«Combat?»
«Select covert activities, gray to black operations—the reference to ‘black’ having nothing to do with race, of course.»
«I know what ‘black’ operations are, I just don’t know what the hell you are!»
«I just told you, we’re a military unit specializing in clandestine activities, missions involving maximum security.»
«And this Nobel committee crap is one of those operations?»
«Between the two of us,» said Dustin confidentially, leaning toward Cyrus, «you’re lucky we are who we are, or your pension might go down the tube. That man isn’t General Hawkins! You were taken in, Colonel, flimflammed, if you know what I mean.»
«I was …?» said Cyrus, staring, as if in a catatonic state.
«You certainly were, sir, as was obviously Mr. Sutton—Sir Henry. He’d never tarnish his magnificent reputation by being involved in a global conspiracy to cripple this country’s first line of defense. Never!»
«First line of defense—a global conspiracy …?»
«That’s as far as our briefing went, Colonel.»
«This is too fucking much!» said Cyrus, as if coming out of a trance. «Just who are you and where do you come from?»
«Fort Benning, under the command of Brigadier General Ethelred Brokemichael. Our specific names are neither relevant nor called for at this juncture, but suffice it to say we’re called the Suicidal Six.»
«The Suicidal—! My God, the Delta Force to the max? The most effective antiterrorist unit ever put into the field!»
«Yes, that’s what we’ve heard.»
«But you’re … you’re—»
«That’s right, we’re actors.»
«Actors?» yelled Cyrus so fortissimo that Henry Irving Sutton and the adoring crowd around him fell silent, staring at the mercenary in astonishment. «You’re—you’re all actors?»
«And as splendid a group of confreres as I’ve met in years, Colonel. They play their parts to perfection. Notice the care they’ve taken with their clothing, the proper European cuts, the subdued colors as befits distinguished academics. You might also drink in the consummate attention they’ve given their tonsorial effects—flicks of gray, not overdone, to add a few years to their ages. And their postures, Colonel, the ever so slightly stooped shoulders and the minor concavities of their chests, as we observed entering the room; and the pince-nez and the tortoiseshell glasses, all are marks of men in sedentary professions with strained eyes… Yes, Colonel, these are, indeed, actors—fine actors.»
«He notices everything!»
«Such observation!»
«Every minute detail—»
«Details, gentlemen,» proclaimed Sutton, «are our secret weapons, never forget that.» A chorus of «Never!» «Certainly not!» and «How could we?» followed the proclamation until the elderly actor held up his hands. «But, of course, I don’t really have to tell you that. I understand you convincingly deceived several million people with your performance at the airport… Well done, shepherds of Thespis! Now, I want to know each of you. Your names, please.»
«Well,» began the spokesman, Lars Olafer, none too subtly, nodding at the mercenaries, «without certain people present we’d enthusiastically introduce ourselves by our real names, but our orders are to stay with our sobriquets, which is most embarrassing to me personally.»
«Why is that?»
«To be frank, an undeserved title, one you’ve earned but I haven’t… I’m called ‘Sir Larry,’ for my first name is really Laurence.»
«With a u?»
«Oh, of course.»
«Then I say you have earned it. When Larry and Viv were together, we quaffed many an ale together, and in truth there’s a certain similarity in your appearance to that skinny but terribly likable fellow. I played the First Knight in his and Tony Quinn’s Becket, of course.»
«I may die right here on the spot—»
«You were great!»
«Magnificent!»
«Extraordinary!»
«Passable, if I do say so.»
«Can we cut the bullshit, if I say so!» shouted Cyrus, the veins in his thick neck pronounced.
«I’m called The Duke.»
«I’m Sylvester—»
«Marlon’s the name.»
«Dustin—y’know, y’know … am I, am I right, right, right?»
«Telly’s the moniker, General, baby. Wanna lollipop?»
«You’re all superb!»
«And this is all preposterous!» screamed Cyrus, clutching the lapels of Dustin and Sylvester. «You bastards listen to me!»
«Hey, my black good buddy,» said Roman Z, softly patting the broad back of his recent cell mate. «Don’t shoot up your blood pressure, man!»
«Blood pressure, hell, I should shoot every one of these sons of bitches!»
«Now, pilgrim, that’s downright primitive,» said The Duke. «Y’see, mister, we don’t believe in violence. It’s actually just a state of mind.»
«State of what?» roared the dark-skinned mercenary.
«Of the mind,» explained The Duke. «Freud called it the frenzied extension of the imagination—we use it a lot in acting classes, usually with improv, naturally.»
«Naturally!» Cyrus released his helpless hostages. «I give up,» he mumbled, sitting down in the nearest chair as Roman Z massaged his shoulders. «I give up!» he repeated, shouting, his wide eyes appraising the crowd of lunatics in front of him—and below him. «You’re the Suicidal Six? The antiterrorist Delta Force unit songs have been written about? Nothing makes sense!»
«In some ways, you’re right, Colonel,» said Sylvester in his normal Yale Drama School voice, «for we’ve never had to fire a gun or basically injure anyone beyond a sprained wrist or, at worst, a cracked rib… We just don’t work that way. You see, it’s easier on everybody. We impersonate our way into and out of missions, frequently intimidating the targets, but every now and then making a friend or two.»
«You’re breakouts from a funny farm,» said Cyrus, «or maybe you’re not really from this planet,» he added numbly.
«You’re too hard on us, Colonel,» protested Telly in his normally cultured voice. «If all the armies of the world were made up of actors, wars could be mounted as civilized productions, not uncivilized slaughters. Merits would be given for individual and collective performances—the best orations, the most convincing snarls, the finest crowd reactions—»
«Then, of course,» interrupted Marlon, «there’d be points for costuming and set decoration, for the most creative props, as in weapons and mise en scène locations—»
«As well as plot and story development,» broke in The Duke. «I suppose you could term them military tactics.»
«Let’s not forget direction, for God’s sake,» cried Sir Larry.
«And choreography,» added Sylvester. «A choreographer would have to be an organic extension of any director, under the circumstances.»
«Wonderful, simply wonderful!» exclaimed Henry Irving Sutton. «An international academy of the theatrical arts could be set up to judge the forces in the field, in the air, and on the water. Naturally, military consultants would be included for semblances to authenticity, but their consultancy would be secondary, the primary judgments made on the basis of creativity—of conviction, characterization, passion!… Art!»