Fic: "eight ball will last if you triumphant be", The Office/Alias, FRT
Title: eight ball will last if you triumphant be
Author: maebynot
Fandoms: The Office / Alias
Rating: G is for Gen.
Word Count: 4,150
Summary: “Mr. Schrute, maybe I haven’t been clear. You sent me your application to the Central Intelligence Agency to forward on to Agent Weiss. Well, you’ve passed the first round of vetting, and we’d like to fly you to our offices for the formal interview process.”
Author's Notes: It’s my crossover. And in my little world full of denial, Alias ended with everyone alive and happy and no one remembered anything about Season Five except me. Title taken from a lyric from DMB's "Typical Situation," which in turn was inspired by "A Prayer in the Pentagon" by Robert Dederick.
x-posted to crossoverfic and theoffice_fic
“Dwight Schrute speaking.”
“Yes, Mr. Schrute. This is James Prescott, administrative assistant for Agent Eric Weiss of the CIA. May I have a moment of your time?”
Dwight scoffed. “Harry Houdini died in 1926. I find it implausible that he’s a member of the Central Intelligence Agency.”
“Ah, but we only want you to think that he died in 1926. He’s been working deep undercover since then.” Mr. Prescott laughed awkwardly. Dwight was not impressed. “Mr. Schrute, maybe I haven’t been clear. You sent me your application to the Central Intelligence Agency to forward on to Agent Weiss. Well, you’ve passed the first round of vetting, and we’d like to fly you to our offices for the formal interview process.”
Not saying a word, Dwight shifted his gaze to his neighbor. Jim was on the phone, ostensibly with a client. Dwight stealthily moved his right arm until it was close to the depressor on Jim’s phone. He quietly yet forcefully pushed the button.
“Yes sir, Mr. Franklin. So that will be - Mr. Franklin? Hello?” Jim took the receiver away from his ear, then looked at Dwight, who was staring back at him. He slammed the phone down. “Thanks, Dwight. That was the sale for Mercy Hospital. What the hell, man?”
“Mr. Schrute?” The voice of James Prescott rang in Dwight’s ear. “Mr. Schrute, are you still there?”
“Just one minute, Mr. Prescott.” Dwight turned to Jim, finger pointed at Jim's jugular. “Where is he?”
“Who, Dwight?”
“This … Mr. Prescott. Did you hide him in the annex and have him call me? No, wait, I know - you asked Toby to call me from South America pretending to be from the CIA.”
“Why would I do that, Dwight? You’d recognize Toby’s voice.”
“So you hired an actor then. Tell me who. I’ll spare your kneecaps if you tell me quickly.”
“Dwight.” Jim’s voice was full of weary frustration. “I don’t know who you’re talking to. Honestly? I don’t have any pranks on the books for you.”
Dwight’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“I gave it up for Lent.”
“You’re Presbyterian.”
“I gave that up for Lent, too.”
“So, what you’re telling me is that I’m actually talking to a man named James Prescott from the CIA?”
Jim’s eyes widened, and he threw a glance at Pam. “Pam? What’s going on?”
Pam, who had been watching the entire thing since Dwight picked up the phone, shrugged, astonished. “I don’t know! The call came from an outside line, and I just transferred it.”
Jim got up to the reception desk. “Pam! Did you plan something that I wasn’t in on?” he whispered with a proud smile.
“Jim, I would never hire someone to pretend to be from the CIA. Throwing his phone off the roof would be as far as I went with that.”
The two turned back to look at Dwight, who had now paled considerably. With a gulp, he brought the phone back up to his ear. “Mr. Prescott? I apologize for the wait.”
“That’s all right. What do you say, Mr. Schrute? Should I send you the itinerary and the rest of the material?”
“Yes sir, absolutely. Let me give you my secure line.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Schrute; we already have that information. I have your application right here in front of me.”
“Oh, I change my secure line every two weeks. Otherwise, I can’t protect myself and my secrets.”
“Very … thoughtful, Mr. Schrute. What’s the number?”
As Dwight went through the process of decoding his secure line for Mr. Prescott, Jim and Pam boggled at the situation.
“So,” Pam started, “it looks like an application actually got through.”
“Knowing Dwight, he probably sent out fifty of the things, to any contact name he could find.”
“How did he pass the Crazy Test?”
“I don’t think the Crazy Test has been issued yet.”
Pam looked worried. “Do you think he’ll pass?”
Jim patted his fiancée on her shoulder. “Of course not, Pam. Don’t worry. He wouldn’t pass.”
She looked up at him. “But what if he does?”
“He won’t.”
Pam snuck a glance at Michael’s office. “Who’s going to tell Michael?”
“Oh, Not It. Not It for all the money in the world.”
*
Dwight was wearing his best brown suit when he entered the Los Angeles branch of the CIA. His first thought was that the foyer resembled that of a bank. His second thought was appreciative of the CIA for making sure that they didn’t show him to their official headquarters in Washington. And he wasn’t even thinking about Langley - he was thinking about the actual, official, hidden-beneath-fifty-feet-of-solid-earth headquarters. The complex at Langley was only a front; even the most boneheaded civilian was aware of that. To ensure that there weren’t any rebel operatives following Dwight, of course the CIA would bring him to a front outside of Washington for his interview.
He walked up to reception and gave the receptionist his most intimidating look. “Mr. Dwight Kurt Schrute, here to meet an Agent Eric Weiss.” He apprised the receptionist, and decided to speak with Michael about updating Pam’s wardrobe. A navy pinstripe suit would do wonders for the office’s respectability.
“One moment, sir.” The receptionist turned from him and said something into a Bluetooth headset. She nodded, then, “Agent Weiss will be right with you. Take a seat.”
