The Last... Last Mission

Godfrey. To my readers and audience, I am proud of this story because to me it’s hilarious. As I wrote “The Last…Last Mission,” which was originally “Operation Georgie is Home” and “Georgie Stop Toying with the Time Machine,” I laughed out loud multiple times.

This story brought joy back to my writing. And sometimes you just need a fun, satirical, and little political piece to bring you back, back to your why.

While I take pride in this story, the truth is that literary magazines have rejected it at least five times. Maybe it’s too much, maybe it’s too reflective of the current political climate, or maybe the editors just hated George Washington because he had slaves’ teeth as dentures.

So, for all the authors out there getting rejection after rejection, it’s okay; we always have Substack to share our words. Remember your why… and keep on writing.

For you, my readers, enjoy “The Last…Last Mission,” have a laugh, and think about what would happen if George Washington, JFK, Marilyn Monroe, and Jackie Kennedy came back in a time machine?

The Last… Last Mission

The CIA basement room was dank and unfamiliar after twenty-three years in the agency. Damp, dusty air triggered Agent Cain’s allergies. “A-Ker-Splash!” Snot and spittle debris splattered the brown tile flooring. Sneezing didn’t suit a man of his 6’7” frame, who already had to duck in the basement hallway. He bent over with each sneeze. He pulled out a greenish teal handkerchief and pursed his lips, annoyed that they made him dress up just to send him down here. Arriving at room B104, Cain knocked three times slowly, paused for twelve seconds, and quickly knocked twice. Minutes dragged as Godfrey’s squeaky voice behind the door was conversing with someone—a baritone voice with old English syntax reverberated through the door. Cain sighed a heavy sigh, checked his watch, and turned to leave when, finally, Godfrey pried the door open. Cain was ready to retire; twenty-three years in the CIA was enough to harden a man’s heart. Godfrey begged him for one last mission, citing his neutrality. Cain scanned the room: a man in a powdered wig, frock coat, and white pants sat at the table. Were we cosplaying the revolution? He arched an eyebrow at Godfrey and pointed at the dressed-up stranger. “Who’s the perp?" Godfrey giggled like a child. “He’s not a perp.” Barely concealing his excitement, he continued, “He’s George Washington.” Cain spotted the box behind Godfrey. So, the scientist perfected the time machine after all. Cain shot Godfrey a look. “This is a joke. Time travel wasn’t possible. Prototypes just launched.” Godfrey snickered, “It does now. The scientist sped up the process because of Tan Man’s further descent into madness, running for a fourth term and all. He said he was the second greatest President, with George Washington being the first—the GOAT, he called him.” Godfrey paused. When Cain eyed him skeptically, he spoke faster, saying, "We brought Georgie back to teach the Tan Man a lesson in leadership. We brought Georgie back because he will only listen to him, and his third term was a mistake. Georgie can convince him he’s becoming a king.” George boomed, “I escaped a KING! King George III was a lunatic.” “How do I know he’s not an actor? Why not use the Presidential Cosplay actors?” Cain pressed buttons skeptically. Godfrey lowered his voice. “Tan Man’s wise to actors. We need to reintroduce the genuine essence. He’ll only listen to George.” Cain continued to push buttons nonchalantly when Godfrey banged on the table, “Stop pushing buttons before you bring back Andrew Jackson, and he gets to the Tan Man first and sends our country into further peril.” Cain stopped, grimacing at the terrifying thought of Jackson returning. Godfrey grew serious. Your last mission is to educate George on 21st-century ways as part of Operation Georgie's Home. Once he’s acclimated to 21st-century life within the next three months, we have a meeting scheduled with the Tan Man. This is our only hope!” “This is crazy, Godfrey. I can’t teach him everything in three months.” “Cain… Please, The Tan Man will not listen to Congress, his constituents, or the Supreme Court. He’s morphed the Constitution into a fucking comic strip! George is the only way to save America! George’s farewell speech is relevant today, and you know it. He just has to put the speech in 21st-century terms, and bang, the Tan Man changes his mind. It’s that easy.” “Godfrey, I am a CIA agent, not a fucking babysitter. No, I am not taking this mission. There will be some…glitches.” Cain, not trusting Godfrey, strolled over to the ramshackle table where George was sitting and began to give him an inspection only a soldier would be comfortable with; under the powder wig, reddish-brown hair and a small pockmark graced his left cheek. “Smile for me, Mr. Washington.” George released his tightly wound lips and grinned ear to ear, where the proof slapped Cain in the face: the dentures were real, and in fact, the first president of the United States was sitting in a dank basement. The CIA Time Machine Division: The CTMD had worked; they had sent agents back to the past (never to be heard from again), but they had never brought someone back from the past to the present. Cain said, “Thank you, Mr. President,” and backed away, stunned. Cain scratched his salt-and-pepper hair. Memories of his history lessons and admiration for Washington flooded his mind. George wasn’t only the Tan Man’s favorite president but his, too. Cain’s awareness deepened at the thought of the unpredictable factors. These factors had the potential to undermine the mission. George, observing the argument, his big baritone voice filled the small room. “Ah, lads, I am not an infant, as you might think. How much could the world have changed in 250 years?” “A lot,” Godfrey and Cain answered in unison. George continued ignoring the odd agents. “Who is this blunderbuss that wants a fourth term? Is this man a dizzy or just a naughty man out for himself like King George III? I’ll meet this Tan Man now—no need to delay the present, lads.” George let out a hearty chuckle, stood up from the table, pressed his frock coat, and went to open the door. “You can’t leave. There are cars, planes, skyscrapers, and something called the internet.” Cain said as he blocked George from exiting. “The…in… ter…internet? What is the internet?” George asked Cain.

