Oh, and we'd like to apologize in advance to the Internal Revenue Service and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. We *like* the IRS and the RCMP--really we do!

After a long, tumultuous ride to Ops's secluded cabin, we made it. It's not easy driving while blindfolded, let me tell you, but Ops insists that the location remain secret, even from us.

There were several arguments over what music to listen to while driving. Walter kept playing Grateful Dead bootlegs of the most appalling quality and Birkoff kept asking for Prodigy and other computer generated music. Michael, on the other hand, had the a tape of "Bohemian Rhapsody" playing over and over again for some reason. When we asked him why, he replied, "Because I like Queen," and stared blankly out the window of the truck.

There was one funny incident at a tollbooth. As the toll taker approached for the money, a playful Michael grabbed him by the jacket collar and sharply yanked him face first into the truck, knocking him out cold. "Drive," he said, so I peeled out, saving us a cool 40 cents!

As far as fishing went, it turns out Birkoff is grossed out by worms, so Walter kept flinging them at him while Birky was trapped in the boat. Then Walter began telling survival stories about eating grubs and crickets and proceeded to demonstrate by eating a worm right in front of Birkoff, causing him to hurl on the spot!

That was the last we saw of him in the boat, which was too bad, because up until then he was running sims and tracking the fish like you wouldn't believe! He'd drop this treated food into the water and when the fish would eat it, he'd whip out his laptop and tell us exactly where the fish were! Ops kept saying something about how things had changed since he was a boy, but he wasn't throwing anything back, either!

Michael certainly was a handful. Every time we would pass another boat or dock at speed, he'd *leap* off the boat onto whatever we were passing! We asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, and he replied, "I can't allow fishing to become my weakness. I need to keep in peak form."

The rest of the covert STUDMAN organization had great success in relaxing, catching plentiful fish, catching up on *Kill Reports,* telling horrible dirty jokes around the fire and relieving an intoxicated Walter of all his poker money for yet another year.

All in all a much needed break from the usual grind.

One more thing, next time you see Ops, ask him about his guitar playing ...then *run*!

                                                    (Jeff)
                                                    (from intel by Carlos)

Section One's first annual "Bring Our Mothers to Work" Day was a qualified success. Not many Section mothers qualified for this event and those who did were not qualified to comment on it. Repetition of this event next year has been suspended pending review.

In Madeline's Postcards From the Edge in the last issue of the Egress, Madeline apparently got confused about what country she was in when visiting Elizabeth Bathory's castle. In point of fact, she traveled clear across Romania to Hungary to get there, then turned around and traveled back to Romania. This was an unusual itinerary, to say the least, and you'd think it would be difficult to forget. However, Madeline wishes to express her regret over this confusion and theorized it may have been caused by all those "massages" she received from Istvan and the resultant redistribution of blood in her body.

Abbott, Costello, Martin, Lewis, Laurel, Hardy, The Other Martin, Rowan, Stiller, Meara, Nichols, May, Steve & Edie, from killer material, RIP

Reilly, in the line of duty, RIP

Dear Maddy:

My name is Louis and I've been staying here at this big place for a while. I'm not quite sure how long I have been here, or what exactly this place is. (Is it a subway station, maybe? It kind of looks like a subway station. Either that or a Japanese hotel.) Anyway, my memory has gotten rather fuzzy lately. But Uncle Walter told me I should write a nice thank you letter to you before I return to my home in the cardboard box in the alley behind the Piggily Wiggily on Thurm and Munson Streets.

I am not exactly sure what I am supposed to thank you for, though, and sometimes I think I remember having another really swell home other than the cardboard box, with a neat room and lots of games and books and . . . Uncle Walter says it's all an hallucination of a boy wishing for a Normal childhood and if I don't stop talking crazy like that Uncle Frick and Auntie Frack (or vice versa) will give me another one of their special shots of medicine. (I love Uncle Walter! He's so funny. And he makes really good cherry bombs.)

So, thank you. I'm sure you know better than me what I'm thanking you for.

Signed,
Louis

Dear Louis:

Yes, I do know what it is you are thanking me for and I appreciate it. You have learned very good manners for a boy who grew up on the streets. Maddy

Dear Maddy:

I just got the most frightening letter of my life. It is from Section 4 --the Internal Sectional Service--and it was full of the most horrifying language, the vilest threats, the promise of lasting and implacable persecution! They claim I owe back taxes. I didn't even know we had to *pay* taxes in Section. I mean, Section provides for our every need, gives us credit cards with unlimited mileage, a nice place to live, hot cars and cool motorcycles, wads of spending money, and a swell wardrobe (although the color choices are limited). I thought the deal was, "Section takes care of your every need, so you give Section your body, heart and soul." But taxes??? I think that's *way* over the line.

Signed,
Jean Valjean

Dear Valjean:

Whatever you do, clear up that tax bill right away! I cringe just thinking about what Section 4 might do to you otherwise! They are without a doubt the most ruthless, most vicious, most unstoppable of all the Sections. You know how they say the Royal Canadian Mounted Police always gets their man? The Mounties are *pansies* compared to Section 4!! The agents of Section 4 have been known to track tax delinquent Other Sections operatives for *years,* giving up all shreds of a life of their own, toiling through all kinds of terrain and terror, from mission to mission to mission to mission, always on the trail of the delinquent operative, and when they catch up with them . . .

Whoa, Nellie! It is not a pretty picture. Ask Michael! He will probably refuse to talk about it because it is *still* giving him nightmares, but he's got some *real* horror stories about the attentions Section 4 paid him over a misunderstanding about a marriage deduction.