“No thank you, I prefer to stand.” He paced the reception area. For the entrance to the CIA - even a front of the CIA - there were an awful lot of windows in the foyer. He was uncomfortable with that. Unfortunately, there was no place to hide from the windows, so rather than act secretive, he chose to act as if he belonged there.
Which he did. Which they would learn soon enough. He was going to do wonders for the CIA.
“Dwight Schrute?” A slightly portly gentleman in a suit had entered the lobby. He held out his hand as he advanced towards Dwight. “Eric Weiss. Glad to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Dwight said, taking the proffered hand and squeezing it as Michael had taught him. It’s important to let them know who’s boss, he had said.
“Ow,” Weiss said, shaking his hand out. “That’s some shake you’ve got there.”
“You should see my trigger finger,” Dwight said, trying to impress Weiss.
“Uh, yeah, we will. Before we’re done, we’ll see everything.” Weiss turned to the door, expecting Dwight to follow. “Now, before the actual interview process, we’re going to give you a physical.”
“No need. I’m in perfect physical condition. I run fourteen miles every morning, and live on a steady diet of beef, beets, and other organic vegetables. I rarely get ill, and I am able to raise and lower my blood pressure at will.”
“That’s … that’s fantastic,” Weiss said, not sure if he should actually believe Dwight or just smile and nod. “Have you had any injuries in the past five years that would hurt your ability to perform your job?”
Dwight stopped walking. “I did suffer a concussion two years ago. But the CT scan didn’t reveal any damage to my cranium.”
“Any allergies?”
“Negative. Schrutes aren’t allergic to anything. Except dishonesty and lies.”
“Well,” Weiss said as he held the door open to the exam room. “Let’s just let Dr. Grossman check you out once and for all. I’ll be back in forty-five minutes.”
Weiss turned around and left. Dr. Grossman stepped forward and introduced himself. Dwight began to loosen his tie, saying, “It won’t take forty-five minutes. I’ll be done in twenty.”
*
“Vaughn.”
“Yeah.”
“You heard anything about this Schrute guy? Jack’s interview today?
Vaughn swiveled in his chair. “Jack has an interview today?”
Weiss dropped into the chair next to his best friend. “Yeah, I just brought the guy to Physical. Kinda weird. Weirder than Marshall, even.”
“Nope. Haven’t heard anything. Not that Jack would tell me anything.”
“Oh. I figured that Sydney might’ve mentioned something.”
“Why would Sydney have said something about Jack interviewing someone?”
“Because he’s her father, and they talk occasionally, and Syd keeps secrets worse than you do.”
Vaughn turned from Weiss. “I can keep secrets.”
“You didn’t deny that she keeps secrets worse than you.”
“Well, why wouldn’t you get your info from Nadia?”
“Ah, you forget that Nadia was raised by her crazy, evil, apocalyptic maiden aunt and doesn’t talk to Jack, who isn’t her father to begin with. She can actually keep secrets.”
“Yeah, well, you may want to keep some parts of your private life more private, Houdini.”
Weiss paled. “Hey! I am his descendent, y’know!”
Vaughn smirked. “That’s not how Nadia tells it. How, exactly, did you get out of those handcuffs, again?”
“Y’know, sometimes, I don’t know why I even talk to you.”
Vaughn laughed. “Anyway, no, I don’t know anything about this … Foot guy?”
“Schrute.”
“Schrute. No info. You want a background check or something?”
“No. If he’s got this far, his background must’ve passed. I want to know why Jack’s interviewing him for APO. I don’t think he’s front desk material, and we’re showing him the belly of the beast?”
“I don’t think Jack’s going to show him his belly.”
“You know what I mean. How is this guy supposed to go back to Allentown or wherever and fit back into society after seeing this place?”
“Maybe he’s not supposed to.” Vaughn’s forehead crinkled even more. “Maybe he’s a hit that’s been tricked into applying for the CIA. Maybe Jack’s just gonna kill him.”
“Maybe,” Weiss conceded. “Jack did have his weird smile on in the meeting this morning.”
“Weird smile? What weird smile?”
“You know, the weird smile. The smile he gets when he’s allowed to mess with someone. Like a cat that just got a catnip toy.”
“You’re crazy, you know. You’re absolutely insane.”
“Oh, come on! He totally had that smile on when Sydney accepted your proposal.”
“He did not! He was smiling because Syd was happy.”
“No, that would have been his proud smile. The weird smile came after, like, ‘I know I have to be happy for my daughter, but remember how her first fiancé turned out? I won’t kill you, but you’ll hurt at the end of this.’ That smile.”
“Insane, Weiss. Legitimately insane. If this were SD-6, I would have you sent to McCullough for a psych evaluation.”
“If this were SD-6, Agent Vaughn,” a cultured voice interrupted, “the both of you would be dead for talking about a senior agent within ten feet of his open office door.” The two agents cowered under Jack Bristow’s heavy glare. “Weiss, when Mr. Schrute’s physical is complete, please take him to Interrogation Room Two.” Jack turned on his heel and proceeded to one of the many conference rooms.
Vaughn and Weiss turned to each other. Vaughn let out the breath he was holding.
Weiss clapped Vaughn on the shoulder and said, “See? That smile. You’re on his list now, buddy.”
*
The interrogation room reminded Dwight of the break room back home, but with no windows and no vending machines. It was entirely befitting an interrogation room belonging to the CIA.
Dwight approved.
His interviewer was already seated at the table in the center of the room. There was not a single hair out of place atop his head, and it practically gleamed beneath the fluorescent lighting. The suit was impeccable, and he had crossed one leg neatly over the other, so he could rest his clipboard on his knee. His Cross pen was the same silver as his hair.
