Operation ALICE

Director Pringle is a man known for unflappability, capability and large number of other descriptors indicating that he is to be found, under even the most adverse conditions, in a state of serene confidence. Currently, his bald pate is sheened in perspiration, his suit rumpled and tie loosened at his neck and top shirt button undone. One reassurance; he is still wearing his tie. For that pillar of consensual reality to be removed would be a sure sign of [REDACTED].

Pringle composed himself, dabbing at his forehead with his handkerchief. Tucking the blemished cloth back in to his top pocket, he blew out and shook his head. Now, his customary knowing smile on his face, he leafed through a stack of files on the polished wooden tabletop in front of him. First, a series of files all stamped with a single name beginning with, "M," on the front. These are deftly dealt like playing cards to stop in front of the empty chairs.

"Mephistopheles," the old civil servant snorts at one folder. Opening it up he fingers the US passport and other documentation inside. "Good luck getting through border control with this one, Marceau". The last, "M," file cast aside, Pringle comes to a sealed file with a black and red striped hazard border, "STATIC PROTOCOL," printed in bold, red, block capitals. Pringle's lip curls in distaste and he flips it over.