Free Project Northwoods by Jonathan Charles Bruce Page A

unaware that his voice cracked. “The prototype is fully functional!” He half-sprinted and half-leapt toward his device. Yanking the suitcase from the floor and setting it on the table with a crack, he pulled a cord from a compartment and tried to attach it to the death ray. “It runs on a basic wall outlet now… but the final design…”
    “Mr. Lovelass…”
    He began to talk faster as he finally forced the cord into the prototype. “Solar power! It runs on cheap, plentiful solar power!”
    “If you just…”
    “Greener planet through destructive technologies, that’s my motto!” Arthur shouted, punctuating it with a laugh.
    “Please, stop talking…”
    Talk faster, damn it! “We’re talking easy world domination in a week once mounted on an orbital platform!”
    “For villains’ sake…”
    “It utilizes a three stage, oxygen ignition blast which…”
    “Mr. Lovelass!” The boom was authoritative without being authoritarian. Arthur stopped at the sound, suddenly very sheepish. “How many times have you approached us for approval?”
    The interviewee did not immediately respond to the question. “Eighteen… including today,” Arthur quietly answered.
    “I suggest you start preparing for nineteen. Proposal denied.” Jack slapped his palm on the table, generating a noise which sounded suspiciously like a gavel to Arthur. He was still struggling to process the words as his head sunk, defeated. Around him, the murmur returned, this time to the topic of lunch.
    With a great deal of effort, Arthur summoned his voice. “What? But… no…” It was softer than he wanted it to be, but he couldn’t muster the force. He looked up and offered a smile that was at once both pathetic and fake. “Why?”
    The word was loud enough for Cleese to end his conversation and look up at Arthur. He cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
    “Why have I been denied?” Arthur approached Jack, surprised by the sudden strength of his voice. He gestured to the death ray. “I put my heart and soul into this… into everything I’ve ever presented to you. And…” He trailed off, trying to think of a way to continue. With the prospect of defeat merely offering self-pity, he turned to anger instead. “You gave Captain 1970's out there approval and not me?” It came out just the right mix of inquisitive and accusatory, aggressive but not enough to get him thrown out. “Do you honestly think that someone who wraps a towel around his neck is a better alternative to…” He gestured to himself.
    Cleese looked more amused than anything else. He clapped his hands, then rose from his chair. “Let me explain something to you, Alfred…”
    “Arthur,” came the correction from gritted teeth.
    The only pause came from an intake of breath as opposed to consideration for this mistaken name. “… the Super Villains’ Guild, and this may be a bit of a shock to you, is not actually in the business of winning.” Jack leaned over the table to the nearest smoldering cigar, picked it up, and gesticulated with it, as though the trail of smoke provided some kind of help illustrating his point. “We are here to provide a moderate challenge to heroes.” He smiled and drew the cigar to his mouth. The tip glowed an angry orange before he extricated it and puffed a gob of smoke out while he regarded the sausage-like object in his hand. “Nothing more.”
    “I know,” Arthur said flatly.
    Mr. Cleese peered at him with a cocked eyebrow. “No. No, I don’t think you do. Villains are the dregs of society. The scum of the earth, so to speak.” He gestured to the assembled, who nodded and murmured in agreement. “We’re antisocial, angry, or just plain crazy. And we’re allowed to be! The government of these United States, to keep us from murdilating the shit out of everyone, gives us a free pass to act out our animal aggressions against goody-two-shoes who do us no real harm.” He walked toward Arthur. “In exchange, we give the