Cain responded, "The internet is a terrible place where anyone can shout their opinions."

“Oh, the way Alexander Hamilton did with the Federalist papers?” George scoffed.

“Sort of.” Cain’s wrinkled face grimaced at Godfrey.

Godfrey interjected, “The internet is not all bad. You can get loads of information and news and learn a lot from the internet.”

“I’ll go meet this internet myself. Surely it beats Hamilton.” George attempted to move around Cain and toward the door. Cain gently placed his hand on Georgie’s shoulder. “You don’t meet the internet. You use it. I’ll take the mission, but after this, I’m retiring, Mai Tai in hand.” “I knew you would accept the mission.” Godfrey snickered again, setting Cain's nerves on edge. “Let’s get George some normal clothes and get him out of the powdered wig. If the Tan Man sees him, he will think the CIA is supporting drag queens and transgenders. He could not even figure out the difference between transgender and transgenic.”

Cain ordered Godfrey. Godfrey stepped towards the door and began texting the junior agents on standby.

Get George some clothes. We need to make him look as normal as possible. Operation Georgie’s Back is on; Cain accepted. A text chimed in… All we have are old perp clothes. Godfrey texted back frantically, just get the man some fucking clothes!” I’ll be waiting by the elevator. The men left the room as George changed into a Def Leppard t-shirt, a pair of Levi’s, a black hoodie, and a pair of New Balance sneakers. From behind the door, objections to each piece of clothing: “Bloody hell, who is this Def Leppard?” “These pantaloons are gripping my testes. Where in the hell is the codpiece?” Cain almost ran in when he heard a loud crash. The hoodie and George were having a moment. “I am fine… I am fantastic, chaps.” A grueling twenty minutes later, the agents entered. Where the nation’s first leader once stood, a dweeb in New Balances had taken his place. George touched, patted, and ogled his new clothes. The hoodie draped around his arm, “I am a bloody calf lolly!” “You are not a simpleton. This is how Americans dress now—no more frock coats, no more wigs. Blend in, old chap, or we will blow your cover before we even get up to the Tan Man.” Cain attempted to reassure George. “You look great.” George sighed, unhappy with his new outfit but eager to leave the basement. “Fine, I’ll wear it,” he said, “but I choose my attire when we get upstairs. Americans today ought to have better fashion sense than this Def Leppard.” “When we get up there, stay by me, but just in case…” Cain dropped an AirTag into his Levi's pocket. “What was that?” George backed away from Cain, feeling the circular object in his pocket. “An AirTag. If I lose you, that little device will help me find you.” George’s eyes widened. “Our first lesson is communication.” Cain patted George on the back as he led him out of B104. George scoffed, “I know how to speak, young man, and speak eloquently.” Cain had not been called a young man in a long time. Cain pulled out his cellphone and texted Godfrey, "Mission is a go." Heading up now." Cain felt dread as he realized he would have to explain the elevator to George. The phone dinged, and George jumped—again. Godfrey texted: Coast is clear; come on up, the car is ready." George eyed the cellphone. “What is that witchcraft you are holding in your hands?” “Communication. Let’s go.” The shit-brown halls provided a long walk to the elevator when the light bulbs went off in Cain’s head. It wasn’t just the elevator he would have to explain. It was everything: food, women, social classes, today’s politics. This last mission, Operation Georgie’s Back, was going to be the hardest. Cain was going to earn a Mai Tai. George stayed close to Cain. Cain pushed the button with the upward-pointing arrow. The button lit up, and the doors opened. DING. George darted back to the wall behind him like a terrified kitten. “Blast your top lights! You want me to get into a magic box? No, I’m not going!” “The magic box is called an elevator, and it’s safe. We must get you to the safe house. I’ll explain the 21st-century world there. Until then, remain silent and remain by my side. You might look like a 21st-century man, but the way you speak is going to give you away.” George did as he was told once in his life. George was a lost man in a foreign land. This new world overwhelmed George’s senses: the cars, the stagnant, stinky air, and the buildings as tall as giants. The SUV, the beeping car, and the women—oh, the women—were all overwhelming to George. A woman ran by the SUV in a sports bra. George’s mouth fell agape as he stared at her and her beautiful bosoms. George shifted in his seat and adjusted his codpiece as he ogled the lady’s breasts bouncing right, left, up, and down. “I thought Ben Franklin was the ladies’ man.” Cain teased George. He was going to have fun on his last mission. “Ben was a walking disease; he brought all the diseases back from French whores.” “How was the rest of Congress?” Cain never received an answer as George shouted, “Blasphemy! That slave is holding a white man’s hand! Thomas Jefferson dabbled in the slaves, but out in the open?!” Cain released a hand from the steering wheel, patting George’s shoulder. “Slavery ended in 1865; it’s 2032. African Americans have the same rights as white men, and get this, women do too.” George let out a startled cough. “Women?” “Yes, there are women as well as many other races, sexual preferences, and genders. It’s quite diverse. Just observe, George. I’ll answer the questions at the safe house. We have three months to bring you up to date. The Tan Man will not even listen to you if you don’t dumb down your language. I wish the Tan Man had just one percent of common sense to speak the way you do.”