Dwight approved. And for the first time, felt slightly underdressed. He hoped the man didn’t realize he was wearing short sleeves under his jacket.
“You must be Dwight Schrute,” the man stated, not making eye contact.
“Yes, sir.”
“My name is Jack Bristow, and I’ll be in charge of the interview process. Please, take a seat.” A manicured hand gestured to the rickety metal chair close to Dwight.
Dwight smirked. “Ah, the rickety chair intimidation technique. Classic. Unnerve the interviewee by sawing off a quarter of an inch on one of the legs, making it wobbly. Something I’ve done myself.” He sat gingerly on the chair.
“No, we just keep the comfortable chairs for the actual CIA agents, Mr. Schrute.” He scribbled something on the clipboard. “Now. Your full name is?”
“Dwight Kurt Schrute.”
“Birthday?”
“January twelfth, 1968.”
“Social Security Number?”
“Oh-oh-seven, fifteen, eighteen-sixty-one.”
“Blood Type?”
“Oh positive. Universal donor.”
The questions continued in rapid-fire succession for about twelve minutes. Current residence, previous residences dating back to his birth and conception, any trips abroad in the past forever, et cetera. Dwight refused to be intimidated by Agent Bristow, even though Jack was obviously trying very hard to intimidate him. For instance: no eye contact. No offer of water or some other beverage. No using his first name.
Dwight approved of Jack’s methods. He struck him as being very professional, very patriotic, and exactly the type of person you wouldn’t want on your bad side. While it took a lot to scare Dwight, the thought of staring down the barrel of a gun held by this man was enough to evoke the thought of being afraid.
Finally, it got to the scenario portion of the interview. Dwight had practiced this part for months, even before he was told to dispose of his cell phone. He had anticipated every possible question and had the correct answer for each. He was ready to impress this Agent Bristow.
“You are in enemy territory, the middle of nowhere,” Jack began. “Your cell phone has been damaged, and you need to get in touch with your handler because you have failed in your mission. What do you do?”
“Simple. I will not have failed in my mission. My cell phone may have been damaged - it happens. I imagine that crawling through close quarters such as air ducts would damage things on my utility belt. In the event of a broken cell phone, I would hide in the scrub brush until one of these enemies comes along. I would take him by surprise, either stun him or kill him with the hunting knife I keep in an ankle holster at all times, steal his cell phone, and contact my handler for the next part of the mission.”
Jack was silent as he finished his notes. Then, “Mr. Schrute, I don’t think you understood the question. You have failed in your mission. That changes the entire scenario.”
“I don’t think it does. Agent Bristow, I never fail. If I forget something, I go back for it. If there are loose ends, I kill them. End of story. I have a perfect success rate.”
“Yes, in office supply sales,” Jack said with disdain. “Have you ever been part of a field mission?”
“I once drove with Michael Scott and delivered gift baskets to our clients and had to act quickly when Michael drove into a lake.”
Jack put the clipboard down and stared at Dwight for a full minute. Dwight was unable to read his thoughts. He couldn’t tell if he was shocked at Dwight’s awesomeness, or disappointed that he hadn’t been approached by the CIA before now. “Let’s try this once more, and pretend, just this once, that you actually failed. Your cell phone has been damaged, and you need to get in touch with your handler. What do you do?”
“Even if I failed, I would do the same - disarm and disable the enemy, steal his communication device, and contact my handler.”
“So now you’ve put one of our secure contact numbers on an enemy’s cell phone.”
“Negative. I would destroy the cell phone.”
“Even the Central Intelligence Agency has to pay for their cell phone use; I’m sure the number would show up on the enemy’s monthly billing statement.”
“When I returned to base, I would infiltrate the enemy’s headquarters and destroy their cell phone bill.”
“What if they receive their billing statements online?”
Dwight smirked. “No enemy worth their salt would receive bills online. Websites are too insecure. I should know; I’ve beaten one.”
“You’ve beaten a website.”
“At his own game.”
Jack’s mouth pursed as he wrote a few more notes. “Okay, second scenario.”
*
“He claims that he beat a website?”
“’At his own game,’ was the phrase he used.”
“What game? Chess? Poker?”
“I don’t know, Arvin. I was trying so hard not to laugh in his face that I couldn’t think of something else to say.”
Arvin Sloane giggled. “What else happened?”
“Oh, let’s see. He insists that he has never failed a mission, and would never fail a mission, because he has a perfect success rate.”
“Yes, but in selling paper products.”
Jack continued. “Also, when asked what he would do in the event of a hostage situation involving his field partner, he said he would have to weigh the situation and, if necessary, sacrifice his partner for the good of the mission.”
Sloane sobered. “Jack, we may have done that in SD-6, but with APO? We are legitimately black ops now, and the government wouldn’t stand for it. I wouldn’t stand for it.”
“Neither would I. Especially since Schrute would most likely be paired up with Sydney.”
“We cannot risk Sydney.”
“I know that.” Jack swirled his scotch and looked back up at Sloane. “For more reasons than one.”
Sloane waved his concerns off. “Yes, yes, I know, Jack. How did his psych evaluation turn out?”
Jack smirked. “Dixon’s waiting for the results now. Interestingly enough, the preliminary report stated that his polygraph was outstanding. He didn’t lie once.”
Sloane leaned back in his desk chair. “Well, he did claim in his physical that Schrutes were allergic to dishonesty. He would have broken out in a rash if he told a fib.”
This sent both senior agents into another fit of giggles.
*
Dwight was led into a brightly-lit conference room. He recognized Agents Bristow, Weiss and Dixon, but there were five other people he hadn’t met yet. He took a seat in the remaining chair.
