The Potato Ploy
In a secret laboratory in the middle of the Antarctic, Dr John Ramsey was trying to finish a project he had been working on for months. He moved to where his potatoes were growing this was the heart of the project. Everything depended on whether the potatoes would grow.
He walked away from the potatoes to his computer. He opened up the file with all his research for the potato project. As the file was opening, he saw movement coming from right behind his chair. He turned just in time to see a bloody crowbar coming down on his head.
In Cardiff, England, detective Denver Robinson was lying in his bed, still drunk from the party that night. It had been a while since he had been called in for a case, and he had started to go into a sort of withdrawal. His phone rang. “Man, I knew I should’ve moved that phone into my bedroom,” he mumbled as he got out of his bed. When he reached the phone, it had already rung 9 times, Denver was counting. “Hello, who is this?” Denver asked.
“It’s me Denver, I’ve got another case for you,”
“Charles? I thought I would never hear from you again!” Denver said, a little smile creeping onto his face.
“Yeah, it’s been pretty quiet around here since you solved that last case,” Charles said. “But I’ve got another for you, and the scene of the crime is in Antarctica.”
“What!?” Denver exclaimed. “You’re asking me to go to Antarctica? This better be a good case or I ain’t going.”
“Apparently someone stole a whole bunch of PMDs.”
“PMDs?” Denver asked.
“Potatoes of Mass Destruction,” Charles replied.
Denver searched Charles’ voice to see if he was joking, but he found no reason to believe that he was.
“So you’re saying that I have to go to Antarctica, just to find a bunch of potatoes?” Denver asked, exasperated.
“They’re not normal potatoes, they’re Potatoes of Mass Destruction,” Charles countered.
“Fine, tell me what’s so special about these potatoes and then maybe I’ll go,” Denver was getting pissed.
“Okay,” Charles began. “There was a lab in Antarctica, where British scientists were trying to create weapons of mass destruction. They mainly used potatoes because the scientists had a large amount at their disposal. They first started adding poisons to the potatoes so they could serve them at meals for their enemies, but they figured out that it might be hard to get into your enemy’s kitchen, so they stopped that project.”
Next, they began making bombs, but they couldn’t figure out how to turn a potato into a bomb,” Charles continued. “Finally, the scientists found a certain acid in the potato that if enhanced, could cripple the humans immune system, respiratory system and digestive system in a matter of minutes. Apparently they had just completed the project when the potatoes were stolen.”
“Well it seems that they knew when it was completed,” Denver stated. “It’s almost as if they had someone on the inside.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Charles said. “So will you take the case?”
“Fine, it actually sounds interesting now that you’ve explained it.”
“Good, that means I won’t have to waste money to bribe you.”
“How am I going to get to Antarctica?”
“I’ll have a private jet land at your mansion tomorrow and take you there.”
“Okay, but be warned, I sleep late,”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be awake by the time we make it to your house.”
And with that Charles hung up. “Well then, I better start packing,” Denver muttered.
The next morning, Denver was standing on the roof of his house, waiting for Charles to pick him up. He had been up since 6 am. Someone had hacked into his computer and set off an alarm so loud that if he had any neighbors, they probably would have been woken up. Now it was 1:00 and he was standing on his roof with a loaded pistol and a duffel bag filled with clothing.
Denver waited another hour until Charles’ jet arrived. When it touched down, Denver hopped on and sat down in his seat without saying anything. He noticed that the plane was moving at 3,000 mph, meaning that they would make it to their destination in a bit more than 3 hours.
He also saw Charles walk into the bathroom and see a security guard lock it behind him. He then saw the second security guard make a menacing move towards the cockpit, reaching for his pistol. Denver realized that these were not security guards, they were planning to assassinate him and Charles before they could complete the case.
Denver lept into action. He jumped up from his seat and kicked the assassin nearest to the cockpit in the chest, crippling him. Then he took the gun of the assassin and shot the one near the bathroom in the head. He tied the assassin that was still alive to a chair and unlocked the door to the bathroom. When Charles walked out, he was dragging two almost naked men out of the bathroom. “The security guards are…” Charles began.
“I know,” Denver snapped. “I killed one of them, the other one’s tied up for questioning at seat 20 B.”
“Okay, lets speak to him then,” Charles said cheerfully.
When they got to the seat where the assassin was tied up, they found him slumped in his seat, his eyes glazed over. “Hey! Buddy! wake up!” Charles kicked him in the shin. “Wake up!” The assassin kept staring off into the distance. Denver checked his pulse. “Nothing, he’s dead,” Denver reported.
“Great, the one person who could lead us to whoever stole the PMDs is dead now.”