“Well, thank you, Agent Cain. Do you think I can make a difference with this…this Tan Man?” Cain reached into the center console, pulled out a pen and a small composite notebook, and placed them in George’s hand. “I don’t know, Georgie, but take notes. I’ll answer your questions at the safe house. We’ll plan there.” In the secluded cabin, Cain taught George lessons in cellphone communication, email, movies, streaming services, and the internet over the course of three months. Other lessons covered transportation, food, customs, and history.

Finally, Cain moved George to a D.C. studio apartment after deciding he could blend in with the rest of the 21st-century population. George was a strange man. Cain wondered if he’d been this weird in his time. This could have explained the beef between John Quincy Adams and George. It couldn’t be because Louisa Adams had a big crush on George, and Martha kept their bedroom chambers locked down like a chastity belt. Walking the streets of D.C., George’s eyes lingered too long on the breasts of the congresswomen in their power suits.

“George, you can’t look at females that way. You’re being creepy.” The pair had grabbed a coffee and went over his famous last speech. Certain parts needed to be converted for the Tan Man to understand. Big words frighten the U.S. President, who reads at a fourth-grade level and is slipping into dementia. “They put their goods on display. I am a man. I have needs, needs Martha would never let me release, and now you, Agent Cain, are holding the key to my chastity belt.”

“I get it. You need some female company. After the mission, you can join me in the Islands, and I’ll arrange for you to meet all the women you desire. But until then, focus on the mission. You are sexually harassing all the women of D.C. They won’t care if you’re the first president of the U.S.; you’ll be in jail before we even complete the mission! Only the Tan Man and his cronies can get away with sexual assault.” George kept looking, though, and finally said, “Okay, Agent Cain, I’ll stop looking.” Cain’s lessons had worked too well; Georgie excelled in the class of sarcasm. Cain searched on Georgie’s laptop remotely once a week. And he dreaded the task; Cain felt as though he was invading George’s privacy when a variable popped up in the web address bar. Cain had gone into George’s browser history—the recently deleted browser history when an adult site popped up. This was a variable no one even considered, since George was a frugal and civil man in his time. George plunged headfirst into the rabbit hole of internet porn sites. In the black-and-white printed proof, the government credit company had not made a mistake, as Georgie claimed. On the screen, ‘click to enter if you’re 18.’ Georgie was 300 years old, way over 18… The sights ranged from big-bosomed beauties to 18th-century cosplay. Georgie’s porn taste, browser history, and his overall demeanor changed Cain’s view of Georgie—he was no big hero that couldn’t tell a lie, but a closeted pervert. A pervert, he had to reel in like a fish on a hook if the meeting with the Tan Man was going to go well or happen at all. Cain thought as he rubbed his hair, this is not good. The meeting with the Tan Man approached as fast as the Tan Man diverted the public to another lie. Another distraction. Guilt swept over Cain as he inserted his spare key into the lock of Georgie’s apartment. The entire operation felt wrong to Cain. Godfrey brought back a pervert, and now it was his problem. Now his retirement has been delayed. Cain decided to go to Georgie’s studio and confront him and look at his laptop himself—even if he had to use his spare key. Cain knew George would be at the gym. The unanswered text messages and calls became alarming, to say the least. America’s first president was ghosting Cain. In any other circumstances, Cain would have felt honored to meet him, but knowing Georgie now, rather than in his time, was a different story. The time machine twisted his brain. As Cain approached his door, 204, he slid his spare key in, and his heart raced.

