Mr. Clean

Bernardo Limpio, agent for the Tax, Alcohol, Recreational Sex, and Alien Liaison Bureau leaned forward into the scanning area of the Macrosoft Computer and said one word: “Darjeeling.” The name had recently come up in the ongoing Voynich Manuscript project that he was heading up and he was nervously waiting to see what connections the massive Voynich dbase would provide. He swung around in his office chair and pushed away from the computer desk and over to the only paper filing cabinet he had left. He had kept the cabinet and its contents as a reminder of two things: How things used to be and how long he had been a TARSAL agent. He had started with the old ATF and had been rapidly promoted after Waco where he had operated as an internal agent. When the regime change came in 2010 he had been temporarily demoted to inspecting Kansas Farm Winery operations, a boring, albeit necessary function of the then ATTB. He spun around again as the monitor prompted him: “Please place your face within the Macrosoft scan area for retinal id. Thank you, agent Limpio.” The links to Darjeeling began scrolling up. Usually there would be thousands but in this case only a few hundred popped up, evidence that this particular probe was relatively clean. “I’ll be damned!” Limpio exclaimed as he peeled a banana and put the peeling in a plastic baggy. He was always concerned about the smell of food being detected and took extra precaution to not offend anyone near his cube. “Agent Limpio, please remember that eating is not allowed in the cube area,” the Macrosoft Monitor admonished. “Drat! I forgot about the Smellsense id port on the computer,” he thought and pitched the baggy into his brief snapping the lock shut and hoping that the Smellsensor was not that sensitive. “I was on this guy’s property and actually talked to him about five years ago,” he tried to remember a face with the name but came up blank. And so it was with Darjeeling, a blank face and a blank history. In his history, there were the usual trips abroad and the failed winery operation after the Blight of ’07, but nothing outstanding except for one small reference to the Voynich Manuscript. It seems that Darjeeling had been the only person to crack the Voynich Code and then had more or less disappeared after making the claim publicly. He had become irrelevant after the Code had been deciphered by TARSAL agents working with the Smithsonian Massive Access Computer (SMAC) in 2008. Limpio had been a part of that team and had received agency recognition by being inducted into the Golden Toe Society. He looked at the framed award with the society motto in flowing script across the top: “To fantasize is better than to realize when, in all probability, an event will never take place.” Straightforward, yes, but also true. True to him and true to all of the other GTS members. He was about to close up shop for the day when he noticed one other Voynich related item. It had entered the screen not as a Voynich related link but as a terrorist related link. Limpio queried the Macrosoft: “Relate Darjeeling,Voynich re: terrorist query true? False?” he spoke out loud. “True,” the monitor replied.
Limpio spun back around to the archaic file cabinet and opened the bottom drawer, pulling out a manila file folder: “Voynich Project – 2007” He opened it up to the blue tab marked “Code Breaker Investigation.” As he scanned the hard copy he queried the computer again: “Bring up terrorist link, re: Darjeeling, Voynich.” The Macrosoft screen changed colors from slate gray to a muddled red with the familiar warning and cautionary procedure for viewing sensitive information: Code Z Security Clearance required, enter via keyboard: security code. Approach scan area of screen for facial recognition while speaking the following randomly generated sentence: If I fell in love with you and I promise to be true, would you help me understand? “Who thinks up this shit?” he thought as he placed his face within eight inches of the screen and recited the sentence. He thought it sounded like some song he had once heard. He typed in the password: Wacko-Waco The screen changed to its normal setting and brought up the requested file. There wasn’t much there, just a reference to a Nuke Dimmitis as being involved in an investigation into an extraterrestrial sighting near Junction City, Kansas back in 2006 and a related article on Darjeeling concerning the Voynich Code. One of the code sequences Darjeeling had come up with was concerned with terroirism and he had made a statement to that effect, telling the journalist that there is a difference between terroirism and terrorism. In fact, he stated in the article that the two are totally unrelated and that terrorism had nothing to do with the Voynich Code or VC as he referred to it.
The Macrosoft computer beeped and belched out the command prompt: EAT. Limpio gave the shut down command and put the folder back in the file cabinet. He forgot all about the queries and the manuscript, Darjeeling and Dimmitis, and the Voynich Project as he made his way with the rest of the “cubes” as they were known, down to the lunch area. It was straight up twelve noon. He saw Linda from the next cube aisle over from his and headed her way, hoping to ride the escalator with her. “Hey, Linda, wait up,” he said and did his usual Groucho walk to catch up with her in the hall. He had read one time that Groucho Marx, the 1920’s comedian was actually running when he hunched over and walked that funny type of walk that he did. Limpio thought that was cool and did it all the time, much to the amusement and befuddlement of a lot of the other “cubes.” Linda Marble thought it was stupid. She turned around and looked then turned back around and continued to head for the lunch queue. Limpio kept up with the funny walk two steps past her, looking sideways as he went by. She ignored him. “What a dork,” she thought. Limpio stopped dead in his tracks and waited there, frozen in the funny walk, until she caught up with him. “What’s up Mr. Clean?” Linda liked to call him that because he was so anal about being clean. She held out her hand as if to shake hands, but she knew he wouldn’t touch her hand or anyone else’s. He scowled at her as he pivoted on his heel and ended up behind her, kind of looking over her shoulder. He changed his demeanor when he caught a whiff of her perfume.
“I’ve got some more data on the Voynich Project that you might be interested in.”
“I doubt it, Bernardo, that project is so passé.”
“This has to do with Darjeeling so I just thought I’d fill you in on what I found. How about sharing a lunch cube?”
“No way, Jose,” Linda stepped onto the escalator and moved up so that Limpio couldn’t stand beside her. She didn’t want the other cubists to think she and he were together. Limpio didn’t give up. He pulled up right behind her and kept talking.
“I know where Darjeeling is and how to get in touch with him.” He knew he was pushing the envelope on this one but if he could just have lunch with her it would be worth it. She turned around and looked at him.
“For real?”
“For real. Now let’s have lunch and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“You better not be horkin’ me Limpio.” To her surprise he took her hand. “I said, let’s have lunch, Linda,” and he gave it a squeeze. He looked at her as she pulled away. She turned around and ignored him all the rest of the way to the lunch cube. He followed her and, bolder now, went right in with her into the private lunch cube she had chosen. He was glad when she didn’t dismiss him. It was probably because they wouldn’t be seen as being together in public, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to be with her. And she wanted to know about the whereabouts of Stephen Darjeeling.