I only have one country



            When the Vice President tells me something, I always listen.

            Even when he tells me I have to kill my own son.

            It’s for the good of the nation, he says and then sends me to New York City – a wilderness of wide-eyed liberals everyone in this administration hates and wishes the terrorists had hit with a nuclear bomb on 9/11.

            Where did I go wrong?

            How could I – a loyal and dedicated agent for the CIA – have raised a boy who would become an attorney for the ACLU?

            Of course, I had to kill the boy in order to keep the boy from screwing with the Vice President’s agenda for world conquest.

            I’m not trying to play down my responsibility. But I did try to raise my boy right.

            I sent him to military school, and when he was ready West Point.

            I even took him hunting so that he would get used to the idea of blood shed. I figured if he was blood-thirsty enough to kill innocent animals, he would have no compulsion in killing human beings – which much more clearly deserved death – when the time came.

            I had real hopes that he would follow in my footsteps, if not in the CIA, then in one of the numerous other secret agencies doing America’s dirty work in the world.

            Even my bosses had high hopes for him, too, and encouraged me to induce my son into our way of life a little at a time.

            So when the risk was not too great, I brought the boy with me on missions to show how we protected American interests behind the scenes.

            I think I got the first clue about my son that day I had to interrogate a prisoner.

            I remember taking the man to a safe house where we could torture him.

            My son got red-faced and insisted that good Americans didn’t do things like that to other people.

            I never felt so ashamed of him as I did then.

            How could my genes had produces a freaking liberal?

            The boy ran away, and used those skills I taught him to escape me.

            My boss was so furious I thought he would fire me or worse.

            I could tell he was as shocked by my boy’s behavior as I was, and eyed me as if I had some secret flaw he had not been aware of before.

            In the end, my boss came to reason.

            We had been through too much together for him to truly believe I was unpatriotic.

            After all, he had seen just how willing I was to kill and torture for America to ever believe I would side with my son in such matters.

            He even felt sorry for me and gave me a chance to try and talk some sense into my son.

            I figured I could do it, too.

            After all, me and my son had our own history that a little torture and murder couldn’t unravel.

            Once I got the NSA to track down where my boy went, I flew to meet him in New York.

            My boy was scared, but I could see he wanted to honor me as his father, and I laid out everything for him.

            I told him I didn’t just kill and torture anybody – the way Homeland Security was apt to do.

            I usually had some reasonable suspicion about a person before I did anything to him or her.

            I thought I was winning him over when he called me a Nazi.

            At first, I thought he was joking, but slowly realized he was not.

            Then I discovered that he and some of his Commie friends had secretly videotaped my pleading, and intended to give the tape to the press.

            I could only imagine my boss going through the roof if that happened.

            The rage rocked me and I wanted to kill them all right then and there.

            Instead, I found myself wandering the streets of New York City, lose in a haze of fear and anger, wondering if my boss was having me followed and would have all of his killed just to keep the secrets safe.

            I decided the safest thing to do was to tell my boss what happened and offer to help correct the mistake.

            My boss ordered me back to Washington where I could tell the Vice President first hand what had happened.

            I tried not to picture my son or think of him as a traitor, and once back in the company of my own kind, I felt much more at ease.

            But the Vice President was particularly upset with me and claimed the whole thing was very unprofessional.

            He said I had to choose between love of my country or love of my won.

            If I chose my son, of course, he assured me I could never work for the agency again, and I might even face prison time or worse.

He said to prove myself, I would have to lead a team to New York to cleanup the matter, killing my son and his associates while recovering the tape.

I am a true patriot.

I have no doubt as to where my loyalties lie.

When I said as much, I saw real pride in my boss’ eyes.

Even the Vice President – with his bad heart – nodded his approval.

Sure, I know I’m going to have to kill my only son and that I will likely have to torture him first to extract all the information I need.

But what else can I do?

I only have one country, and if I don’t fight for all that it stands for, nobody else will.



monologue menu

Main Menu

email to Al Sullivan