Cain thought to himself as he opened the door and spied on the open laptop on the table, I shouldn’t be doing this. Cain closed the door behind him and muttered to himself, “It’s to stop the Tan Man.” As Cain sat down at the table and typed in the password, MarthaSuxs2032, which one Georgie insisted he’d remember, a plethora of big-bosomed babes popped up on the screen. Cain blushed as he dialed Godfrey. “Godfrey, we have a problem.” “Ah, Cain, hello, how are you? That is the way to start a conversation. But what type of problem is it, since you insist on being an asshole today? Cain whispered as fingers clicked the mouse frantically to get the women off the screen, “Georgie’s addicted to porn,” and added, “I have proof: his browser history and government travel card.” Cain heard Godfrey tapping a pen on the other end of the line. Thump…thump…thump, and Cain knew he was concocting some half-baked scheme to keep the mission on. “What if we got him, you know, laid? Do you think that would solve the problem?” Godfrey posed the question, revealing the ingenious plan. “I don’t know. This variable caught us off guard. The keys clicked in the studio apartment door, and Cain jumped. He fidgeted as he closed the last tab and cleared the history. “He’s back from the gym. I’ll call you later. We have one week to get him on board. Bye.” George, sweaty and muscular, strutted into the apartment with a woman on his arm. She wore a hot-pink sports bra, tight biker shorts, and hot-pink Nikes. George spied Cain at his table, on his laptop. Georgie’s face flushed red.

“Cain, I would like you to meet Tabatha. We work out together.” The busty blonde winked at Cain. “We sure do. I’m going to slip into the shower. Join me soon.” She playfully patted his gym shorts, dangerously close to George’s codpiece. George playfully slapped her hand away and winked.

“I’ll be there in a minute.” Cain’s mind raced. Georgie was getting laid. “The meeting with the Tan Man is in seven days. You have to stop using government funds to look at nudity on the internet, and you have a problem.” “A problem? A problem with what?” Georgie’s eyes went wide and doe-like and almost innocent. “With women.” “The shower is nice and hot, just like we like it. I’m getting lonely in here!” Tabitha called out from the shower. “I’m leaving now. We have seven days. We will work on the speech soon. Answer your phone. Don’t ghost me.” “Hurry, Georgie!” “I’m coming, Tabbie Bear!” George shot Cain a get-out-of-here-now look. Cain was reluctant to leave, dragging his feet on the carpet. George flashed another agitated stare his way as he took off his sweaty muscle shirt and headed for the shower, his codpiece slightly elevated. Cain left, leaving George with his Tabbie Bear and the mission up in the air. Cain paced his apartment. The meeting was approaching faster than a scandal that could cause a fake impeachment. He texted, called, emailed, and even stood outside of Georgie’s apartment. Georgie disappeared, like the evidence of a dress with questionable stains or the JFK files. Finally, Cain had no choice; he was desperate as he pulled out the spare key. The mission had to be completed. The Tan Man needed to be stopped. Cain walked up the three floors and knocked on George’s door with a suit in hand to try on for the meeting with the Tan Man. No answer. He knocked louder. He called Georgie; the phone rang on the inside. A faint sound played from the inside of the studio…he was on a site. A woman moaned faintly at first as Cain pressed his ear to the door. As his fists pounded on the door, Cain's face flushed with shame. It was now or never to get this meeting with ‘Tan Man.’ Cain banged, and faint moans of women being pleasured filled the small studio halls. Frustration fueled Cain. “George! Stop watching the lady sites! The meeting with Tan Man is in two days! I have your suit; we can meet with him now!” Cain put his spare key in the door. Horror tingled up his spine as the key met resistance—Georgie changed the locks. The moans of women grew louder through the small hall. Cain screamed, “DAMMIT, you changed the LOCKS!” Every time Cain screamed into the apartment, the volume went up. Cain’s face flushed, but the embarrassment dissipated to rage when a vulgar ‘OOOOOO… It’ reverberated off the walls. Naturally, some residents unlocked their doors to investigate the situation. This motherfucker increased the volume! Kids could have been in the building. Cain’s fist attacked the door, as Georgie chuckled inside. He waited to turn up the sound one last time to 100. Cain lifted his long leg, preparing to kick the door open in furious rage, when he caught sight of a DoorDash driver, who had been observing his fit of rage the entire time. The sounds of banging and moaning from inside masked the driver's entrance. The smell of garlic bread and spaghetti filled the hallway along with the steady sounds of sex. Cain dropped his leg, inhaled deeply, and slowly exhaled. He shouted to the delivery driver, “How many days a week do you deliver food here?” The driver shrugged and shouted back. “At least twice for Luigi’s, and once a week for El Torta’s.” “Does he ever greet you?” No, I would rather he avoid greeting me, if you know what I mean. The delivery man made a gesture that mimicked masturbation, his eyes wide with disgust as his lip curled up, and he pretended to explode dramatically. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Cain called Godfrey and reached his voicemail. “It’s Cain. Mission failed. Georgie has fallen prey to the pleasures of the 21st century. The Tan Man will get his fourth term. I’ll be on a plane soon with a Mai Tai in my hand. Don’t contact me; I’m out.”

