Internal Affairs: Part One
By CCJ
Mary Chang watched out of the corner of her eye as the last of the 9-5 analysts in the China division of the CIA building left for the day. “Hey, don&rquo;t work too hard now, Mary,” said one as he passed. She waved him off with a smile. “Just finishing up a few things.” It was almost time.
Chang had been recruited out of Harvard for her computer and language skills — fluent in Mandarin, English and most major computer languages,

In The Hall of The Mountain Queen: Part Two
Might Makes Right
By CCJ
A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.
- Emily Dickinson
``Another ale,'' Thom said to the bartender. Another ale, another night in the tavern.
        
He was elbowed up to the bar, four or five rounds deep. Around him the tavern hummed with low energy. The fire in the mantle across the room was burning low, and the drunk

This Puzzle's Theme by CCJ
I sat at a small table outside the coffee shop, lingering over the New York Times crossword while I finished my coffee. The rising sun broke intermittently through the early morning cloud cover. It was a lazy, summer Wednesday.
        
Wednesday. That's why I could only finish half of the crossword. They get progressively harder through the week. ``Damn you, Will Shortz,'' I thought. ``It's not my fault I don't know Latin.'' Per

The Lost Expedition by CCJ
What follows is the last few pages of the journal of Mortimer Creswell, a member of the society whose expedition was recently lost deep in the Amazon Rainforest. I am presenting this to the Geographic Society of London mainly for posterity's sake, as its contents will no doubt be received as the product of advanced dementia.
        
Creswell's party was last seen heading into a previously unexplored portion of the rainforest. Th

In the Hall of the Mountain Queen
OR
La Petite Mort by CCJ
        
Thom was just finishing his afternoon chores when the messenger arrived. He had been mending a fence post when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Turning, he saw the short man standing before him. He knew it was a messenger. All of the messengers looked the same - small, sallow-faced men dressed in ceremonial red robes.
        
``You are