I can’t mention, but something in her voice and eyes told him not this time. Told him in no uncertain terms that certainly meant the crisis wasn’t over yet!

[Deep Knight]

The Case of the Alveolar Agent
A Final Branchings of the Respiratory Tree Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 17: A Former Pro Baseball Player Turns into a Ballet Dancer

Rapid negotiations led to a meeting between the Illuminati Witchcraft division and Deep at Dark Agenda Headquarters. At first Deep wanted an even dozen guards and Velna with a machine gun as backup to protect him, but finally settled on three and a flintlock riffle for Velna. Two not-as-ugly-as-most witches represented the other side, with a dead-ringer for Samantha from Bewitched as the spokesconjurer.

“You should have consulted with us before trying to kill the whistleblower alternative online press, WAOP for short,” suggested the twitchy nose sorceress, “by acting hastily you have put in motion a foreseeable future that even we cannot foresee.”

“I tried to consult with you, but all I got were worthless software bug spells and fingers where they shouldn’t be,” retorted Deep angrily, “and disgusting, debasing, filthy acts like that should only be done within the sanctity of marriage.”

“It’s not like it was your first rodeo, buckaroo!” sneered the sorceress, “But we’ve got to leave arguments about who put what where behind us right now, because your foolish actions have created a crisis of critical magnitude!”

“So, how about getting to the point and telling me what’s up,” countered Deep, getting rather annoyed.

“It’s a long story,” said the other witch, “that starts with the concept of the triple goddess being represented by the phases of the moon …”

Deep nodded to a burly guard, who walked over and pointed a shotgun at the speaker’s head. This seemed to cause a breakthrough in the negotiations, and after half a page the story finally returned to the main thread of the plot.

“It’s embarrassing, but some of the girls do consulting work on the side. Freelance potions and spells mostly, but sometimes just a little is for the forces of good, often the same ones we’re fighting against during working hours. I know it’s not right, but a girl’s gotta live and what you pay us hardly covers rent, food, nightlife and potions.”

“You mean you’ve been working both sides of the street,” concluded Deep, “Even after signing the non-competition agreement. Human Resources is going to want to look into this, and perhaps execute a few of you, but I don’t understand what it has to do with me.”

“You don’t understand?” repeated the somewhat wicked witch, “Of course you don’t understand, because I’ve been beating about the bush! You can’t kill the people you just killed, you idiot! They were protected by a spell so powerful that they can’t be killed!”

“But I killed them,” countered Deep, “and they died just fine. Not even one reanimated, unless you count that incident in Rio, and I don’t because it was likely just swamp gas.”

“Fool!” spit the spiteful sorceress, “Spells of this magnitude don’t happen instantly like magic, it takes time, the dark of the moon, and enough cosmic rays to get a quick charge, which happens slowly. But they will all live again, and come here to have their revenge! They are the undying, nosferatu, the living dead, zombies, but a whole lot harder to kill because they can’t be.”

“Look lady, I don’t know what you think you know you think, but in my world I burnt some of my victims, had others eaten and excreted as little piles of alien poop, and still others reduced to atoms. There’s absolutely no way any of them could come back alive, and if they did, have enough limbs to walk, much less somehow get revenge.”

“The power of black magic is greater than all the fire, grinding teeth, digestive enzymes, and directed energy weapons in the universe! Even when it’s being sold as white magic on the grey market. Sure they’ll be ugly and walk slow, but they regenerate tissue fast, and that makes them even harder to kill, which is useless anyway because they can’t be killed. It’s the only problem with that potion, well, except for the taste.”

Suddenly every alarm at New World Order Central went off at once. Deep turned to the window of executive conference room to see a sight that shocked him to his very core. He had been trained to expect the unexpected, but neither he nor his readers expected this!”

[Deep Knight]

The Case of the Ageless Agent
Another Looking Like You’re Thirty at Fifty Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 18: A Neatly Organized Wallet can save you from this Common Scam

From the unobstructed view of the penthouse Executive Conference Room in the secret underground high-rise New World Order Headquarters building, Deep and Velna could see what caused the alarm. A line of re-animated slowly-advancing zombies were slowly advancing towards the building, revenge in their eyes. Or at least it was in the eyes of those who still had eyes. In Deep’s zeal to assassinate them he had gone from simple murder to dismemberment, incineration, and in many cases, digestion, some in alien intestinal tracts. Consequently, the reassembled and reanimated whistleblowers were all various degrees of disgusting. Especially those composed of fecal material. A detailed description is probably unnecessary, and would almost certainly involve aspects of the worst sort of bathroom humor, so it will be left out here.

