Strebor
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The Secret
"John Smith, ASIS’s top spy and intelligence collector had been found out. Unveiled, revealed, exploited, exposed and uncovered. He had been on his way to “Location X” when he was taken prisoner by the evil group known as NME.
"This is the HQ for NME, and I am Rabbot, the leader, for those of you who haven’t seen me before." Dressed in black, the man spoke to the crowd in front of him. ‘John Smith has escaped.’ A collective *gasp* issued forth from the group. ‘We know that he is still here in the facility,’ a sigh of relief, "and he knows about the Secret." With that statement, surveillance-countering-anti-backwards-spy teams (Who had been the audience) stood as one and left the behemoth of a room and glanced shiftily at each other. After all, any one of them could be John Smith.
The person in question, John Smith was wandering around the top secret NME base. A man of medium build, John Smith was hardly distinguishable from the hundreds of other blond men, with a shock of bedraggled hair. However, he would have been remembered by many people as he was covered with cuts and bruises as a result of NME’s deadly interrogation system. John was trained to blend into almost every environment and those that weren’t included this one. That is, a highly guarded enemy base, full of surveillance-countering-anti-backwards-spy teams.
Stealthily , John Smith walked down the dimly lit, tight corridors of the base he smelt some opposition. He didn’t actually smell them, but noticed them due to the sound of footsteps echoing through the corridors. The spy in the tattered rags smiled. He had made a plan. One that didn’t involve zany whacked out schemes, or some high-tech stunts involving water skis and snow boards. This one didn’t even involve him losing ‘The Secret’ or drinking a poisoned martini in a casino, and running to his car for medical aid. It didn’t even have a catch phrase involved.
Smith tailed them for a few heart-stopping floors and garnered enough information about their routines to enact his plan. With a relatively loud *BANG* John jumped down from the air duct in which he had hidden, and KO’d the suavely dressed man. The partner, a short woman in matte black, turned around and saw a spy, standing on the unconscious body of her companion. She too fell unconscious, but of shock, instead of being John Smithed.
John pulled the bodies into a storage closet and swapped clothes with the man. Swaggering out of the corridor with his pass key around his neck, he started to the hangar bay. Several flights of progressively brightening staircases, nuclear fissions training room, through a specially designed MacDonald’s, past the freshly-ground-coffee room and into the fresh air of the vast steel encased hangar was the path he followed. All this was absorbed in a split second as the super spy extraordinaire crept up behind the rookie pilot waxing his ride and scared him half to death. The vehicle was hurriedly piloted and one of the aircraft quickly departed the base.
‘The Secret itself is the PM’s nuclear defence program stored on an Unobtainium coated, silicon micro mini chip. The information stored on The Secret can only be accessed by a level “Pepsi” agent, normally the PM or the top ranking members of ASIS; which John belonged to. When John Smith was dispatched to “Location X” (Actually the corner store) to find the location of NME’s base, he was captured and sent there instead. The Secret had ended up in NME’s hands by a fault of the PM who had assumed that “NME” stood for National Migrants Eviction. Which it didn’t. Rather than admit his mistake, John Smith has been instructed to recover “The Secret”.’
Smith was listening to the top secret (Codename: Vindaloo) radio station and the information of his mission. *SOISOISOISOI* the blades of the camouflaged chopper were beating down upon the concrete landing pad in the harsh Australian outback. The helicopter landed and John stepped out, waiting for Kevin. The stolen key card had enabled Smith to successfully escape NME and he had flown to the new rendezvous, “Location Orange”, near Dubbo.
The sound of the rotor blades alerted the ASIS-men to Smith’s arrival. They hastened forth from the cleverly disguised bunker and Rudd received the Secret directly from Smith.
“Well done old boy,” the PM started. “Your next mission is to assassinate my opposition, the fugitive known as Rabbot, leader of NME.”
“I believe I have found out who he is sir. He is known to many as a ‘holy’ politician.”
“But that is a contradiction in itself! The only man who could possibly pull that off is...” Ruddy’s voice trailed away as he considered the implications of what he had just been told.
“Yes, it is him. His next meeting is with the leader of the rebels on Christmas Island. ASIS believes that he plans that he will unleash a horde of immigrants to which this noble and brave land will never recover from. Phase A is already in effect to stop him. With your permission I shall initiate phase B.”
“Yes please, get rid of him! The only thing worse than that would be if a certain Midnight Oil member attempted dancing on the ceiling! Disaster!”
With that, John Smith left Kevin shuddering with the thought of what would happen if the forces of Rabbot were to meet up with the dancing politician. Smith was to take out Rabbot before this dastardly scheme could be fulfilled. He was, after all, a trained marksman.
Not really sure if it is appropriate for these forums. My story is aimed to take the seriousness out of Australian issues. It may lose up to 90% of the intended humour unless you are Australian. My old story vanished (finally!), so I thought I'd submit this one 
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