So here we are on our first mission sans Sheila. It’s bad enough she’s not along to document our misadventures. On top of that, I’m stuck doing it. And seeing as how Sheila actually quit, I can’t give her any details about the mission, so calling her to whine or ask for advice on how to make these missives amusing is not an option. And not only did Sheila quit, she took Jack with her. Now who am I supposed to misery-loves-company with? I’ve tried Karin, but there’s entirely too much dictionary shuffling and page turning going on to allow for a lengthy conversation. Rossi… well, who can tell what he’s thinking behind those sunglasses? And if I tell (Up)Chuck I’m writing a report he’ll want to have my stationary irradiated ‘just to be on the safe side’.
All right. I guess that’s enough explanatory whining.
I’m Paris, by the way. Paris Mulhare. I’ve got a fictional cousin called Madagascar – Maddie for short – but more on her later.
It’s springtime and we’re in New York, "we" being Karin, Rossi, (Up)Chuck and myself. We met up in the briefing room of the Roslyn office where someone had set out a breakfast buffet. Made sense as it was 8:30 am on the dial, but my body clock was still on Honolulu time and I was hoping for a midnight snack – more ice cream than eggs, you see. Just to show you how nice the staff is in Roslyn, I had merely to mention my preference and two uniformed guards scrambled to find me some Rocky Road. I kind of like it here.
Meanwhile, we were briefed on our mission by Regional Vice President Jordan Wright. Since you already know my proclivity toward Mr. Not-Quite-Right you will understand why I really only heard half of what Jordan said. So this is the job as I understand it.
Elsie Van Buren is the daughter of – in Rossi’s words – ‘a Swiss inventor dude’ who has made a scientific breakthrough in the field of semiconductors. (I would give you the details but your eyes would glaze over with boredom, after which point you will be unable to read, and that would run counterproductive to our purpose, wouldn’t it? If you’re really keen on understanding, you can always look up semiconductors yourself. There’s probably a wealth of information to be found on the subject on the internet.)
Where was I?
Oh, yes. Inventor dude is sending his daughter and his device to the U.S. for a three-city tour – which customarily bodes better than a Three Hour Tour. Unfortunately, she’ll be in Our Hands thus anything’s possible.
She’s scheduled to arrive in New York day after tomorrow in the company of her bodyguard Stefan Kläber, her personal assistant Jean Trembly, and a steamer trunk containing a hazardous-in-the-wrong hands semiconductor. At least it’s in a trunk, which is clearly not the gnome we’re looking for.
After five days in New York – which includes a trip to the Stevens Institute in New Jersey – it’s on to Chicago, then L.A. before returning to Europe via New York. Her flights are booked, her hotels are arranged, she’s traveling with her own people… what does she need us for?
Well, according to Wright and his sidekick, digital guru Guy (who does to have a last name and probably a dossier on my boyfriend since he hasn’t bothered to flirt with me) we are responsible for the Transportation and Safety of the girl and her package due to some threats of bodily injury received by Mr. Van Buren. Evidently, inventor dude is not familiar with Our Work. We can practically guarantee bodily injury.
Regardless, this is how it breaks down: Rossi is in charge of the care, feeding and operation of any automobiles we require, I am responsible for transportation arrangements and the sheer logistics of moving the Van Buren Party within the confines of security recommendations, and (Up)Chuck is in charge of said security. All of it, soup to nuts.
Now, this is the best part: Karin will be our liaison.
Seems Miss Van Buren speaks only a little English and her staff practically none. All communication between Us and Them will have to go through Karin. And her dictionaries.
Oh, where is Sheila when you need her???
So with our tasks clear, we take a little time to run up the company phone bill. I call hotels across the country to assure Our Accomodations, (Up)Chuck calls his contacts at the customs office, Karin calls the lexicon department of Barnes and Noble, and Rossi plays table drums with a pair of black pencils whose gold embossing reads "isis, the agency".
Hard at work on organizing security, (Up)Chuck determines that his room at the Four Seasons Hotel should be wired directly to Miss Van Buren’s room. Within New York he will be able to handle this himself. Another long distance telephone call allows him to arrange for the L.A. office to facilitate the same deal on their coast. Which leaves Chicago, where Isis does not have an office. Seems the windy city is covered by our Dallas branch. Odd, that. But it means someone will have to call Cahill.
The delusional (Up)Chuck looks at me. Apparently, he has forgotten my hasty departure from a boat off the coast of Curaçao and the angry words that preceded it. Me, call Cahill?
Not bloody likely.
(Up)Chuck cons Karin into calling in a favor with the whiskey-slugging Texan. What I wouldn’t give to listen to that surveillance tape!
Fresh off her success with Cahill, Karin calls Angelique duBois, the Van Buren family’s "American" assistant, to make arrangements to meet for afternoon tea as there are a few details we need to clear up – primarily the fact that we will be Chucking Miss Van Buren’s best laid plans and usurping them with our own Secure Measures.
With all this done – and the promise that Guy will be an active member of our team (so, really, which boss’s wife did he sleep with to deserve such punishment?) – we split up. Odd since we’re all heading in the same direction, but fairly typical for us.
Karin and I meet with Miss duBois who determines that since I am not Karin, I am not worth her attention. Fortunately, the waiter decides I am very much worth his time and I want for nothing as the snooty Miss duBois tells Karin that Miss Van Buren will likely want to take in some of the sights while she is in New York. Seems Daddy Van Buren has sent along a list of recommended activities. Tourist spots? We can do that. As long as we go in our own cars.
Meanwhile, (Up)Chuck and Rossi meet with the folks over at the Four Seasons, then head down to the Stevens Institute in Jersey to review security procedures there. Satisfied the device will be safe at the school overnight, the dudes return to Manhattan and pick up Karin and I for dinner. We all compare notes and I am obliged to inform (Up)Chuck that I’ve cancelled one of the limousines he’d requested and substituted it with an SUV with ample cargo space to accommodate Dr. Evil’s luggage. I think he looked a bit displeased at the news, but it might have been the spicy fries he’d eaten.
After a little tactical planning (we can use the "P" word – Jack is thousands of miles away (I know this because I am staying at his apartment and, for the record, Gatsby is not a friendly cat.)) Where was I?
Oh, yes. After dinner the boys go out clubbing and Karin and I pick up some beer and head to Diamond’s penthouse to watch the hockey game – for no other reason than it amuses me to harass him!
While there we learn that the rumors about his slippers are true and, more importantly, the presence of the Regional VP at our briefing indicates we’ve been assigned to Something Big. Hm. I guess Karin’s East German-installed authority radar is still functional.
Come morning I leave Karin at Jack’s to deal with the cat and I head off to the airport with (Up)Chuck. I have to admit I was pretty convinced Chuck had the wrong building, but after a bit of confused standing about we do finally find our way up to Agent Johnson’s floor with the aid of a neo-Neanderthal with ID-on-a-rope. (When I told Karin about this colorful fellow she said it must be related to antos. I must get hold of her slang dictionary and find out what she’s trying to say.)
Anyway, we meet with Agent Johnson and fill out the appropriate paperwork to allow me, Guy, and an SUV onto the tarmac to pick up the semiconductor tomorrow.
Which brings me to now, this very moment, sitting in Jack’s apartment with all the windows open, writing this account and wondering what I can do to lure Sheila into this mess so that next week’s report won’t be so blasted boring.
I think I’ll just call San Diego and wait for a solution to present itself.