The folder was still by his door when Morven swallowed the last bite of brownie. There wasn't any reason for the folder to have been somewhere else, but that didn't stop Morven from becoming very annoyed with it. Unfortunately he would have to read it, no matter how much it glared at him and no matter how many times he gave it the finger. Morven crossed the room and took the folder back to his desk. It was thinner than he'd expected, which was a pleasant surprise. Humming to himself, he tore it open, and read the contents.
Inspector Holltip,
Enclosed is a preliminary report concerning the Carter Insurrection, a mysterious movement with active members in your jurisdiction. Discovery of information relating to this movement must be a top priority as this movement could threaten national security.
This report precedes Detective Parm Minscutto, a detective assigned to the case. He has looked over a copy and assures me he can solved this matter. Detective Minscutto has a quick mind and does not miss details, but make sure he gets enough rest, Detective Minscutto can become irritable when tired.
Sincerely,
Vincent Normany
Director of Operations
Secret Bureau of Investigation
Report on the Carter Insurrection Secret Agent Viscotty
The Carter Insurrection is a political movement that began in China in 1952. Though the government of China has referenced the insurrection on multiple occasions, they have classified all information relating to the movement as A-34 (highest secrecy). Therefore, the only facts we have concerning the movement is the intelligence I've collected over the past four years.
The Carter Insurrection now operates internationally with members rallying support for the movement in Vietnam, Japan, USA, Canada, Panama, Brazil, France, Belgium, Italy, and Iran. The movement's objectives and principles are still largely unknown. We know, at least, it seeks the destabilization of China and its allies. Abul Fedleman is the leading representative of the Carter Insurrection within our borders and the only member we have successfully identified.
Fedleman is a thin, 5'10'' Middle-Eastern male with a sharp nose. His age is unknown but somewhere between 23 and 46. Fedleman lives at 230 Turpentine Court Apt 3 with his a pet eel named Sarah-Pete. He drinks beer through the left side of his mouth, but every other drink through the right side. He snores, but very irregularly. (It is my opinion that Fedleman uses these snores to send messages to his associates in Morse code. I have made recordings and they are being interpreted. If they translate to nonsense, I have advised playing the recordings in reverse. Morsing backwards is a common ploy, if a bit amateur.) Fedleman appears fit, but does not exercise. He wears jeans and solid color t-shirts. He does not wear a hat.
Below is a timetable detailing Abul Fedleman's typical morning:
7:02—Fedleman wakes up and rubs his eyes but does not get out of bed.
7:03—Fedleman falls back to asleep.
7:09—Fedleman wakes up and blows his nose. He throws the tissue on the floor where there is already a large pile from previous mornings. The tissues in this pile leak and stick to one another because Fedleman only buys the cheap brand.
7:10—Fedleman goes to the bathroom to urinate.
7:12—Fedleman returns from the bathroom and falls asleep. He does not flush.
10:23—Fedleman wakes up and rubs his eyes. He goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
10:25—Fedleman finishes brushing and spits into the toilet. He flushes.
10:26—Fedleman goes to the kitchen to make breakfast. On the way, he turns on his computer. Breakfast is a three egg omelet with cheese and slices of sausage. Very rarely, breakfast is instead chocolate cereal with marshmallows from a plastic bag.
10:34—Fedleman eats breakfast while he checks his email and favorite websites. He gets at least ten emails, none of which are spam. This is odd because Fedleman does not use a spam filter. (He is likely on their side.)
10:58—Fedleman dresses. He wears a loop of red string around his waist, under his clothes.
11:07—Fedleman leaves his apartment by the back staircase. He walks to The Strait, a coffee shop with badly lit booths.
11:15—Fedleman arrives at The Strait and orders a pitcher of beer.
Fedleman spends the rest of his day at The Strait conversing with various suspected members of the Carter Insurrection. Below is a sample of one of these conversations. It is the most representative and, likely, the most important.
A man named Derikov sits at Fedleman's table.
"Abul, you look well."
"I am well, I eat very healthy food. But you, my friend, don't look well."
Derikov breathes an exaggerated sigh and pours a glass of beer for each of them, "I am not very well. I eat healthy foods, but I'm not healthy."