Bottom line: do not cross them! Just pay the bill, no matter how outrageous the demand! Section 4 is staffed with the creme de la creme of the Internal Revenue Service . . . and if that doesn't scare you, nothing will!

Maddy

I have never been so humiliated. In a recent very difficult mission which has left me deeply conflicted, I was forced to act like a wimp in front of another operative--one I was really hoping to impress. I had to stand there like a jerk and take a punch without even trying to deflect it, got knocked on my butt, and had to cower on the floor pleading like a wuss, "Please don't shoot! You can have anything you want, but don't hurt us!" In addition to this humiliation, I was also asked to wear a tie which I can only describe as . . . *pedestrian.* Acting like a wimp *and* uncoordinated fashion . . . I have been asked to do many unbearable things for Section, but this was by far the worst!

Signed,
Fists of Steel

Dear Fists:

Come on, now! Take it like a man! I know you're high-strung, but sometimes the mission profile calls upon us to do many unpleasant things, and we just have to gird our loins and get on with it! I do believe there was another *compensation* for you during this mission (and if what I've heard from the Mission Tape Library is true, several compensations on the same night). As for the tie, just be grateful we didn't ask you to wear matching Toulouse Lautrec costumes or Walter's leather pants!

Maddy

Dear Maddy:

I'd just like to thank you for your helpful suggestion on how to relax while on a mission. I haven't felt this relaxed in months--on mission or off! In fact, I'd like to take up relaxing on a regular basis, but my relaxation partner seems to be a little conflicted over the matter. It's perplexing how much he blows hot and cold on this issue, how much it is an on again off again thing for him. However, when he puts his mind to relaxing, he is *quite* talented at it.

Signed,
Grateful

Dear Grateful:

You're certainly welcome, dear. As to your relaxation partner, what can I say? Sometimes for such a clever boy, he can be *such* a slow learner! Still, it's good to know that once he got the message, he was up for the job!

Maddy

Dear Maddy:

I was recently required to sleep with someone I work with. I have always liked her in a professional way . . . Well, there was *one* time, but that was in the heat of the moment, and I quickly realized I was not ready for various personal and professional reasons to have an exclusive relationship.

So, now she has used the needs of our job to force the issue. I admit that I was a reluctant--but willing--participant at the time, but I'm wondering now if it was a mistake. I still do not feel that the time is right for us. On the one hand, I feel dirty and have this constant desire to take a shower. On the other hand, I can't help thinking about what it would be like if she joined me in the steamy, soapy, cascading water as it flowed over her gently curving . . .

Um, sorry about that.

What should I do?

Signed,
Conflicted

(Jeff)

Dear Conflicted:

Are you still going on about that? How many letters did you send me this week, anyway? Just relax! The relaxing massages I had in Romania did me a world of good! A nice, hot, soapy, steamy, cascading shower might be just the little pick-me-up you need to stop looking like such a Gloomy Gus all the time. (But be sure to take off your rusty armor first.)

Maddy

Dear Maddy:

You know, beneath my ruthless exterior, I'm really quite a caring guy. Why, just the other day, a colleague of mine was feeling the lowdown, dirty blues and I went *way* beyond protocol to perk her up. Not only that, but I could have had little ol' Louis Whatshisname put down, but because I'm a sensitive kind of guy, I opted for that memory whatsit and turned him out on the streets to fend for himself. Can you tell me why my reputation is so lousy? I mean, what's a guy got to do to prove he is a mensch?

Signed,
Misunderstood

Dear Misunderstood:

The other day I was staring at my bonsai and orchid collection and absolutely spacing out. Actually, it started last fall. There was something in the air . . . burning leaves . . . It took me back to when I was a child. I thought about setting my bonsai collection on fire to cheer myself up, but then a thought occurred to me. "What's the point? What's the point of anything? Why don't I just end it all and step in front of a train?"

But then I shook myself vigorously and got back to work. "The point," I told myself sternly, "is that there is no point. There is nothing but this bleak, unending hell of my own making, no love, no friendship, everything is meaningless and hollow, and I might as well just . . . step in front of a train . . ." At that precise moment, you entered the room and asked me how I was doing and what you could do to help me. I told you. You refused to do it, crushing what tiny bits of hope I had like an insignificant fly beneath a swatter.

I stared at my bonsai and orchid collection again. Then I wandered the halls, looking so sad even Mr. Birkoff noticed. I was not really aware of my surroundings and *was* actually looking for a subway train. (Have you ever noticed how much Section looks like a subway station designed by one of those really wigged out techno-architects?) But alas, the train did not stop at Section.

So I decided to play with Nikita's head instead. Always good for a laugh. But even that didn't work this time. It was just too easy--always is. So I wandered the halls some more, looking for a way out so I could find a train. But I always have such a poor sense of direction when I'm depressed. I was stuck in Section for days, just wandering, looking sad, staring at my bonsai and orchid collection . . . Then, you came into my office once more, looking like you had something on your mind. I thought, "Oh great! Now I suppose he is going to tell me people have noticed I've had the same dress on for three days and are complaining that I have a body odor problem." I tried to look busy.

But no, this time you actually did something quite nice--really quite humane and decent and completely unexpected. And I appreciate it, I really do. Mom has never looked better, and it was so nice to be reminded why I left home in the first place.

(I've reported you to George, by the way, and suggested a full psych profile for this lamentable tendency towards softness I've been witnessing lately, but I really, really do appreciate the gesture and will tell anyone who asks what a genuinely warm and fuzzy guy you really are.)

Maddy