As frightening as these creatures were, especially green and bloated zombie Orly (not necessarily a bad look for her), it was nothing compared to the 24 foot tall thing they were gathered around. It was a horribly mutated zombie hybrid from the recent ICBM crash in Seneca South Carolina. When remnants of Sorcha Faal, glowing at 6800 degrees from reentry, crashed into Erasmus’ behind at twice the speed of sound, enough energy was present to fuse their genes together. More specifically, some of Sorcha’s generic genes joined with those at the end of Erasmus’ digestive tract. Add some miscellaneous Lord Rama and Lady Tara DNA, and the world’s biggest asshole was born. Literally, it was a prehensile, slowly walking colon and rectum 3 stories tall. Not only did it have an IQ unmeasureable by modern science, it warned citizens about the many catastrophic Earth changes and events to come while channeling Mother Sekhmet all the while. And, as you can expect with a creature this vile, it also did all those things colons and rectums are famous for, only on a much larger scale.

The Chairman of the Board, the Evil One himself, came rushing into the conference room, sweating bullets. It was obvious from the wet spot on his pants that he had peed himself out of sheer terror. And scaring someone of his background wasn’t something easily done. “I’ve sent George out to negotiate,” he said in a halting, frightened voice, “He’s gonna offer them a deal where everything returns to normal, we transfer their consciousness into their cloned bodies using a Vulcan technique revealed in one of those Star Trek movies. After all, politics is the art of compromise.”

Deep scowled as he saw an official reprimand coming for doing what he had been told to do. He was thinking of several clever ways to throw the Illuminati witches under the bus and make himself look good, when Satan’s executive assistant came running it. “It’s George, they’ve eaten his brains!”

“You mean, that was their answer to his offer of negotiations?” asked the dark lord, his voice unsure.

“He never got a chance to say anything! An anthropomorphic pile of poop grabbed him, ripped off the top of his head, and ate the contents. It laughed when the elite Republican Guard opened fire with their heavy weapons. Bullets didn’t stop them, neither did flame throwers. Then the guards themselves were wiped out with a single motion of the giant whatever it is. And I do mean wiped, it was as if the upper end of it was wiping itself with them. It was horrible, and embarrassing, to watch.”

The rising smell led Velna to believe that the Prince of Darkness had lost control of another excretory orifice at the latest news. He was pale and muttered, “Perhaps they’ll accept our surrender…” Velna quickly turned to the two weird sisters and asked, “You must have some sort of spell that will stop this horror! Or at least clean him up and change his pants.”

The sisters sheepishly shook their heads, “It’s not like magic is “magic” you know. These were unbreakable spells, which locks us out of revoking them. It’s iron clad, even stronger than the NESARA and Dinar RV non-disclosures.”

“White flag, I need a white flag,” stuttered Satan, “Someone’s gotta have a white flag.” Things looked hopeless for the Dark Agenda, with the New World Order in disorder and darkness falling on the Illuminati. The next thing you know the Binders would be giving up burgers. Was this is end of evil as we know it? Was there a way out? Could they escape the wrath of this huge a-hole?

[Deep Knight]

The Case of the Acrobatic Agent
A Deep Knight Adventure Filled with Twists

Chapter 19: The Deep-Voiced Man was referred to as “Phil”

All was not well at Dark Agenda Headquarters, New World Order Central, Illuminati Masonic Temple, and Sanctuary of The Nameless One. The Nameless One, who’s known as Satan or The Devil, but whose real name is “Lucifer Abaddon the Fallen Angel” was having a nervous breakdown. Desperate to do whatever was necessary to save himself from having god-knows-what done to him by the puckered end of a giant, mutant, gastrointestinal terminus, he was ready to bend over backwards to meet the demands of the living-dead-forces-of-good-and-getting-the-truth-out-that-the-lamestream-media-won’t-touch. “I would do what they want, but the only response they’ve given before eating the brains of the questioner has been, ‘Feed me your brains.’ Not a lot of room for compromise,” he murmured as if in a dream.

“Compromise?” spat out Velna, “Compromise is a word used by losers. If they put pressure on you, and you decide to ‘compromise,’ it just means that next time they’ll put pressure on you again, then again, knowing you’ll buckle. Soon you’ll have given away everything and left holding your John Thomas without a pot to piss in. You built this business up from scratch to be the best known secret society on earth! Are you going to let some asshole take it away from you? You're the most feared demon in the universe! Don’t talk of compromise, talk of scorched earth! Preferably theirs!”