“Hi, Dwight,” the woman said. “I’m Sydney Bristow; this is Agent Vaughn; Agent Santos; Marshall Flinkman, our head of op-tech; and Arvin Sloane, the head of APO.”
“Wait - Bristow? So that means that-“
“Yes, Dwight, Sydney is my daughter.” Jack sighed and moved on. “Mr. Schrute, we have here the results of your psych evaluation, your physical examination, and your interview with me. We have reviewed the data, and we have an offer for you.”
Dwight felt his face break into a huge smile. It was like when Michael offered him the job has his replacement when he went off to Corporate. Except that this moment was his dream come true.
“I’ll take it,” Dwight said without hesitation.
“Well, just a minute, Mr. Schrute,” Vaughn said. “You may want to hear what Agent Bristow has to say.”
“What could he possibly say besides ‘Congratulations, Mr. Schrute, you’re hired’?”
Jack’s eye twitched and his lips pursed. Agent Weiss shared a look with Vaughn. Sloane never moved his gaze from the phone in the center of the table. After thirty seconds of awkward silence, Jack spoke.
“Mr. Schrute. Your physical exam came back with flying colors. But your psych evaluation and your interview caused some … concerns, for us.”
“What types of concerns?”
“The most … upsetting trend we’ve seen is your tendency to work alone.”
“My philosophy has always been that if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”
“The CIA is an agency devoted to teamwork and cooperation, Mr. Schrute,” Sloane said from his corner. “And we do not deal with loose cannons.”
“I’m … I’m not a loose cannon! I am a cannon whose screws have been effectively tightened! My cannonballs won’t go askew in their flight path - my cannonballs land where they are supposed to land!”
“Mr. Schrute,” Sydney spoke up for the first time since she introduced everyone. “What we’re trying to say is that being a field agent probably won’t be a good fit for you. But we do have an area where we think you’d do well.”
Dwight masked his pout. “What second-rate position is it?”
Weiss and Vaughn backed up from Jack, glancing at each other and at the senior agent. Dwight felt a touch of fear - Jack looked positively menacing.
“Mr. Schrute. Maybe you’re unaware of what you’ve gotten yourself into. Not every CIA candidate is allowed to interview for APO. The last person who went through the process and didn’t take the position is now lying in an unmarked grave beside the PCH. You have seen things in this building that our enemies would be glad to get their hands on. And once we let you through those doors as a private citizen, how do we know that we can trust you with what you’ve seen?” He paused, letting the significance of the matter descend onto Dwight’s shoulders. “You must admit; this is a predicament for you.”
Yup. That was most definitely fear in the form of sweat trickling down his back now. The last time Dwight was this scared was when Michael fired him and he had to go work at Staples. He cleared his throat. “What … what kind of position is it?”
Jack smiled. “Interestingly enough, it’s very similar to the job that you performed back in Scranton. We think it’d be an excellent fit and opportunity for you.”
*
“Did you see his face when you said that thing about the unmarked grave?” Sydney asked her father that night over dinner.
“I must admit, that was a nice touch.”
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
Sydney stopped fiddling with her wineglass. “If you didn’t like him, if you didn’t think he should have even seen APO, why did you let him in the building? And why did you offer him the job?”
Jack dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and took a sip of the Merlot. Finally, he shrugged. “I owed someone a favor.”
Sydney snorted. “That was … really? You owed someone a favor, and you filled it by hiring someone for the CIA?”
Jack attempted to look innocent. It failed. “It was a very big favor.”
“For who?”
“I was in an op that took place outside of the Namgyal Monastery in Ithaca, New York. A young student of Cornell University helped me immensely. I said I owed him one. He called his favor in a month or so ago.” Another sip of wine. “And now we’re even.”
*
“Authorized Personnel Only, this is Dwight.”
“Dwight, my man! How’re you doin’, bud?”
Dwight glanced at the caller ID, confused. “Andy? How did you get this number? This is a secure line!”
“I know a guy who knows a guy. Anyway, me and my little lady are flying out to LA for our honeymoon, and she wanted to hook up with you at some point. You in? You available?”
“Andy, you know I can’t talk at work. It’s against National Security. You should not have called here.”
“Pshaw, my friend. I know all about it. Actually, you owe me.”
Dwight paled. “What do you mean, I owe you? I owe you nothing!”
“Oh contraire. You know that guy I know that knows a guy? I saved his life and owed me a favor. And when my lovely angel flower told me about your secret dream to be in the CIA, I knew I had a way to make everyone happy - the guy, Angela, and you. And me. Everyone wins!”
Dwight took deep breaths. Of all the people on this earth, the one person he never wanted to be indebted to was Andrew Bernard. And through a slight twist of fate, he now owed him everything.
"Well, thank you, Andy. I appreciate the fact that you think you got the job for me, but in fact, I got in on my own merits, so suck it."
"Dwight?" Marshall poked his head out from his office. "I'm going to need you to get me some lipstick that matches Sydney's wig and some ezopiclone from the pharmacy."
"Andy, I'm sorry, I have to go," Dwight said into the phone with a smirk and importance. "As Assistant Op-Tech, it is imperative that I get some more ezopiclone and lipstick. I'll email you from home for your visit. Goodbye."
As he crossed to the supply cabinet, Weiss called after him, "You're Assistant to the Op-Tech, Dwight!"
Vaughn added, "And when you're back from the pharmacy, Weiss and I want lattes."
*
"So how's Dwight doing?" Pam asked Andy.
"He's doing awesome. He's assistant op-tech on tons of important missions and totally top-secret. Remember, if you see him, you don't know him."
"Gotcha." Andy returned to his desk, leaving Jim and Pam alone in the kitchen.