“First of all, how did he die? Secondly, we have no reason to believe these people had any relations to the people who stole the PMDs,” Denver said, a scowl scrawling over his face.
“Actually, the insignia on his shirt was the same one spray painted on the walls of the laboratory.” Charles said pointing to the assassin’s shirt.
“I’ve seen this before,” Denver said, taking a closer look. “It was spray painted on the walls at a bunch of gun stores that got robbed last year.”
“They were probably getting guns so they could steal the PMDs,” Charles stated.
“Probably. We need to search their jackets, they might have passports that could tell us where they’re from.”
After Denver and Charles had searched the assassins’ jackets, they found two passports. “This one’s from Russia,” Charles called, standing over the one he was searching.
“So is this one,” Denver yelled.
“Well, we have our first clue. It’s either the Russians, or whoever stole the PMDs liked to recruit Russians,” Charles stated.
“This is just two people Charles,” Denver said. “It could be an army of Spaniards and two Russians joined their cause!”
“We found 9 bodies at the laboratory, all of them were Russian,” Charles countered.
“Fine,” Denver never liked to be wrong.
“I don’t think you’re on your game today Denver,” Charles said. “I’m usually the one who needs information.”
Denver was silent for a moment. An idea just dawned on him. “So, you say that all the men we have found on the front lines have Russian passports, correct?” Denver asked.
“Yes,” Charles said cautiously.
“And you said that they just left their dead, with their passports, lying on the ground of the laboratory so that any person who thought to look could pick the passport up and say that these men were Russian?” Denver prompted.
“Yes,” Charles said a little more enthusiastically. Denver was only like this when he had a good idea.
“So that would be a great way to start a war between Britain and Russia, while the real culprits could slip away unnoticed,” Denver concluded.
“Wow,” Charles exclaimed. “That would buy them enough time to make a plan on how to take over the world.”
“Exactly, they just let two of the biggest military threats in the world kill each other and then destroy America and Germany with the PMDs.”
“I have to warn the Prime Minister not to advance on Russia,” Charles said, reaching for his phone.
“You do that, I’m going to check on the cockpit,” Denver said quietly. “My GPS says that we’ve turned around.”
As Charles dialed the number of the Prime Minister, Denver silently moved towards the cockpit. Right as Denver moved his hand towards the door handle, it swung open, smashing him into the wall. The pilot appeared in the doorway. He slammed the door shut and locked it behind him. Then he promptly grabbed a parachute, opened one of the emergency exits and jumped.
“S**t! He took the key with him!” Denver screamed over the howling wind. Charles jumped up and slammed the emergency exit closed.
“Do you know how to fly a plane?” Charles asked hurriedly.
“Yes,” Denver replied. “But the door’s locked, I can’t get in!”
“Do you have your gun? You could shoot the lock,” Charles asked.
“It must have slid under a seat when the door smashed my face,” Denver said after he reach to his belt.
“Oh well, we’ll just have to do it the old way,” Charles said, winding up to kick the door down. He let one fly, nothing happened. He kicked it again, nothing happened. Denver got up, and lept feet first at the door, smashing it down. Denver got up quickly and sat down in the pilot’s seat.
“Let’s see if we can catch our first pilot before he gets away,” Denver muttered to himself, making the plane dive down. When the plane caught up to the original pilot, they were about 100 feet above the Atlantic Ocean. Charles opened one of the emergency exit doors and pulled the man in. Charles pointed a gun to the man’s and and tied him up just as Denver pulled the plane up towards the clouds.
“Who are you working for?” Charles demanded.
“Who do you think?” the man snapped, trying to fake a Russian accent.
“Quit it with the fake accent, we already know that you’re not really Russian,” Charles exclaimed, his voice as cold as ice.
“You’ll never get anything from me!” The man howled in his fake accent.
“Why is it that people never listen to me?” Charles asked sourly. Denver walked out of the cockpit, gun in hand.
“I put autopilot on,” Denver said. “I’ll take it from here.”
“Fine by me,” Charles said, stepping away from the pilot.
“Okay buddy, you’re going to play by my rules.” Denver growled. “If you don’t, I promise you that I won’t be as nice as Mr. Goody Goody over there,”
“Hey!” Charles protested. Denver just glared at him. Charles didn’t continue.
“So, will you be helpful, or will I have to do this the hard way,” Denver said, returning his gaze to the pilot. The pilot had seen the way that the man named Charles had gone silent so quickly, so he knew that he should be afraid of this man.
“I’ll do my best to be helpful,” the pilot said, gulping.
“Quit it with that accent!” Denver roared.
“Fine,” the pilot stopped using the accent and tried to put as much space between him and this crazy man.
