Agent 808
- Jul 8
- 7 min read
by Brian Ritchie
July 8, 2026
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Story
I try my best to stay above board. I’m a straight and narrow guy. Squeaky clean. And the reason I’m like this is because, in my experience, only trouble—with a capital T—finds the rotten people—the sort who could lie to their grandma or fail to wave when you let them merge. You know the type. They are the very scourge of society, and in the end, their tomfoolery always leads to comeuppance.
I, personally, don’t want any part of comeuppance.
Besides, I don’t see any point in breaking perfectly reasonable rules, just so long as they don’t step on my essential, God-given freedoms, as guaranteed under the Constitution and all of those wordy amendments and laws. I am an American, and I cherish my inalienable rights. Things like the right to say whatever I want, as long as I’m not too loud, and my inflection is friendly and nonthreatening, and I make good eye contact—but not too much, because that can come off as unfriendly and threatening.
I am also proud to live in a country where I am granted the right to bear anything I want, like opera. And, of course, I’m grateful to know that I can routinely vote out the scoundrels and replace them with reprobates.
So, now that we have established that breaking tenets leads to trouble, we must also understand that trouble leads to complications, and complications mean forms. Nobody knows why forms always get involved, but they do. And we all hate forms.
"Now that we have established that breaking tenets leads to trouble, we must also understand that trouble leads to complications, and complications mean forms."
This is why, years ago, when I found myself pulled into a shadowy, espionage-adjacent situation of dubious legality, I didn’t know what to do.
It all began innocently, when my career as a newspaper technology specialist had reached its peak, which was smack dab in the center of the power tree.
I had achieved what is known as middle management. If you aren’t familiar, this is a business hierarchical construct that was invented by the Romans, back when Rome was still cool. As it turned out, conquering the world takes a lot of work, and the most prominent Romans were not keen on getting sweaty and dirty, so they created middle management to keep all the death and destruction moving in a positive direction. These people would also be the ones thrown off a bridge when body counts weren't hitting projections.
I was one of many in my company’s middle management corps, and one of my peers was a man I will refer to as Agent 808.
There were certain perks to our positions because we were the only ones who knew what was going on in the company. Which meant that as long as the work was getting done, we could tell our bosses that things were great in the magical domains they ruled, and they would believe us and get drunk on self-congratulation. This often led them to spend most of their time outside the office, playing golf with other leaders from other industries, where they would brag to one another about all the wonderful work happening in their kingdoms.
Every once in a while, when the workers seemed to have things under control, we in the middle would explain to the bosses that we needed to hone our skills by attending important industry-specific training classes or trade shows.
In other words, unnecessary travel, also known as a workation.
Agent 808 convinced me one day that it was time for one of these excursions to the Big Apple, where we would learn a skill neither of us needed for our jobs nor would we ever use. I thought it was a wonderful idea, and so did the leaders, who were also delighted with the bagel bar at the meeting that morning and the weather forecast for their tee time that afternoon.
So, off to the big city of dreams we went.
There is no question that whatever instruction I received that week had absolutely no impact and was never used for the greater good, or even a lesser good. But it was fun, and we got a certificate.
Agent 808, who was normally a relaxed fellow, seemed unusually on edge as the week went on, and he had become singularly focused on one thing. So, before I knew it, he recruited me, like an unwilling accomplice, to join him on a shopping excursion in the Village.
I was hungry, so I went along.
A low ceiling hung over the city that night, and the hazy urban lights seemed to create a warm, safe bubble in a dark, cold world. I was two slices into a pizza stupor, so I didn’t much care that Agent 808 was dragging me from storefront to storefront, frantically searching for his objective. Which he finally found in the glowing yellow window of a shop that looked as though the proprietor had lost a trade war with a knick-knack factory.
It was a gun.
Okay, it was a lighter that looked like a gun.
Agent 808 explained that his alter ego, which moonlighted as a bartender, needed it to delight his customers by drawing on them and pulling the trigger in their faces to light their cigarettes, causing their overstressed bladders to release. It was good fun, everyone got a laugh, and Agent 808 got a good tip for having to clean up after them.
I went next door for another piece of pizza.
The next day, after a harrowing taxi ride that involved one hundred and seventy-three horn honks, three hundred and nine brake slams, and, I swear, three full seconds on two wheels, we arrived at LaGuardia and made our way toward the security checkpoint.
Cool as a cucumber, Agent 808 said to me, “This should be interesting.”
Then he slung his bag onto the belt and approached the officer, who was studying the monitor with about as much interest as a four-year-old might have in macroeconomics.
“So, you’re going to see a gun,” were the remarkable words that he said as he leaned casually on the conveyor.
I had to think fast and distance myself from the situation or at least make it look like I had no idea what was happening. I was already in line, so running would have been conspicuous.
It was the ‘90s, and cell phones didn’t exist yet, so I checked my watch, but that only bought me a few seconds before it started to look suspicious.
Eventually I settled on turning to the one hundred and forty-year-old woman behind me and saying, “Can you believe this weather?”
She didn’t hear me.
Nine security and two New York City police officers later, we were through the check point. And, instead of carting him off to a small room for unpleasant searches, they simply forced Agent 808 to check his bag and sent us on our way.
"His conscience was clear, and he had no need to hide anything, so he walked right up and shared the truth."
Thoughts
As I look back, I have to admit that Agent 808–whose name is Bob—possessed a quality that I lacked.
It wasn’t wisdom or common sense—not that day. But he had a self-confidence that I have to envy. While I was plotting my escape and distancing myself from the consequences of his actions, he was emboldened by the truth.
Proverbs 28:1 says, “The wicked flee when no one pursues, but the righteous are bold as a lion.”
Now, I’m not suggesting that Bob was a lion that day, but more of a golden retriever with squeaky chew-toy. His conscience was clear, and he had no need to hide anything, so he walked right up and shared the truth.
As a Christian walking around in the world, do you find yourself feeling more like Bob or more like me?
I’m afraid, if I’m honest with myself, I’m more like me than I wish I were. I do my best to live like Jesus, but I’m shy about telling people about him.
So, today, let’s walk through the world with the quiet confidence that comes from knowing who Jesus is and what He has done for us. Let’s not live like fugitives, always worried about what people might think. Instead, let’s be willing to speak the truth with kindness and confidence, knowing that we have nothing to hide.
And if a conversation opens up, maybe we can be a little less like me in the airport line and a little more like Bob.
That, my friends, is how we keep it bright and hopeful.
Pray
Jesus,
Thank you that we don’t have to live in fear. Thank you that because of your grace we can live with clear consciences and quiet confidence.
Forgive us when we hide, run, stay silent or worry about what others think, and give us the courage to speak honestly about the hope and joy we have in You. Help us to trust and know that we never have anything to fear.
And, when opportunities arrive, help us to be bold like lions.
In Your name we pray,
Amen
Going Deeper
1. Do I find myself hiding my faith out of fear of what others might think, or am I willing to speak about Jesus with quiet confidence?
2. What would it look like this week to be "bold as a lion" in one conversation God places in front of me?
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