"See, honey? I told you he wouldn't pass the Crazy Test."
*
end.
*
Author: maebynot
Fandoms: The Office / Alias
Rating: G is for Gen.
Word Count: 4,150
Summary: “Mr. Schrute, maybe I haven’t been clear. You sent me your application to the Central Intelligence Agency to forward on to Agent Weiss. Well, you’ve passed the first round of vetting, and we’d like to fly you to our offices for the formal interview process.”
Author's Notes: It’s my crossover. And in my little world full of denial, Alias ended with everyone alive and happy and no one remembered anything about Season Five except me. Title taken from a lyric from DMB's "Typical Situation," which in turn was inspired by "A Prayer in the Pentagon" by Robert Dederick.
x-posted to crossoverfic and theoffice_fic
“Dwight Schrute speaking.”
“Yes, Mr. Schrute. This is James Prescott, administrative assistant for Agent Eric Weiss of the CIA. May I have a moment of your time?”
Dwight scoffed. “Harry Houdini died in 1926. I find it implausible that he’s a member of the Central Intelligence Agency.”
“Ah, but we only want you to think that he died in 1926. He’s been working deep undercover since then.” Mr. Prescott laughed awkwardly. Dwight was not impressed. “Mr. Schrute, maybe I haven’t been clear. You sent me your application to the Central Intelligence Agency to forward on to Agent Weiss. Well, you’ve passed the first round of vetting, and we’d like to fly you to our offices for the formal interview process.”
Not saying a word, Dwight shifted his gaze to his neighbor. Jim was on the phone, ostensibly with a client. Dwight stealthily moved his right arm until it was close to the depressor on Jim’s phone. He quietly yet forcefully pushed the button.
“Yes sir, Mr. Franklin. So that will be - Mr. Franklin? Hello?” Jim took the receiver away from his ear, then looked at Dwight, who was staring back at him. He slammed the phone down. “Thanks, Dwight. That was the sale for Mercy Hospital. What the hell, man?”
“Mr. Schrute?” The voice of James Prescott rang in Dwight’s ear. “Mr. Schrute, are you still there?”
“Just one minute, Mr. Prescott.” Dwight turned to Jim, finger pointed at Jim's jugular. “Where is he?”
“Who, Dwight?”
“This … Mr. Prescott. Did you hide him in the annex and have him call me? No, wait, I know - you asked Toby to call me from South America pretending to be from the CIA.”
“Why would I do that, Dwight? You’d recognize Toby’s voice.”
“So you hired an actor then. Tell me who. I’ll spare your kneecaps if you tell me quickly.”
“Dwight.” Jim’s voice was full of weary frustration. “I don’t know who you’re talking to. Honestly? I don’t have any pranks on the books for you.”
Dwight’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“I gave it up for Lent.”
“You’re Presbyterian.”
“I gave that up for Lent, too.”
“So, what you’re telling me is that I’m actually talking to a man named James Prescott from the CIA?”
Jim’s eyes widened, and he threw a glance at Pam. “Pam? What’s going on?”
Pam, who had been watching the entire thing since Dwight picked up the phone, shrugged, astonished. “I don’t know! The call came from an outside line, and I just transferred it.”
Jim got up to the reception desk. “Pam! Did you plan something that I wasn’t in on?” he whispered with a proud smile.
“Jim, I would never hire someone to pretend to be from the CIA. Throwing his phone off the roof would be as far as I went with that.”
The two turned back to look at Dwight, who had now paled considerably. With a gulp, he brought the phone back up to his ear. “Mr. Prescott? I apologize for the wait.”
“That’s all right. What do you say, Mr. Schrute? Should I send you the itinerary and the rest of the material?”
“Yes sir, absolutely. Let me give you my secure line.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Schrute; we already have that information. I have your application right here in front of me.”
“Oh, I change my secure line every two weeks. Otherwise, I can’t protect myself and my secrets.”
“Very … thoughtful, Mr. Schrute. What’s the number?”
As Dwight went through the process of decoding his secure line for Mr. Prescott, Jim and Pam boggled at the situation.
“So,” Pam started, “it looks like an application actually got through.”
“Knowing Dwight, he probably sent out fifty of the things, to any contact name he could find.”
“How did he pass the Crazy Test?”
“I don’t think the Crazy Test has been issued yet.”
Pam looked worried. “Do you think he’ll pass?”
Jim patted his fiancée on her shoulder. “Of course not, Pam. Don’t worry. He wouldn’t pass.”
She looked up at him. “But what if he does?”
“He won’t.”
Pam snuck a glance at Michael’s office. “Who’s going to tell Michael?”
“Oh, Not It. Not It for all the money in the world.”
*
Dwight was wearing his best brown suit when he entered the Los Angeles branch of the CIA. His first thought was that the foyer resembled that of a bank. His second thought was appreciative of the CIA for making sure that they didn’t show him to their official headquarters in Washington. And he wasn’t even thinking about Langley - he was thinking about the actual, official, hidden-beneath-fifty-feet-of-solid-earth headquarters. The complex at Langley was only a front; even the most boneheaded civilian was aware of that. To ensure that there weren’t any rebel operatives following Dwight, of course the CIA would bring him to a front outside of Washington for his interview.
He walked up to reception and gave the receptionist his most intimidating look. “Mr. Dwight Kurt Schrute, here to meet an Agent Eric Weiss.” He apprised the receptionist, and decided to speak with Michael about updating Pam’s wardrobe. A navy pinstripe suit would do wonders for the office’s respectability.
“One moment, sir.” The receptionist turned from him and said something into a Bluetooth headset. She nodded, then, “Agent Weiss will be right with you. Take a seat.”