“You sound German, are you?” Denver asked, a little bit calmer this time.
“I am,” the pilot said, thankful that the man interrogating him had stopped shouting.
“Is the organization you work for German?” Denver prompted.
“No,” the pilot strived to keep to small answers, so that he didn’t give away too much.
“What is the name of your organization and where is it based?” Denver probed. The man didn’t answer. “I said,” Denver’s voice was rising, “What is the name of your organization and where is it based?”
“I can’t tell you that,” the pilot said, sitting up a bit straighter in his seat.
“Tell me or I swear I will tear you apart, one limb at a time until all that’s left is what you need to speak!” The pilot could tell that he was serious, but he stood his ground.
“I will not tell you,” the pilot stated.
“Fine then,” Denver growled, pulling a knife from his back pocket. He grabbed the pilot’s right hand and cut off his pinkie finger. The man screamed. It was so high that Charles was afraid that all the windows on the plan would shatter.
“Fine, I’ll tell you!” The pilot choked out through his sobbs.
“Thank you,” Denver said calmly.
“The organization I work for is called Kraken. Our base is under the Atlantic Ocean at the coordinates of North 29˚ and West 55˚.” The pilot sobbed.
“I’ll ask you one more question and then I will let you go, Okay?” Denver asked.
“Okay,” the pilot responded.
“What was your organization created for?”
“It was created so that all the people who have been shunned in the world can help take down this corrupt world and begin a new one,” the pilot replied.
“That’s exactly what I was worried about,” Denver said. Then he grabbed the pilot and threw him out of the plane.
“What was that about?” Charles asked him.
“Remember that time when I had to investigate a long string of murders that were all done on the same day?” Denver asked.
“Yes, what about it?” Charles asked.
“Well I lied to you,” Denver said. “I told you that I had killed the culprit in a gunfight, but really, I was just too ashamed to admit that someone had finally bested me.” Charles looked stunned.
“How did he best you?” Charles asked.
“He was an amazing criminal, he had everything planned out in advance. He knew that you would send me, so he made five extra trails that I could follow. I would find something like a note hidden in a crevice, then I would find that it led to a dead end.”
When I finally caught up to him, he had killed another large group of people. We had a firefight, I shot him in the arm, I asked him why he had killed those people and he said the exact same thing the pilot told me the organization was made for. A group of bodybuilders came in and drove me out to the Atlantic and threw me into the ocean, and I was too tired to try and follow the bodybuilders back, so I just came home and told you I had killed him.”
“Oh,” was Charles’ only answer.
“Well, now that we know where he is, we can finish this,” Denver said, heading for the cockpit.
“Not so fast!” Charles called after him.
Denver spun around to see a new man, standing exactly where Charles was standing, pointing a gun at him. Denver suddenly recognized him. The man standing in front of him was the same one that had led him on that everlasting chase, the only case that he had failed to complete.
“You!” Denver yelled.
“Yes me,” The man said. “And you can call me Loki, Loki Viggo.”
“Why were you posing as Charles?” Denver demanded. “Where is he?”
“He’s gone to a better place,” Loki said smugly.
“Why didn’t you kill me earlier? It would’ve been easy!”
“Because I didn’t know if you really were the same Denver that I tricked all those years ago,” Loki said. “I let my bodybuilders keep you alive so I could finish you myself.”
“So then you dressed up as my boss and waited until me and you were alone.”
“Enough talk, time to die!” Loki snapped, pulling the trigger. Nothing happened. Loki pulled the trigger again, nothing. “What have you done!” Loki screamed.
“I was afraid something like this would happen, so I took all your ammo,” Denver said, looking smug.
“You leave me no choice then,” Loki seethed, pulling a smaller pistol from his boot. “This may only have one bullet, but it should do the job!” Loki pulled the trigger. Denver jumped out of the way, but the bullet still hit him in the leg.
“Ahhhh!” Denver yelled. Loki leapt past him into the cockpit. He turned the plane into a complete nose dive and then grabbed a parachute. He swung open the emergency exit door and got ready to jump. “Sayonara sucker!” Loki screamed joyfully as he got ready to jump.
Denver jumped up, his right leg screaming in pain and slammed the emergency door shut in Loki’s face. Loki clutched at his face and grabbed at a knife stuck in his pocket. Denver didn’t let him get that far, he grabbed Loki by the hem of his shirt and punched him until his face was covered in blood.
When Denver felt that Loki was fully incapacitated, he lept up and ran for the cockpit. He struggled with the yoke, trying to pull the plane up at the last second. He was too late. The plane, moving at 3,000 miles per hour smashed into the Atlantic ocean, plunging down into its murky depths until it hit the bottom, still traveling at 200 miles per hour.