Paris's Version of the First Half of the Miami Mission



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I keep seeing these movies where there’s a great big wall with clocks on it and each clock shows the time in a different city. I’d really appreciate it if the home office could get one of those walls because once again they’ve called me in the middle of the night and woken me from a dead sleep. This time I’m instructed to catch the next available flight to Dallas, Texas. Of course, I have to get to Los Angeles in order in to catch a "next available" flight to Dallas, but the voice on the phone doesn’t seem concerned. He does seem awake, though, proving yet again that New York is the city that doesn’t sleep.

I’m Paris, by the way. Paris Mulhare. But I’m traveling as Paris Faraday. I’ve got a fictional cousin called Budapest (Buddy for short) but more on him later.

So at the branch office in Dallas I am pleased to encounter Sheila, Jack, Arthur, and a new girl called Karin. Well, okay, I don’t know that I was so pleased to see Jack – I mean, I really like Jack. After all, he did offer his life in exchange for mine. But I don’t honestly believe my life would actually be in jeopardy if weren’t for Jack. And really, I’m not looking forward to putting my life in his hands again, nor do I want him to have to figure out how to dispose of my body.

Anyway, turns out Sheila’s running the show on this one (which is why I’m writing you – I didn’t know if it was still part of her job description and wouldn’t want you to go without!) so while the assembled team is required to break into the Miami office of Intell. Collector to copy some hard drive he’s got stashed in a safe and get out clean, Sheila will be holed up in a nearby hotel, no doubt practicing the poolside palaver I taught her in Manila and waiting for us to report back to her that the deed is done.

Someone has managed to appropriate the plans for a couple of floors of the Hunt Businesses building. But Jack, who by some twist of fate is "in charge" on this mission, dismisses them and begins to concoct some convoluted plan for us to pose as the janitorial staff.

Not bloody likely.

The closest I’ve ever come to cleaning is a French Maid’s outfit.

Okay, I’m lying. But you get the picture. I am as aware of my limitations as I am of my assets and I sincerely believe – vain though it may be – no amount of grime on a pair of coveralls is going to make people believe I belong in them. Which really is vain, but still…

Where was I?

Oh, yes. So while Jack is having Fantastik delusions, Sheila – having found an uninitiated target – is regaling Karin with tales of coffee, cabarets, and Jack. (Arthur, p.s., is sound asleep. We tried to wake him, but even I couldn’t get the guy up and we finally called for a medic.) In the meantime, I figured I’d book the hotel and airline for Miami.

The hotel was really no problem – nice view, reasonable rates, walking distance to the target location, air conditioning and pool. What’s not to like?

But the airlines? This is why I like booking flights via the internet rather than talking to a live person. Just go ahead and try to book three seats to Miami when your name is Paris. I dare you.

Long and short of it is, we can’t fly out till morning. So I did a little shopping at the company store, then checked us all into a really nice hotel one of the office staff recommended (Aside here – if these people are actually earning enough money to stay at this place, I’m on the wrong end of the business.)

Anyway, we had a good rest and headed for Miami in the morning.

After checking into the hotel, Jack, Karin and I did a little walking tour of the Hunt building and its environs. Apparently I was too busy fighting with the res. agent from Delta to really absorb the floorplans, and I am surprised to discover an ATM in the front lobby of the building.

So I asked Jack – and I put on my best ‘serious’ face! – whether he could create a diversion at the ATM, say a little explosion or small fire, while we all sneak in the back way.

I love it when the male ego proves predictable!

Jack assured me he could do this and started blathering on about cigarettes and vodka and how much time it would take to light our fire.

I nodded and smiled and tried to remember if I’d packed my vitamins.

I left him and Karin and went off to purchase the remaining items on our equipment list (note: the Dallas office is out of stock on U-shaped magnets and little-black-back-packs. I think those supply clerks are making way too much money to let this sort of thing happen.)

Where was I?

Oh, yes. I stopped by Karin’s hotel room after I was done shopping and found her and Jack huddled over a wastebasket, watching cigarettes burn. I didn’t see the vodka anywhere, so I figured that explained their behavior. Turns out they were both cold sober and Jack took another crack at explaining the fire-water fire plan to me. I actually listened this time and it makes good sense. We decide to hit Hunt’s place on Friday.

So Wednesday, we kinda’ have liberty. We went down to this marina marketplace where I thought we might grab some lunch and take in the sights, maybe pick up some… postcards.

I must say Jack was a pretty good sport about shopping with Karin and I, despite the fact that he later claimed he had to put up with us asking if we looked fat.

Not bloody likely.

