In his Ministry office, staying late as usual, browsing the news on the Internet, eyes ever sharp for anything subversive, anything aimed at undermining the Crown, he comes across a report on a new crop circle. What are those anarchist freaks up to now? The article features an aerial photo of a geometrically intricate circle, but the writer treats it as a joke, speculating about men with ropes and boards, or the possibility of invading aliens. His blood begins to boil. Idiot! This is no joke! The anarchists are inviting the aliens to interfere! They are a threat to national sovereignty! They must be controlled for the good of the country! Calming himself, he looks for the source of the story, contemplating the pleasure he will take in undermining their operation.

It was Friday evening. Dema Culver and Cern Stewart were at Finn McCool's for the fish and chips special. Several other DEA agents from Dema's office showed up, and joined them at their table. 

"So, Dema, we hear that to land a guy like Cern you have to follow him into the woods." Cindy Blair blatantly ogled Cern as she pulled up a chair and sat next to Dema.

"We think it had to be Cern that did the catching," said Steve Wilson, punching Cern lightly on the shoulder as he slid into the chair on his right.

"And we want to know how he did it," said Doug Fletcher, pulling up the chair on Cern's other side. "We never had any luck."

"Well," said Cindy, "Maybe you never tried plying her with fish and chips."

"Or maybe our investigative skills weren't up to figuring out whether she was a fan of the Cubs or the Sox," said Steve, looking up at the dozens of flat screen TV's lining the walls, all tuned to local sports channels.

"Frankly," said Doug, looking at Cern with a mock-serious expression, "We just hope we are in time to warn you about her. She can be awfully tough to get along with."

"Yeah," said Steve, "You don't want to get anywhere near her when she's hot on the trail of some bad guy."

"Oh come on you guys," said Cindy, "Maybe you haven't noticed, but that only happens to her about once a month."

Doug put on a startled look. "You trying to say she was just hot?"

Steve said, "Oh, she's hot all right, but Cern already knows that."

By now Dema was seriously blushing. Cern said, "Can't a guy buy a gal a plate of fish and chips in this town without being waylaid?"

Cindy nudged Dema and said, "Some of us had another kind of laid in mind."

Now it was Cern's turn to blush. Dema, rather desperate to change the subject, said, "The last guy who bought me fish and chips was Ryan Shaugnessy. That was at a place called Charlie's, north of Seattle. When I mentioned having fish and chips here at Finn's he told me the story of Finn McCool and the salmon."

"Shaugnessy. Sounds Irish enough. I suppose he might know something about Celtic legends alright," said Fletcher.

"'Course we work for a guy named O'Mally and we know he's not Irish," said Cindy.

"Well, not entirely at least," admitted Fletcher.

"Stewart sounds Celtic enough too. Maybe more Scots than Irish. Which is it Cern?" asked Wilson.

"Not quite sure myself," said Cern, looking honestly pensive. "I've only recently begun to learn a bit about my own Celtic heritage."

"Hard to blame a gal for being partial to Celts over Anglos," Cindy said, "Certainly far more romantic."

Right about then someone hit a home run and all conversation came to a halt. Before the cheering died down dinner was served, and eating and drinking took precedence over badgering Dema and Cern. Conversation became a bit more civil, devolving to speculation about how many arrows made by Fletcher's Anglo ancestors had ended up in Irish or Scottish hides, Fletcher stoutly maintaining that most of them had been aimed at the French. Cern was quietly aware of how little he really knew about his own ancestry.