(This exchange is Carter innuendo. I believe it translates to:
"Abul, I pledge my soul to the Carter Insurrection and to your eternal leadership."
"Good, wretch. Now serve me a beer."
"I have now served you a beer of good quality and hope to live another day so that I may serve you another beer of equal or greater quality tomorrow.")
The conversation continues.
"What can I do for you, my friend," asks Fedleman. He sounds good natured.
"I was wondering if you might pose me a question."
"Of course, I haven't posed you one in a few weeks."
"You see, Abul. My wife has left me and I have a bump below my hips."
"Hmm," replies Fedleman. He thinks for a few minutes while Derikov draws absently in the condensation on his glass.
"I have just the question for you, my friend," announces Fedleman, finally, "are you ready?"
"Yes, please. I'm ready."
"A clam eats a gull. Tell me, how does it expel the waste?"
"That's impossible! Surely clams can't handle such a diets, they're filter feeders."
"But we must suppose the gull is eaten. That's the premise of the question. Now think awhile."
Derikov knits his brow and sips on his beer.
(Such questions are a key component of the Carter Insurrection. What precise role they play is still unknown, but I believe they are, indeed, another code they employ.)
A woman named Gregorma sits at the table.
"Good day, Abul, can I share a drink?"
"Of course, Gregorma. Have as much as you'd like."
(According to my understanding of the Carter innuendo, they are really saying:
"Dearest Abul, my lover and my god, do you have any assassination missions for me today?"
"My wench, there is nothing for you today. Drink a beer and write some pamphlets.")
The woman pours herself a beer, then looks at Derikov.
"What's he thinking about," she askes Fedleman.
"I've just posed Derikov a question. He's ruminating."
Pensively she asks Abul, "Is there a lot of water in Tibet?"
"No. My ancestors had a lot of water, but it all dried up."
"But you always talk about watery things."
"I have great affection for my ancestors, we all do."
"Do you know how to sail?" asks Gregorma.
"No, but I know my way around boats."
"Do you have sea legs?"
"No, I've never been on a boat that's in the water. You see, all our boats are wagons."
"But boats aren't wagons."
"My anscestors put wheels on their boats. This turned them into wagons. They took them to Tibet and got involved in the Carter Insurrection."
"Oh, yes. I hear the Carter Insurrection is a problem for China."
"That's how it's supposed to be," Fedleman remarks.
At this point, Wen comes to the table.
"Abul! I need a question right now!"
"What's wrong?"
"I just lost my parrot."
"Hm, let me think."
Abul furrowed his brow. Wen hopped from her left foot to her right in agitation.
"Alright. How tall is a tuna when it stands on its hind legs?"
Wen gasped, "thank you!" and ran from the room.
Did you read this far in the report? This question is required by the recent TR104 directive. To confirm that you have indeed read this report, you must redact every line in it with a Class V-9 marker. Have the redacted report ready, a woman in a canary yellow dress will pick it up sometime this week. Do not read any further, the rest of this report is formulated to catch those sneaks who skip to the end.
Morven stopped reading and searched through the desk for his Class V-9 marker. The marker was very old and Morven spent the next few minutes worrying that the black ink would run dry as he crossing out the lines of the report. Luckily the marker made it through the ordeal and Morven sat back, satisfied.
"Ned!" he shouted.
Ned poked his head into the office.
"There'll be a meeting at four."
"Today at four?"
"Yes, today at four. We'll have to talk about this new case," said Morven.
"Yes sir. I'll tell everyone."
Ned started to shut the door but Morven called out to him, "Ned! Has Detective Minscutto arrived yet?"
"Yes sir. He came in thirty minutes ago. He's having coffee."
"What have you told him about me?"
"Nothing sir. What do I have to complain about? It's not his business how you run this place."
"Ned, I mean: have you told him I'm busy?"
"No sir. He hasn't inquired."
"Tell him I'm busy with the case."
"Yes sir, though he hasn't inquired."
"Tell him anyway."
"Yes sir."
Ned disappeared and shut the door softly, the way a mother would shut the door after checking on her sleeping child. Morven took a few peanuts from his pocket and ate them noisily, exaggeratedly smacking his lips.
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