“No thank you, I prefer to stand.” He paced the reception area. For the entrance to the CIA - even a front of the CIA - there were an awful lot of windows in the foyer. He was uncomfortable with that. Unfortunately, there was no place to hide from the windows, so rather than act secretive, he chose to act as if he belonged there.
Which he did. Which they would learn soon enough. He was going to do wonders for the CIA.
“Dwight Schrute?” A slightly portly gentleman in a suit had entered the lobby. He held out his hand as he advanced towards Dwight. “Eric Weiss. Glad to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Dwight said, taking the proffered hand and squeezing it as Michael had taught him. It’s important to let them know who’s boss, he had said.
“Ow,” Weiss said, shaking his hand out. “That’s some shake you’ve got there.”
“You should see my trigger finger,” Dwight said, trying to impress Weiss.
“Uh, yeah, we will. Before we’re done, we’ll see everything.” Weiss turned to the door, expecting Dwight to follow. “Now, before the actual interview process, we’re going to give you a physical.”
“No need. I’m in perfect physical condition. I run fourteen miles every morning, and live on a steady diet of beef, beets, and other organic vegetables. I rarely get ill, and I am able to raise and lower my blood pressure at will.”
“That’s … that’s fantastic,” Weiss said, not sure if he should actually believe Dwight or just smile and nod. “Have you had any injuries in the past five years that would hurt your ability to perform your job?”
Dwight stopped walking. “I did suffer a concussion two years ago. But the CT scan didn’t reveal any damage to my cranium.”
“Any allergies?”
“Negative. Schrutes aren’t allergic to anything. Except dishonesty and lies.”
“Well,” Weiss said as he held the door open to the exam room. “Let’s just let Dr. Grossman check you out once and for all. I’ll be back in forty-five minutes.”
Weiss turned around and left. Dr. Grossman stepped forward and introduced himself. Dwight began to loosen his tie, saying, “It won’t take forty-five minutes. I’ll be done in twenty.”
*
“Vaughn.”
“Yeah.”
“You heard anything about this Schrute guy? Jack’s interview today?
Vaughn swiveled in his chair. “Jack has an interview today?”
Weiss dropped into the chair next to his best friend. “Yeah, I just brought the guy to Physical. Kinda weird. Weirder than Marshall, even.”
“Nope. Haven’t heard anything. Not that Jack would tell me anything.”
“Oh. I figured that Sydney might’ve mentioned something.”
“Why would Sydney have said something about Jack interviewing someone?”
“Because he’s her father, and they talk occasionally, and Syd keeps secrets worse than you do.”
Vaughn turned from Weiss. “I can keep secrets.”
“You didn’t deny that she keeps secrets worse than you.”
“Well, why wouldn’t you get your info from Nadia?”
“Ah, you forget that Nadia was raised by her crazy, evil, apocalyptic maiden aunt and doesn’t talk to Jack, who isn’t her father to begin with. She can actually keep secrets.”
“Yeah, well, you may want to keep some parts of your private life more private, Houdini.”
Weiss paled. “Hey! I am his descendent, y’know!”
Vaughn smirked. “That’s not how Nadia tells it. How, exactly, did you get out of those handcuffs, again?”
“Y’know, sometimes, I don’t know why I even talk to you.”
Vaughn laughed. “Anyway, no, I don’t know anything about this … Foot guy?”
“Schrute.”
“Schrute. No info. You want a background check or something?”
“No. If he’s got this far, his background must’ve passed. I want to know why Jack’s interviewing him for APO. I don’t think he’s front desk material, and we’re showing him the belly of the beast?”
“I don’t think Jack’s going to show him his belly.”
“You know what I mean. How is this guy supposed to go back to Allentown or wherever and fit back into society after seeing this place?”
“Maybe he’s not supposed to.” Vaughn’s forehead crinkled even more. “Maybe he’s a hit that’s been tricked into applying for the CIA. Maybe Jack’s just gonna kill him.”
“Maybe,” Weiss conceded. “Jack did have his weird smile on in the meeting this morning.”
“Weird smile? What weird smile?”
“You know, the weird smile. The smile he gets when he’s allowed to mess with someone. Like a cat that just got a catnip toy.”
“You’re crazy, you know. You’re absolutely insane.”
“Oh, come on! He totally had that smile on when Sydney accepted your proposal.”
“He did not! He was smiling because Syd was happy.”
“No, that would have been his proud smile. The weird smile came after, like, ‘I know I have to be happy for my daughter, but remember how her first fiancé turned out? I won’t kill you, but you’ll hurt at the end of this.’ That smile.”
“Insane, Weiss. Legitimately insane. If this were SD-6, I would have you sent to McCullough for a psych evaluation.”
“If this were SD-6, Agent Vaughn,” a cultured voice interrupted, “the both of you would be dead for talking about a senior agent within ten feet of his open office door.” The two agents cowered under Jack Bristow’s heavy glare. “Weiss, when Mr. Schrute’s physical is complete, please take him to Interrogation Room Two.” Jack turned on his heel and proceeded to one of the many conference rooms.
Vaughn and Weiss turned to each other. Vaughn let out the breath he was holding.
Weiss clapped Vaughn on the shoulder and said, “See? That smile. You’re on his list now, buddy.”
*
The interrogation room reminded Dwight of the break room back home, but with no windows and no vending machines. It was entirely befitting an interrogation room belonging to the CIA.
Dwight approved.
His interviewer was already seated at the table in the center of the room. There was not a single hair out of place atop his head, and it practically gleamed beneath the fluorescent lighting. The suit was impeccable, and he had crossed one leg neatly over the other, so he could rest his clipboard on his knee. His Cross pen was the same silver as his hair.