###

Under the bright Tahitian sun, Cain was holding Lucia's hand when he heard the buzzing of his cellphone from their beach bag. He should have changed his number when he landed in Tahiti. Lucia’s big brown eyes flashed with concerned kindness. This call was going to be messy. He squeezed Lucia’s hand three times for "I… Love… You…" and gave her hand a fourth squeeze, signaling that he left behind the CIA life. The phone buzzed again. "You'd better get that, Mon amour.” Her French accent floated through the air along with her sweet scent of vanilla, hibiscus, and suntan oil. He kissed her forehead before he strutted off the pool deck. His form was now sun-kissed and bronzed, glimmering in the pool’s reflection. Cain strained to read the text in the blinding sun. He moved under the shade of the palm tree and read, "JFK is back! " NEED YOUR HELP! PLEASE COME OUT OF RETIREMENT. Cain sighed and ran his hands through his long, silver-flecked hair. Retirement looked great on him. Cain considered assisting Godfrey with his predicament. Godfrey, even at Langley, was careless, and ‘Classified’ to Godfrey was a suggestion, not a rule. Godfrey was supposed to shut the damn time machine down after the incident.The incident in which the real ‘George Washington’ sucker-punched the Tan Man in the nose. The Tan Man, amid a Sundowner’s fit, insulted George’s first speech to the nation one too many times. As a result of the incident, the Tan Man pushed through bullshit executive orders banning cosplay and hid from anyone in a costume—never realizing the ‘real’ George Washington landed the fateful punch. The time machine was safe from the Tan Man’s grip for now; unfortunately, his grip had tightened on the U.S. in his fourth term. Concern danced across Cain’s face as his sterling blue eyes squinted towards Lucia. Lucia poised a cherry at her lips as she put her daiquiri down. She’d seen this look only two times before—the first time when she broke down his emotional shell that the CIA forced him into, and the second when the fateful punch occurred.“Who did he bring back this time? ” Lucia asked.“JFK, he’s causing trouble.”A twinge of excitement hit Lucia’s voice. “The handsome one? The Tan Man won’t listen to JFK; he’s too handsome. He can’t listen to an attractive man. Too much ego. Sad sack of a man, that Tan Man." "Ego or not, JFK will expose the time machine. He wants; he needs Marilyn. I read the letters, my love." "You must go and fix Godfrey’s mistake—again. But come back to me, Mon amour.”He concealed his guilt with a nod, aware he was deceiving his love. He never revealed that agents—unlucky agents—never returned from the CIA’s Time Machine Division. The CTMD was a dangerous assignment; when they played with the past, they warped the future. A time machine would never help the Tan Man. If the Tan Man knew about the time machine, he’d bring back more historical figures to use as weapons. He was in his fourth term. His narcissism had gone off the rails into delulu town. The CIA’s idea to bring back Georgie didn’t work out. The dead Presidents and historical figures who returned from the CTMD machine had their minds twisted in transit. The machine intensified their shortcomings and undesirable behavior. The behaviors that the history books redacted. Georgie’s mind twisted into a surprising addiction. No one could have foreseen his affinity for the ladies. Cain suspected that JFK’s mind would warp to the only love of his life, Marilyn Monroe. Cain read the top-secret love letters and related to them now more than ever. JFK loved Marilyn as he loved his Lucia. Lucia healed him with her warm Tahitian heart. He was going to ask her to marry him—soon. JFK would know the Tan Man was a joke. JFK would know the Tan Man was a narcissist like Nixon. "I'll only be gone a week, my love." "Yes, only a week … I hope.” Lucia hugged Cain hard as sweat glistened from her tanned body. Her sweet scent hit his nostrils. When he returned, he was going to return with her engagement ring. Cain reluctantly boarded the flight to D.C., unsure of what to expect, knowing the air would be stale and bitter, like his old life in the CIA. His heart ached for Lucia, but he pushed the thoughts out of his mind. Georgie had texted him: LET'S MEET UP FOR LUNCH, with Bro Emojis. Hard pass, thought Cain. Godfrey met him at baggage claim. Dressed like a gangster on Halloween.