Powers

(On May 1 1960, at the very depth of the Cold War, CIA pilot Gary Powers was shot down over the central USSR. Here we are imagining his conversation with a charge d'affaires of the US Embassy. Powers is threatening to go public on CIA mismanagement and to tell all to the Russians - the Igors and the Borises. Powers died soon afterwards in a helicopter crash.) What's Thompson's game? He's sent a charge here? He should have come himself. So, Mister Jinks, I'm going to assume you're with the firm. Tell you what happened? Why don't you tell me? Okay, I didn't trash the Thunderbird - but I was kinda busy, get my drift? My face was pulling g's to beat the band and if you knew the vehicle, you'd know the seat ejects like bats fly outta hell - explosive bolts. I'm falling vertically, and spinning like a top, and if I get alignments wrong by half an inch, the console cuts my legs off when I spring. So what? So this. I had things on my mind. You want your secrets kept? So train us right. Foresee contingencies. The silver buck? I chucked it. Threw it, as the chute came down, but kept the pin. The Igors have it now. Well fella, you got questions and to spare, and I don't like the way they're shaping up. Oh sure, you got your job to do. Me too, remember? I'm the guy who got his ass shot out the sky at sixty thousand feet! I didn't buy the farm. Is that a sin? Tell Langley I'm an Amish - what the hell? I told them it's curare. Get real, pal! They may be Borises, but I won't have some guy get stiffed because he pricked his thumb. They'd find out anyhow. You bet I have! I got more beefs than Texas. Pin 'em back. Nobody thought it through, this turkey-shoot, or what we'd do, dumb Joes like little ol' me when Igor got us. Unprofessional! Now bust your ass, and get me outta here. When I get back, I'm gonna tell the world how Langley hangs its fly-guys out to dry. We got a First Amendment. Let 'em try!