Satan lost his look of fear, straightened his badly loosened tie, and tucked away his forked tail. “I need a drink,” he said, biting the neck of a nearby office girl, “But what can we do? You heard the witches, they can’t break unbreakable spells.”

“We didn’t start this war, but we’re going to end it,” said Deep inspirationally, “Although I grant you that technically we did start it, we were pushed to far! Goody two shoes with their virtue and justice, NESARA laws and prosperity programs. Someone had to stop them, and like our ancestors who came to this great land and found it ripe to be plundered, we need to rise to the challenge and fight back! “

“But they can’t be killed,” explained the Prince of Darkness, “and killing is all I know. Sure there are all sorts of new-fangled torments, but I’m too old a dog to learn new tricks.”

“Yeah, but we can slow them down enough that we can contain them for a while,” said Deep, getting excited at the idea that had exploded in his mind, “And if we can do that, we can shoot them all into space on these Russian rockets I know how to get for a song.”

“That’s brilliant honey, but then what? You tried burning one up on reentry, and that seems to have backfired,” said Velna, “so what do we try next.”

“The surface of the sun!” shyly suggested Satan, “It’s what we threaten people in hell with when they get too rowdy. Atoms get lost in a sea of fusion and fire, even immortal souls can’t get out easily.”

“I was thinking of Planet X, but since there a remote chance it may someday crash into earth, that idea is even better!” said Deep enthusiastically, knowing it was good to agree with the boss. Besides, it was an inspired idea, the old codger sometimes came up with a good one, much like a stopped clock is right twice a day. “Now we have to stop them until we can make them go ballistic, and there was something Velna said not long ago about scorched earth being theirs, not ours. Well, maybe not! Think about it, they couldn’t resist taking over our headquarters, but we could rig it with explosives just as easily as we did the World Trade Center, and trap them for days, if not weeks, in the debris.”

“But my beautiful world headquarters,” said Satan, “The tallest underground building on earth, admired by all who see it before we eliminate them because they know too much.”

“Sometimes you have to let go,” said Deep, “And they’re going to take it over soon anyway. If you look out the window, you’ll see Zombie Charred OkieOilMan is lighting the giant asshole’s farts. Who would have thought he had been to college, much less a frat boy?”

[Deep Knight]

The Case of the Fan Dancer’s Horse
A Stolen from Early Stanley Gardner Deep Knight Adventure

Chapter 20: Della and Perry Sweat Out the End of the Month

Did you ever have the feeling that you wanted to go, and still have the feeling that you wanted to stay? Well, The Devil did, but as the seconds ticked by the time for delay was over. Always a man of action, Deep broke the impasse. “Teach them what it means to be a man of iron will. Show them that a fighter is willing to sacrifice to win, and nobody will ever mess with you again. Even the IRS, and think of the money that would save us in tax lawyers alone. Besides, we can build a brand new headquarters … in Las Vegas on The Strip!”

It was a matter of seconds before the order to evacuate was given. Deep and Velna were amongst the last to get out, Satan being delayed by the need wash up and change his pants. They had naturally stalyed with him to make sure the witches didn’t bend his ear and try to get him to negotiate again. Their exit was not a second too soon, they weren’t a quarter mile away before they could see the forces of good dancing on the roof in celebration. But they weren’t looking at that, they were looking at the falling laser-guiding bombs that were aimed deep underground at the center of same roof being used as a disco, causing it to collapse downwards, the revelers with it. Meanwhile, the hastily-placed explosives in the building were set off, and the level of destruction was horrible to see. A giant pile of smoldering debris and twisted steel, hidden because it was underground, of course, was left in mute reminder of the brave strategic retreat. At least that’s what anyone who had the good sense to fear Satan called it in public.

Velna had transferred the money to Boris and Natasha’s Swiss bank account before the dust had settled, and the ICBMs were soon on their way, FedEx overnight. As the stunned zombies crawled out of the rubble, they were frozen to slow them down even more, and then compressed into a spherical shape using an auto-body compactor. Loaded into a high pressure titanium shell inside a nose cone and immediately launched, they were well out of the earth’s gravity before they freed themselves and found they were falling, slowly but inescapably, into the sun. The Saturn V moon rocket at the Smithsonian was taken out of mothballs as a special present from Agent Obama and used to send Zombie Rectal Hybrid Sorcha-Erasmus-A&A to their new home. This was partly because the creature was so large, and partly because Deep wanted to pack it in an especially high pressure shell along with an open 42 gallon barrel of insanely hot sauce. They say the screams could be heard all the way across the vacuum of space.