Along the way we stopped at a shop that was having a sale on handbags. They had this great little Liz Claiborne evening clutch – black silk with a tiny silver clasp – but they wanted seventy-five bucks for it! I asked Karin if she thought it was worth the price, not being on sale, naturally. (Karin’s really nice, but she’s quiet. I get the feeling she’s not very comfortable with English.)

Meantime, Jack – who doesn’t know Liz Claiborne from Liz Smith – wanders off and manages – it could only happen to Jack! - to spot some sort of clandestine exchange. He takes the time to tell us he’s going to follow Drop Dame (who’s got really bad hair, btw) and then takes off. Karin and I do our own exchange (of silent communication) and take off after Jack.

I must say, Drop Dame is not too clever, as she seems to conclude that Karin and I are following her. Dumb or paranoid, I’m not sure which. Either way, this is all way too spy vs. spy for me so I pop into a shop to buy some postcards and Karin stays out front.

By the time I come out, Jack has been waylaid by QuikTest queen and I make a bee-line for them as Jack tries to move off.

QTQueen is shouting for someone named Inga while I try to impress upon her my urgent need of a ladies room.

Inga arrives and Karin begins running on in German. I can’t follow a word of that so I look around for Jack.

Jack’s luck: he now has two mall security guards flanking him. And I know that look in his eye: the gleam of an international terrorist who’s been cornered but still believes he has the upper hand. Any second now he’ll become a talking villain.

Well, I did the only thing I could think of: I applied some asset management and approached the trio.

Bill and Ted, mall SWAT team, turn out to be very dedicated but none too clever. They have no appreciation of their good fortune at being in the company of Karin and myself! So we all have to go back to the accessory store – Jack, Karin, me, and the two gay security guards – to prove that Jack did not, in point of fact, steal anything. Least of all the Liz Claiborne bag.

What with the marketplace being a wash, we went back to the hotel and dressed for dinner.

Karin and Jack want to go to a French restaurant. You’d think that would be romantic, no? Turns out they both have a thing against the French and are bent on harassing the wait staff. Which was clearly time for my exit. So I bailed, and had a nice seafood dinner down by the marina.

I hooked up with Karin later at a club Jack recommended called Rush.

I thought at first that my world had finally returned to normal as, shortly following our entrance, Karin and I were intercepted by two attractive gentlemen. One claimed to be the owner, the other the manager. I thought about playing the Spanish-only game, but it was a loud club and I don’t like shouting in Spanish.

These two guys got us drinks and walked us to a table. And whom do we spot nearby but Drop Dame in the company of a Somber Man.

Karin very deftly plants herself in a good vantage seat, much to the discomfort of one of the guys (are East Germans born knowing where the power seat is?).

So we chit-chat with these charlatans for a while and Drop Dame disappears briefly then returns, whispering spy-nothings into Somber Man’s ear. This is followed shortly by the arrival of a club employee with one of those annoying guest photo cameras.

Now, despite my excrutiatingly high vanity level, I DO NOT like having my picture taken. This is a deep-seeded, long standing aversion that is intensified in direct proportion to the eagerness of my escort to have his picture taken with me. Face it: everyone’s got a pet peeve. And mine is pictures. Really, there’s a reason I never went into modeling.

But by this time it looks like I’m making a big deal of nothing. So I relent and Click Chick flashes twice but only drops one photo on the table.

So naturally I made a big stink about getting the other picture. Come on, we all know Drop Dame put Click Chick up to this ruse, and if there was any doubt, it was easily erased by Click Chick’s sweaty brow.

I prevailed upon the gentlemen (hah!) at the table to give us the other pic and the one who claimed to be the manager insisted they like to keep guest photos on some display board "downstairs".

Not bloody likely.

We finally got our hands on the second picture and Click Chick squares off for another one! Fortunately, Karin ducked. And I believe my face was obscured as I held up my hand in renewed protest, but I can’t be sure.

So, I thanked the guys for the drinks, stood up, and told them in no uncertain terms what I thought of "their" club.

Karin and I took great satisfaction in storming off. Well, I did anyway. I’m actually still not sure Karin understood the words I used. (She’s still confused about the gay security guards doing public duty and repeatedly consults a slang dictionary as if that would help).

We didn’t stay at the club long after the photo fiasco. We met up with Jack back at the hotel. He’d spent the evening surveilling the Hunt building but had no information for us outside the sob story of some former stockbroker named Gus.

I smiled and nodded and wondered if I’d remembered to request a wake-up call.

So we’ve moved up the proposed hit to tonight – Thursday. I wonder if Jack’s remembered to tell Sheila that?

Meanwhile, we’ve got another whole day to kill here in Miami. But we are with Jack, so who knows what we’ll kill.