Bruce Smith was the best operative ASIO had; codenamed Agent Drop Bear, he was as suave and sophisticated as any Australian man could be. He could make sheila’s weak at the knees with just a single glance from under his Akubra, and every red-blooded man wanted to be him, and his generous farming rights. And while he operated and worked in the nation’s capital, Canberra, his real home was in Victoria, along the coast in Torquay, where he owned a holiday caravan.
It was on this day, Labour Day, that he was called by his old boss, John Howard.
“Ah, Agent Drop Bear, sorry to, uh, interrupt”
Bruce was in the middle of servicing a local sheila’s plumbing when a small screen rose slowly up from the head of the fold out bed in the wall, former Prime Minister John Howard and his bushy eyebrows filling up most of the screen.
“Don’t worry mate, was just finishing up here. Of ya go missy”
With a rough slap on the arse, the sheila was on her way. Wearing only his trademark Akubra he turned to address his commanding officer.
“So, whats the story Johnny?”
“Terrorists have made demands to, uh, blow up the Victorian Parliament”
“Sorry boss, can’t do it. Public holiday”
“But Bruce, we, uh, need you”
“Alright mate, but I want triple time for this”
Quickly throwing on his acid washed jeans and work-mans shirt, Bruce burst out of his caravan into the soft sunlight and got into his Hilux Ute, mentally preparing himself for the trip into Melbourne.
Taking the Princes Freeway through Geelong and up towards Melbourne, he cursed at forgetting his Citilink pass; he would have to send the bill to Johnny for reimbursement. Across the West Gate Bridge he saw Melbourne in all its high-rise glory, the sun shining off the towering buildings and the filthy Yarra River. He enjoyed the big smoke, but didn’t like the pushing and shoving and generally increasing rudeness of its inhabitants, but he still regarded Australia as the Lucky Country and was proud to serve it…as long as it kept him in VB and premium AFL tickets at the MCG.
Burning rubber up Spring Street, his Ute bounced off an errant tram track and sailed through the air, landing at the steps of Parliament. He leapt out of the ute just as an RPG sailed through the air, striking it and exploding, turning the car into a pile of scrap metal.
“Ooo, you’re going to pay for that mate. That was a 2008 model!”
Reaching into his jeans he pulled out a 9mm pistol and fired off wildly towards the man with the launcher. The man convulsed with the impacts and fell to the ground in a heap. Bruce rushed up the steps, gun in hand, ready to fight those bastard terrorists. Seeing no enemies outside he put his boot to the entry door and kicked it open.
“Don’t take another step, filthy capitalist!”
As the doors opened Bruce saw the situation: one guy with the Minister for Transport as a hostage.
“Or what, you little bugger?”
“I’ll kill this man!”
“He was doing a shit job anyway mate”, Bruce raised his gun and fired twice, one hitting the Minister for Transport in the head, the other blowing out the skull of the terrorist.
Waiting at Southern Cross station for the V-Line to Geelong, Bruce felt his phone vibrate. He reached in and flicked it open; it was Johnny.
“Hi mate. There were only two guys in the whole place. Security buggered up something shocking”
“Yes, uh, unfortunately. But did you, uh, have to shoot the Minister?”
“It was a bit of a cock-up, sure, but he deserved it”
“Fair enough, uh, Agent Drop Bear”
Written by J. W. Holland