“Caney boy, you made it! How was the flight? Are you ready to meet the President?"Which one? ” Cain asked and added, “Nice outfit." "Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor in Tahiti. And I know what you’re thinking. I have tact. We brought him back before the Dallas Incident." "Tact is not your problem, your—” Cain stopped the biting words about to come out of his mouth; word vomit bluntness would not get him back to Lucia any faster.“Where is he now?" "Funny you should ask, he’s zip-tied in the car. He’s an ornery one," Godfrey said."Zip-tied? What the hell? Utilize the protocol to insert the implant or the AirTag." "He threw the AirTags away and tore the implants out. The blood was everywhere; we almost lost him again.” Godfrey shuddered. “The CTMD is lucky the Tan Man can’t read big numbers anymore, or he’d suspect all the AirTag invoices." "Lost him again…never mind, what’s his insanity? Georgie has women; what’s his? ” Cain asked. “Marilyn, he wants to elope to Cuba. He’s desperate to find out how the time machine works." "Godfrey, the dead don’t stay sane when you pull them through time—catastrophe is bound to occur." "You've said that, Caney Boy. Pick up the pace; he’s probably gnawed through the zip ties.”Cain hesitated at the trunk, imagining a Johnny-in-the-box waiting to spring and scare him senseless. The trunk popped open, and relief swept over Cain as he placed his luggage. No Johnnie-in-the-box here; Godfrey had the sense to put him in the backseat and not like a kidnapping victim. Godfrey placed his tiny hand on his taser as he reached for the passenger door. Cain frowned at Godfrey, moved toward JFK, and signaled Godfrey to open the door. Cain concealed his shock at seeing the chiseled jawline gnawing at the zip ties. "Mr. President, I’m Agent Cain. You’re going to break your teeth if you keep that up.”John F. Kennedy Jr. paused, his bulging blue eyes narrowed at Cain.“May I sit back here with you, Mr. President? "Cain asked.“Only if you’re not one of Godfrey’s goons,” Kennedy snapped. The Boston accent hit Cain’s ears. This wasn’t a presidential cosplayer. "Oh, I’m not; I’m saving Godfrey and your life right now.”Godfrey rolled his beady black eyes. “You’re not saving Cain, you’re assisting,” as he slammed his skinny body into the driver’s seat.“He will not let me see my Marilyn. Or tell me how the machine works. Godfrey only talks about the mission, Johnnie Boy—by the way, my nickname was Jack, not Johnnie. I couldn’t care less about the Tan Man. I have a tan. I want Marilyn here. Big plans to take her to Havana and put a ring on her finger.”A ding on his phone, Georgie again: "Please let me meet Johnnie." I’ll get him to talk to the Tan Man. Another text dinged: "BTW, sucker punching that tan man felt so good." Mr. President, the time machine remains a classified asset. If you help us with the Tan Man, I promise to bring back Marilyn safely. You might check out Tahiti alongside me. Meet my girl, Lucia. Havana has changed, Mr. President.”A somber expression flashed across JFK’s face as he asked, “Would you rewrite history for this Lucia? ”Images of Lucia danced in Cain’s head. “Yes, I would. Here’s what I’ll tell you—we will get Marilyn after you meet the Tan Man; all we need to do is reconfigure some of your speeches. Bring them down to the Tan Man’s second-grade reading level.”JFK chuckled. “Agent Cain, you remind me of Lyndon Johnson; that son of a bitch could talk me into anything. I’ll do it, but let’s shake on it, a meeting for my Marilyn.”Agent Cain hesitated to shake JFK’s hand. They pulled into the President’s Manor. The studio apartments lived up to their title now, with two dead Presidents taking up residence. "Great," Cain thought, remembering his last interaction with Georgie. Godfrey gave him an apartment key to studio 205 and an envelope. "Don't open until you’re in the studio,” Godfrey warned Cain. Cain pretended to be unfazed when he discovered his studio was situated right between JFK and Georgie’s, the pillars of democracy. The pillars of insanity, as soft moans played from Georgie’s room. JFK mumbled prayers to Marilyn; her movies played on repeat. He should’ve booked the Hilton, but the Hilton meant more time away from his love. He resolved to put an end to Godfrey’s carelessness once and for all. Return to retirement and Lucia. He texted