Dwight approved. And for the first time, felt slightly underdressed. He hoped the man didn’t realize he was wearing short sleeves under his jacket.
“You must be Dwight Schrute,” the man stated, not making eye contact.
“Yes, sir.”
“My name is Jack Bristow, and I’ll be in charge of the interview process. Please, take a seat.” A manicured hand gestured to the rickety metal chair close to Dwight.
Dwight smirked. “Ah, the rickety chair intimidation technique. Classic. Unnerve the interviewee by sawing off a quarter of an inch on one of the legs, making it wobbly. Something I’ve done myself.” He sat gingerly on the chair.
“No, we just keep the comfortable chairs for the actual CIA agents, Mr. Schrute.” He scribbled something on the clipboard. “Now. Your full name is?”
“Dwight Kurt Schrute.”
“Birthday?”
“January twelfth, 1968.”
“Social Security Number?”
“Oh-oh-seven, fifteen, eighteen-sixty-one.”
“Blood Type?”
“Oh positive. Universal donor.”
The questions continued in rapid-fire succession for about twelve minutes. Current residence, previous residences dating back to his birth and conception, any trips abroad in the past forever, et cetera. Dwight refused to be intimidated by Agent Bristow, even though Jack was obviously trying very hard to intimidate him. For instance: no eye contact. No offer of water or some other beverage. No using his first name.
Dwight approved of Jack’s methods. He struck him as being very professional, very patriotic, and exactly the type of person you wouldn’t want on your bad side. While it took a lot to scare Dwight, the thought of staring down the barrel of a gun held by this man was enough to evoke the thought of being afraid.
Finally, it got to the scenario portion of the interview. Dwight had practiced this part for months, even before he was told to dispose of his cell phone. He had anticipated every possible question and had the correct answer for each. He was ready to impress this Agent Bristow.
“You are in enemy territory, the middle of nowhere,” Jack began. “Your cell phone has been damaged, and you need to get in touch with your handler because you have failed in your mission. What do you do?”
“Simple. I will not have failed in my mission. My cell phone may have been damaged - it happens. I imagine that crawling through close quarters such as air ducts would damage things on my utility belt. In the event of a broken cell phone, I would hide in the scrub brush until one of these enemies comes along. I would take him by surprise, either stun him or kill him with the hunting knife I keep in an ankle holster at all times, steal his cell phone, and contact my handler for the next part of the mission.”
Jack was silent as he finished his notes. Then, “Mr. Schrute, I don’t think you understood the question. You have failed in your mission. That changes the entire scenario.”
“I don’t think it does. Agent Bristow, I never fail. If I forget something, I go back for it. If there are loose ends, I kill them. End of story. I have a perfect success rate.”
“Yes, in office supply sales,” Jack said with disdain. “Have you ever been part of a field mission?”
“I once drove with Michael Scott and delivered gift baskets to our clients and had to act quickly when Michael drove into a lake.”
Jack put the clipboard down and stared at Dwight for a full minute. Dwight was unable to read his thoughts. He couldn’t tell if he was shocked at Dwight’s awesomeness, or disappointed that he hadn’t been approached by the CIA before now. “Let’s try this once more, and pretend, just this once, that you actually failed. Your cell phone has been damaged, and you need to get in touch with your handler. What do you do?”
“Even if I failed, I would do the same - disarm and disable the enemy, steal his communication device, and contact my handler.”
“So now you’ve put one of our secure contact numbers on an enemy’s cell phone.”
“Negative. I would destroy the cell phone.”
“Even the Central Intelligence Agency has to pay for their cell phone use; I’m sure the number would show up on the enemy’s monthly billing statement.”
“When I returned to base, I would infiltrate the enemy’s headquarters and destroy their cell phone bill.”
“What if they receive their billing statements online?”
Dwight smirked. “No enemy worth their salt would receive bills online. Websites are too insecure. I should know; I’ve beaten one.”
“You’ve beaten a website.”
“At his own game.”
Jack’s mouth pursed as he wrote a few more notes. “Okay, second scenario.”
*
“He claims that he beat a website?”
“’At his own game,’ was the phrase he used.”
“What game? Chess? Poker?”
“I don’t know, Arvin. I was trying so hard not to laugh in his face that I couldn’t think of something else to say.”
Arvin Sloane giggled. “What else happened?”
“Oh, let’s see. He insists that he has never failed a mission, and would never fail a mission, because he has a perfect success rate.”
“Yes, but in selling paper products.”
Jack continued. “Also, when asked what he would do in the event of a hostage situation involving his field partner, he said he would have to weigh the situation and, if necessary, sacrifice his partner for the good of the mission.”
Sloane sobered. “Jack, we may have done that in SD-6, but with APO? We are legitimately black ops now, and the government wouldn’t stand for it. I wouldn’t stand for it.”
“Neither would I. Especially since Schrute would most likely be paired up with Sydney.”
“We cannot risk Sydney.”
“I know that.” Jack swirled his scotch and looked back up at Sloane. “For more reasons than one.”
Sloane waved his concerns off. “Yes, yes, I know, Jack. How did his psych evaluation turn out?”
Jack smirked. “Dixon’s waiting for the results now. Interestingly enough, the preliminary report stated that his polygraph was outstanding. He didn’t lie once.”
Sloane leaned back in his desk chair. “Well, he did claim in his physical that Schrutes were allergic to dishonesty. He would have broken out in a rash if he told a fib.”
This sent both senior agents into another fit of giggles.
*
Dwight was led into a brightly-lit conference room. He recognized Agents Bristow, Weiss and Dixon, but there were five other people he hadn’t met yet. He took a seat in the remaining chair.