Illuminati scientists calculated that the undead entities sooner or later burnt up in the nuclear furnace that is the sun and converted to energy. Ironically, one could say they ascended and became light, just what the new-age faction amongst them had been saying for years, albeit without the sudden wealth and god-like powers promised beforehand. Their clone replacements were allowed to continue posting, but had been programmed to simply repeat the same old rumors over and over. Since that was pretty much what they had been doing all along, nobody noticed. And, the new headquarters was beautiful. For one, being in Vegas, the center of the sin industry, it could be above ground and in the open. Disguised as a Casino and Resort that was always “booked,” the evil forces of the world started actually show up at meetings just to get in on the shows and promotions. Not only did it have its own Cirque du Soleil show, “Illuminateque,” but Rat Pack impersonators who did a tribute stage show in the lounge 24/7. It’s said the Satan’s wife, Gladys, decorated the new offices which got her off his back for over a year, much to his everlasting gratitude. When she was bored at having to stay home while he was out day and night because evil never sleeps, she could make Hell a living hell.

But earlier, as the last rocket lifted off, Velna was knitting the smallest set of baby blue booties. This surprised him because he didn’t know she knitted. Anyway, Deep thought about their life together and what changes might come. “You know that thing I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, Dear?” asked Velna, as Deep gazed into her eyes which were gazing into his eyes. Suddenly it dawned on him as if he had been slapped in the face! There was another man, one that had very small feet, likely one of his miniature minions who was only pretending to be dead during their previous visit to Vegas. His mind burned with jealousy. How could she betray him like this, especially with someone who sounded like a munchkin when he pitched woo?

“Sit down,” suggested Velna, punctuating her request with a gentle choke hold, “While I explain the facts of life and consequences of not using birth control to you, mister nothing-escapes-my-gaze.”

[Deep Knight]

The Case of the Antidisestablishmentarianistic Agent
Another Adventure that Glorifies Deep Knight’s Long Adjective

Epilogue: Lame Locks make it Less Likely you’ll get Lucky

Small wisps of smoke still arose from the underground crater months later as Deep Knight visited the site of the former New World Order Headquarters. After the last zombie lightworker had crawled out and been shot into the sun the area had been carefully screened for living biological material and given the green light, after which the screeners retired to the red light district for some R&R. It had been a dangerous job, what with the pools of liquid steel from the thermite bombs that had been mixed in with the explosives for no discernible reason, but it sounded good in the annual report.

What also sounded good was Deep’s new status as a Colonel in the Illuminati Air Force. Not only did this mean a nicer office and prettier secretary (well, until his wife Velna intervened), but no more waiting at airports. This honor had been bestowed on him after he had successfully led the inquisition into the immortally spells being given to the Illuminati’s worst enemies. At first the Witch’s union had tried to offer up a few of their uglier sisters as scapegoats, figuring Deep would only look skin deep when judging them. Surprising everyone, even himself, he dug surprisingly deep and uncovered the truth. It’s what happens when you have all this time that you used to fill with boffing strings of supermodels. What could have easily degraded into a witch hunt was taken care of professionally and quickly by Deep and handed over to Human Resources. Those guilty of offering their services to the forces of good on the side were either reprimanded or burnt at the stake, depending on their level of involvement and who they knew.

But, with new status came new responsibilities and painted an even bigger target on Deep’s back. A drawback to an organization where assassination was a time-honored pathway to advancement. Then there was his impending fatherhood, what would be the impact of Deep Junior on both of their lives? Then there was the unease he felt while looking into the pit. Was it just the volatile carcinogens from the fire he was breathing, or was it a prescient foreboding? Was there something still alive down there? Was there a way back from the sun? Would he become a victim of his own success with his undead nemeses returning because rabid fans clamored for a sequel?

Suddenly, in the shadows in the rubble something moved. Then came a groaning sound. Deep quickly pulled his night-vision goggles from his pants and surveyed the scene, cold sweat dripping from his feverish forehead. Suddenly a sense of calm and peace came over him, it was only an albino underground deer who had strayed into the pit in its last dying throws of agony. He smiled and thought about home and his family as he turned to leave.

Deep Knight wouldn’t have been nearly as calm if he had been near SETI in the New Mexico desert, where the antenna’s searching for extraterrestrial life picked up the unmistakable signature of an intelligent signal, setting off alarms. Strangely, it was coming as a modulation on signals that naturally come from sunspots. In standard ASCII digital Morris code were coordinates, attitude, longitude and altitude, repeated over and over. Looking on Google maps, the scientists were surprised to find it pointed to a luxury highrise in Denver, specifically to an apartment leased by Deep and Velna Knight. The only other word in the message was a single one occasionally interspersed in the coordinates, “DIE!”