her a selfie and captioned it, "I love you." Landed safely in D.C. He unpacked his suitcase in the studio. Retrieved the envelope. He scanned the mission instructions: OPERATION JOHNNIE: Combine all of Kennedy’s speeches—the best parts and dumb them down for the Tan Man. Do not let Johnnie speak to him after four p.m.; he’s been diagnosed with Sundowner’s Syndrome. The Tan Man rambles like a bumbling idiot and creates AI memes. We don’t need AI-generated Kennedy memes. Godfrey enclosed a brief note: Cain, thank you for coming out of retirement. The cosplay actors did not work on these missions; Johnnie was our last resort. Godfrey needs to send him back, and fast. The D.C. papers’ headlines read, 'Is This the Real JFK, or an Actor! ’ and ‘The Presidential Actors—Are they TOO LifeLike?’ Georgie’s voice bellowed at his door. “Caney Boy, I know you’re in there. I’ve been watching the streets to see when the motor vehicle would arrive. I’m a gentleman, so I gave you some time to settle in.”The moment is inevitable. "Gentlemen, my ass." "I'll be there in a minute, George.” The Boston accent floated through the small hallway. Shit! Cain’s heart fluttered, and his gut rumbled. They weren’t supposed to meet. Had they met before? “Caney Boy, is that his nickname? I’m calling him that too.” Shock filled JFK’s voice. “You’re … George Washington." "Yes, I am. You must be Kennedy. I’ve thoroughly researched you, impressive young man, and your lady troubles. Back in my day, you learned to keep extramarital affairs hushed.”Kennedy scoffed, “Well, back in your day, news traveled slowly. Easy to beat a press and newspapers on horseback.”Cain swung open his door, analyzing the vibe in the tiny hallway. “Gentlemen, I am glad to see you met. Please come in; I have fresh coffee, and Godfrey left cake.”Kennedy and Washington eyed each other with distrust as they strolled into the studio. Both men waited for Cain to serve them refreshments when Cain said, “You guys can get your own coffee and refreshments; I’m not a White House aide.”The men poured their coffee and took a seat by the speeches.“Can I help, please? ” Georgie pleaded. Cain sighed, “I guess two Presidents are better than one.”Cain felt a surge of how the founding fathers felt when drafting speeches. Too bad they had to dumb them down. After several drafts, Johnnie was to deliver a speech that suited a third grader. Cain felt a gnawing in his gut. Had love and retirement made him soft, thrown his instincts off? He should’ve sent Georgie home. Lucia teased him; the sun fried his brain, while she defrosted his heart. He should be proud of the chance to work alongside two revered Presidents.Cain’s phone rang, and Lucia’s beautiful bikini body popped up. He quickly shielded her image from the men.“Gentlemen, I have to take this call.”He retreated to the bathroom, closed the door, and locked it.“My love, how’s the mission going? ”Lucia asked.“Okay, I guess.” His tone was hushed. “Something is off." "What do you mean, my love? "I don’t know … they are acting like they hate each other. But I think it’s an act. Presidential Cosplayers will perform better compared to those two fools." Lucia's laughter drifted across the line. “My fool needs to find out so he can be back in my arms. I miss you terribly," Lucia cooed.“I also miss you terribly. Johnnie and I shook on a deal, plus I must get you your present.” Cain’s voice was barely above a whisper now: “but I’m not bringing her back, Marilyn. I am coming home soon. I love you; I’ll keep you updated." "I love you too; see you soon, love.”Cain opened the bathroom door to an empty studio. Perplexed, he scratched his scalp upon reading the note: "Caney Boy, turning in for the night. Georgie and Johnnie." Cain opened his AirTag app. The Presidents slept, and Cain gave the speech one more read and retired to bed. Cain dreamt of Lucia and the beach until his phone dinged, dinged, and dinged some more at six a.m. He groaned as he sat up in bed and reached for his phone. The notifications were popping in like popcorn in the microwave. His phone rang. He picked up. Godfrey’s nasally, panic-filled voice darted across the line.“Cain, we have a problem.” Shouting peppered the background. “It’s huge, about as huge as the Tan Man’s ego." "Get to the point, Godfrey.” Cain reached for his dress pants.