“Believe me: If we don’t stop this cabal, it will destroy the entire planet.” Dr. Eula Farkas glared at me from beneath her pith helmet. Her story sounded almost as implausible as she looked, but the five-figure retainer she’d just handed me went a long way toward making it more interesting.
“And just how will they accomplish that, doctor?”
“They plan to bombard the ozone layer,” she whispered, “with a substance so toxic that within ten years nothing will survive but cockroaches and unscrupulous literary agents.”
Not the most original plot line I’d ever heard. Still, I decided to play along. “And that mysterious substance is...?”
She leaned in across my desk until I could smell the fish oil on her breath. “Richard Strauss’s Also Sprach Zarathustra.”
Now she had my attention.
“So who came up with this bright idea? The KGB? The CIA?”
She reached into her net bag and pulled out an eight-by-ten glossy of a character who looked like a cross between Quentin Crisp and a dragoon—not the soldier, the bird.
“Mad scientist?” I asked.
“Worse,” she said. “A Fellow of the American Enterprise Institute.”
damn...there goes another keyboard.