“Hi, Dwight,” the woman said. “I’m Sydney Bristow; this is Agent Vaughn; Agent Santos; Marshall Flinkman, our head of op-tech; and Arvin Sloane, the head of APO.”
“Wait - Bristow? So that means that-“
“Yes, Dwight, Sydney is my daughter.” Jack sighed and moved on. “Mr. Schrute, we have here the results of your psych evaluation, your physical examination, and your interview with me. We have reviewed the data, and we have an offer for you.”
Dwight felt his face break into a huge smile. It was like when Michael offered him the job has his replacement when he went off to Corporate. Except that this moment was his dream come true.
“I’ll take it,” Dwight said without hesitation.
“Well, just a minute, Mr. Schrute,” Vaughn said. “You may want to hear what Agent Bristow has to say.”
“What could he possibly say besides ‘Congratulations, Mr. Schrute, you’re hired’?”
Jack’s eye twitched and his lips pursed. Agent Weiss shared a look with Vaughn. Sloane never moved his gaze from the phone in the center of the table. After thirty seconds of awkward silence, Jack spoke.
“Mr. Schrute. Your physical exam came back with flying colors. But your psych evaluation and your interview caused some … concerns, for us.”
“What types of concerns?”
“The most … upsetting trend we’ve seen is your tendency to work alone.”
“My philosophy has always been that if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”
“The CIA is an agency devoted to teamwork and cooperation, Mr. Schrute,” Sloane said from his corner. “And we do not deal with loose cannons.”
“I’m … I’m not a loose cannon! I am a cannon whose screws have been effectively tightened! My cannonballs won’t go askew in their flight path - my cannonballs land where they are supposed to land!”
“Mr. Schrute,” Sydney spoke up for the first time since she introduced everyone. “What we’re trying to say is that being a field agent probably won’t be a good fit for you. But we do have an area where we think you’d do well.”
Dwight masked his pout. “What second-rate position is it?”
Weiss and Vaughn backed up from Jack, glancing at each other and at the senior agent. Dwight felt a touch of fear - Jack looked positively menacing.
“Mr. Schrute. Maybe you’re unaware of what you’ve gotten yourself into. Not every CIA candidate is allowed to interview for APO. The last person who went through the process and didn’t take the position is now lying in an unmarked grave beside the PCH. You have seen things in this building that our enemies would be glad to get their hands on. And once we let you through those doors as a private citizen, how do we know that we can trust you with what you’ve seen?” He paused, letting the significance of the matter descend onto Dwight’s shoulders. “You must admit; this is a predicament for you.”
Yup. That was most definitely fear in the form of sweat trickling down his back now. The last time Dwight was this scared was when Michael fired him and he had to go work at Staples. He cleared his throat. “What … what kind of position is it?”
Jack smiled. “Interestingly enough, it’s very similar to the job that you performed back in Scranton. We think it’d be an excellent fit and opportunity for you.”
*
“Did you see his face when you said that thing about the unmarked grave?” Sydney asked her father that night over dinner.
“I must admit, that was a nice touch.”
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
Sydney stopped fiddling with her wineglass. “If you didn’t like him, if you didn’t think he should have even seen APO, why did you let him in the building? And why did you offer him the job?”
Jack dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and took a sip of the Merlot. Finally, he shrugged. “I owed someone a favor.”
Sydney snorted. “That was … really? You owed someone a favor, and you filled it by hiring someone for the CIA?”
Jack attempted to look innocent. It failed. “It was a very big favor.”
“For who?”
“I was in an op that took place outside of the Namgyal Monastery in Ithaca, New York. A young student of Cornell University helped me immensely. I said I owed him one. He called his favor in a month or so ago.” Another sip of wine. “And now we’re even.”
*
“Authorized Personnel Only, this is Dwight.”
“Dwight, my man! How’re you doin’, bud?”
Dwight glanced at the caller ID, confused. “Andy? How did you get this number? This is a secure line!”
“I know a guy who knows a guy. Anyway, me and my little lady are flying out to LA for our honeymoon, and she wanted to hook up with you at some point. You in? You available?”
“Andy, you know I can’t talk at work. It’s against National Security. You should not have called here.”
“Pshaw, my friend. I know all about it. Actually, you owe me.”
Dwight paled. “What do you mean, I owe you? I owe you nothing!”
“Oh contraire. You know that guy I know that knows a guy? I saved his life and owed me a favor. And when my lovely angel flower told me about your secret dream to be in the CIA, I knew I had a way to make everyone happy - the guy, Angela, and you. And me. Everyone wins!”
Dwight took deep breaths. Of all the people on this earth, the one person he never wanted to be indebted to was Andrew Bernard. And through a slight twist of fate, he now owed him everything.
"Well, thank you, Andy. I appreciate the fact that you think you got the job for me, but in fact, I got in on my own merits, so suck it."
"Dwight?" Marshall poked his head out from his office. "I'm going to need you to get me some lipstick that matches Sydney's wig and some ezopiclone from the pharmacy."
"Andy, I'm sorry, I have to go," Dwight said into the phone with a smirk and importance. "As Assistant Op-Tech, it is imperative that I get some more ezopiclone and lipstick. I'll email you from home for your visit. Goodbye."
As he crossed to the supply cabinet, Weiss called after him, "You're Assistant to the Op-Tech, Dwight!"
Vaughn added, "And when you're back from the pharmacy, Weiss and I want lattes."
*
"So how's Dwight doing?" Pam asked Andy.
"He's doing awesome. He's assistant op-tech on tons of important missions and totally top-secret. Remember, if you see him, you don't know him."
"Gotcha." Andy returned to his desk, leaving Jim and Pam alone in the kitchen.
"See, honey? I told you he wouldn't pass the Crazy Test."
*
end.
*