A short story by R.M. Dolin
Message In A Bottle
For years I’ve been playing poker with the same eclectic group of guys who are all highly educated current or former Los Alamos National Laboratory scientists and engineers. Because of work and/or adventure we travel often, which means we regularly have substitute players for our monthly game. The six of us take turns hosting and July is my month, so, aside from preparing an incredible white sauce lasagna from scratch, including making my own cheese, we had two substitutes join us; one a retired Los Alamos county administrator and the other, a guy who’s still working at the Lab in global security, which means he interacts with outside intelligence agencies like the CIA, DIA, NSA, FBI, DNI, and every other possible three letter combination needed to keep a watchful eye on your comings and goings.
It’s my first time playing with the county administrator, he’s a nice enough guy even though a little reserved on account of not being up to speed on all the crazy variants of poker we’ve invented over the years, like the game we call Skid Mark where the goal is to get close to seven or twenty-seven in three cards. It’s a total bluffing game so math and card counting don’t really apply. The other guy isn’t up to speed on all our card games either and seems more bothered by the nuances of our ad hoc rules. We remind him every time he misinterprets his hand that the job of a sub is to lose money, but he doesn’t find that particularly amusing.
As host, I’m responsible for providing food and snacks but each player’s on the hook for their own beverages; most bring beer while others bring soda. I never drink and drive so for the months I don’t host, I bring iced tea, which on the one hand is a bit lame but people in my former line of work tend to be overly responsible. When it’s my turn to host, I make a point of putting out an array of spirits and mixers should anyone be inclined to abide; fyi, my responsible fellow poker players usually carpool when I host. While the county administrator brings beer, the guy who routinely interacts with the Watchers brings a bottle of wine, only not to drink; instead, he hands it to me when he arrives and says, “my friends at the CIA say hi.“
Since my troubles with the government began over free speech, I assumed at some point the FBI or US Marshals would raid my home to send a message about messing with powerful entities, so, as I read the label uncertain how to respond, his lips tighten, his eyes draw daggers of cold steel, and for added drama, he doubles down, “no serious, the guys at the CIA gave me this to give you.” With that he just sits down to nonchalantly eat lasagna without saying anything else about it. I carefully open the wine and after evaluating its safety and quality comment on how the boys at the CIA certainly know their wines because it’s a damn fine bottle of Cabernet on par with the crap Mr. Wonderful’s always bragging about on Shark Tank.
For the rest of the night I don’t much think much about this bizarre interaction, after all, there’s money to be made and gossip to grapple with, like the missing Los Alamos scientist whose Lab phone is remotely scrubbed prior to her unexplained disappearance. The next day though, as I’m cleaning the kitchen and sorting trash, the bizarre interaction starts screwing with my paranoia, I mean, what a weird and random thing to say, if his intent was to get inside my poker mind it didn’t work because I won big and mostly from him, but now, his CIA comment is clearly causing chaos in my head. At first I consider why the hell the CIA would want to screw with me and decide it’s most likely because of my ongoing lawsuit regarding the banning of my homeland security book. If someone clandestine wants to send me a message, the bottle of wine delivered by a credible third party is right out of a convincing Tom Clancy novel, especially given all the evidence gets consumed. If nothing else, I appreciate the fact that the CIA respected me enough to not toss my house in an act of overt intimidation and I have to admit the bottle of wine was subtle but effective, especially in light of the missing Los Alamos scientist.
I get the whole shot across the bow deal, but have no idea what my takeaway’s supposed to be. Maybe its not about my first amendment lawsuit, what if the Watchers take offense to my recent political post about why I don’t post political commentary anymore and the message is meant to convey my need to stop that kind of nonsense, cause, you know, they’re watching. Maybe the Watchers just realized I put my COVID crisis book on line for free download because real science belongs to everyone and my theory about what happened during that crazy COVID chaos is more spot on than Oz wants revealed. On top of that, I doubt they want me providing mathematical tools and roadmaps about how to cut through deep state narratives, lies, and propaganda. Mel Gibson did a movie about what happens when someone does something like that, or am I thinking about the Will Smith/Gene Hackman enemy of the state movie?
Maybe the Watchers intercepted my correspondences with influencers and DC politicians encouraging them to read my COVID book because the math and simple logic used to expose all the false flags we were forced to believe is indisputable and what makes the book shocking is that it’s based on essays I wrote during COVID, which means the truth was always there for anyone interested in the truth. I’m settling on this being what’s got the CIA’s panties in a pinch because once my analysis gets out, it’ll eclipse the President Autopen and Obama’s Russian Gate treason scandals.
So, to the CIA agents monitoring this post, and monitoring you reading this post; I received your message in the bottle, unfortunately, I’m not sure what the message is, since it’s pretty cryptic even for you guys. I suggest we meet for further clarification, I’m stopping by Bathtub Brewery later today after my motorcycle ride, but you already know that don’t you. I suggest sending a pretty young agent to run the seduction scenario from your playbook, that’ll probably work better than an ex-marine trying intimidation tactics. Also, it’d be okay by me if you send along another one of those Cabernets cause like I said, that was a damn fine bottle of wine. . .
July 14, 2025
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