“Get to the basement. You remember right, B-104.” Cain heard a rumble of Georgie’s laughter. “Agents have it under control … for now. If the press finds out, it will be bigger than the incident.”Another loud thump sounded. “For the love of God, tell me what happened now! "The phones are tapped.”The line died. Questions raced through Cain’s mind as he buttoned his shirt: Did Georgie try to sucker-punch Johnnie, too? Did they take the Tan Man hostage? What was being thrown? Cain weaved in and out of D.C. traffic, and the tires screeched up to the abandoned CIA Building.A young agent opened the locked door, expecting him.“What’s going on? "Sir, get down to the basement now. I’m on the lookout for Marilyn and Jackie in case they escape." "Marilyn, Jackie, what trouble did Godfrey cause? "It wasn’t Godfrey." the agent touched his earpiece, “the basement now, sir.”Cain paced the elevator. When the elevator door opened, he placed his hand on his gun and immediately took it back off. Cain heard a wispy voice shout, “You think you are better than me! ”Agents stationed themselves around the door of B-104. "Oh, thank God you’re here," Godfrey squeaked. Cain peered into the window; his eyes widened. An epic scene took place before his eyes. Johnnie was between Marilyn and Jackie. Jackie held a high-heeled pump and had a pantyhosed foot on the ground. Jackie had murder in her veins. The thump’s mystery was solved when Cain noticed the high heel across the room.“I know I’m better than you; you sleep with other women’s husbands.” Jackie aimed the high heel at Marilyn’s head. Ready to throw.“It’s not my fault your husband was a … is a horndog! ” The shoe flew and skimmed Marilyn’s blonde curls. Washington, with a mischievous grin plastered across his face, lingered close to the time machine. Surprise peppered Cain’s face as he realized Johnnie and Georgie’s plan all along: pretend to hate each other to unleash all the parts of history that should remain dead. Marilyn shrieked and broke Cain’s concentration, “I didn’t even love him! I loved Bobby! We could have been sisters." "My family doesn’t marry trash, and neither do the Kennedys,” Jackie said. Marilyn spiraled into a frenzy, storming toward Jackie with the conviction of a Karen demanding to talk to the manager. Makeshift combat followed as their hands flapped and slapped, and the air whooshed. Not one slap landed. They looked like drunk bachelorettes on the dance floor at the end of the night. JFK was stunned and backed away from the women. “You loved Bobby, not me.”The women regained their senses. They backed away from JFK. "She never loved you, Jack. I told you so.” Jackie glared.“Bring Bobby back!" Marilyn screamed. "Don't you dare! George, I told you to keep Jackie in the past. I thought we were friends.” Kennedy roared.“Friends, Jackie boy, you were my entertainment,” Georgie said as he let out a hearty chuckle. Georgie's expression shifted, showing puzzlement when JFK barreled towards him. Cain burst in, “Everybody freeze! Georgie, stop playing with the time machine.”They froze. Sort of.“Johnny, back away from Georgie,” Cain ordered. Marilyn twirled a curl around her finger, pouted her lips, and eyed Cain. “You’re not half bad for a regular guy." "You're all going back in time. We are shutting down the CTMD. You can’t—” A smooth, nasal, and unmistakable voice cut off Cain. The Tan Man.“Well, well,” he said, as he surveyed the chaos. “Why wasn’t I briefed on this? Never mind, can we bring back … me, but younger and popular? ” He walked the room as he plotted. "They're not going back, especially Ms. Monroe.” He raised his bushy eyebrows at her. Cain pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mr. President, this project is being shut—" "Cain, you’re fired,” the Tan Man said as if he were in front of the cameras again. “Godfrey, get me Lincoln or Elvis. Someone with ratings.”When the Tan Man uttered the word "ratings," Cain was done. He tossed his badge on the table and turned toward the exit. “I’m out. For good this time.”Marilyn’s wispy whisper followed him: “Take me with you. He creeps me out. The fat tan one.”He gave Ms. Monroe a wave as he walked past her.“Sorry, Ms. Monroe. My girl’s waiting in Tahiti.”Cain felt the box in his pocket. He was retiring, leaving his history with the CIA behind him. He texted Lucia as the elevator ascended:

On my way home, love. Keeping the past buried for good.

The End.