Every time I think things can’t possibly get worse… Well, I’m wrong. Yes, that’s right, Sheila, the omniscient, is wrong. I hate retirement. It’s worse than working for ISIS. I am having more trouble relaxing and staying out of trouble than ever before. Of course, there is comfort in the known, you know, traveling with Jack through the countryside and being pursued by various police departments, lacking the means to get out of the country, etc.
Here’s what happened in the last twenty-four hours:
As Jack and I are making our way out of the city (I am driving because, after all, I am an excellent driver), I begin a mental list of the things I have lost: 5 suitcases (I can almost picture Jaffar giving my newly acquired shoes to his wife and daughters), most of my clothing, my dignity (in the form of my now purple hair), and my cell phone. At least we have a plan. We will make our way to Quebec and book passage on a ship to Europe (nobody will ever suspect that we would take a ship home). Then we will live out our peaceful and quiet lives in the suburbs of Paris. Mmmm. I can already taste the Marikis and imagine the feel of my Bonnie Prince Charlie slippers on my feet.
Back in New York City, Karin has failed to locate Brat Girl in the gathering crowd outside the Four Seasons. She and Ian eventually give up and go for a late drink.
The rest of the team is unhappily cooling their heels in a triage ward at the hospital. As (Up)Chuck is finally revealing to Paris that Jack and I are missing after an explosion at the apartment in Harlem, the person in the next bed narrows his eyes. He peers around the curtain, gasps and lets the curtain fall back. Too late. (Up)Chuck has spotted Alex Architect, who claims that he is there because he was attacked by a lamp. (I should give him the name of my therapist.) Paris is upset at the thought of losing her good friends and doesn’t realize that Alex Architect is there at first.
As Alex is expressing his displeasure at the appearance of the team and his lost hotel accommodation at the Four Seasons, Detectives Horan and Haddon appear, accompanied by Jake Jake. There is much confusion as the detectives make accusations that the International Terrorist Jacques is responsible for the explosions in the city, (Up)Chuck yells that someone is trying to kill the team and Jack, Paris is grieving (thanks Paris, at least someone cares), Alex is still complaining about being assaulted by a lamp (which causes (Up)Chuck to accuse him of being an EDP), Rossi is munching on green jello and begging for more pain medication, Jean Giscard is wondering how he wound up in the middle of this, and Stefan is complaining that his massive body does not fit comfortably on a small hospital gurney. The cops turn (Up)Chuck’s assertions into the belief that whoever sent Jack and Sheila (who may or may not be Karin) to the apartment was actually trying to kill them. Paris stares wide-eyed at (Up)Chuck and shouts, "you did this!" When the yelling stops, (Up)Chuck is murmuring that he secretly did want Jack dead, because Jack always gets away but not this time, Paris is trying to maintain her composure and the EDP Alex has been handcuffed to the bed.
Ian has gallantly offered to let Karin stay in his hotel room, since hers blew up. (Up)Chuck phones Karin. She says she doesn’t want to come to the hospital. He tells her the police want to talk to her. She tells him she is definitely not coming. Paris informs (Up)Chuck that you never tell an East German to come because the police want to talk to her.
(Nun)Chuck’s flight is delayed in Chicago due to the explosions in New York. He tries to phone Paris but her phone is off, so he leaves a message. His flight finally lands in New York in the wee hours of the morning.
Jack and I find a motel upstate and I get us a room for the night. I am suddenly struck by a thought: the phone number for my therapist was programmed into my electro-shock cell phone. Lost list: 5 suitcases, most of my clothing, my dignity, my cell phone, and my therapist’s phone number.
(Nun)Chuck goes to wait outside the hospital after seeing the destruction at the hotel. As he is waiting outside, he sees three groups of people watching the emergency room doors.
Inside the ER, a large troupe of armed men have come to see the team safely to the White Plains airport so they can be flown to the security of Jorgstadt Castle, Diamond’s paradise in the middle of the St. Lawrence River.
(Nun)Chuck is amazed to see a huge contingent of armed men escorting the team to the waiting ISIS cars outside. Paris turns on her cell phone to listen to her messages. She is listening to the one from (Nun)Chuck as her phone rings. It’s (Nun)Chuck. He tells her the she is ‘rucky to be arive.’ Paris, who is fast becoming an expert in the field of bungled English, quickly figures out what he means and tells him to take a cab to the White Plains airport.
(Nun)Chuck instructs his driver, Naseed, to take him there.
Jack and I go for a leisurely breakfast before stopping at a drugstore. We purchase supplies and some dignity-restoring hair dye, and then I get behind the wheel of Jack’s Jaguar to drive us to Canada.
Meanwhile, the team has arrived at the airport and boards a Global Excursions Management plane. The door to the back cabin is locked and Alex goes to work on it with a paper clip. Bemoaning the absence of a shuriken and crab mallet, he gives up when the paper clip becomes stuck in the lock.
Jake Jake has Paris call (Nun)Chuck to ask where he is. He tells her that he is in Yonkers. Jake Jake asks what car he is in. ‘A cab’, duh. ‘What kind of cab?’ ‘A yellow one.’ Anyway, a frustrated Jake Jake gets on the radio and has the local PD find the car to bring (Nun)Chuck to the airport.
Somewhere in Yonkers: Naseed lets out a shriek as the flashing lights appear in his rearview mirror. (Nun)Chuck lets out a shriek when he sees the cops. He pulls a knife and instructs Naseed to keep driving. Naseed jumps out of the car yelling, ‘car jacking.’ The police finally explain that they are going to take (Nun)Chuck to the airport and Naseed calms down as he watches the disappearing police car with relief, only to realize that he was never paid.
Back on the plane, (Up)Chuck calls Karin. Karin is basking in the aftermath of really good sex (an activity that requires no English) for the first time since Hans died. She is not terribly pleased to hear from (Up)Chuck again. As she is talking to (Up)Chuck, Ian comes up and hands her the hotel phone. She puts it up to her ear only to hear the voice of Himself. He senses her reluctance to leave her new boy-toy and tells her to bring it with her. ‘Bring what?’ ‘It.’ ‘It?’ ‘Him.’ ‘Oh.’ Karin consults her grammar guide for uses of the pronouns it and him.
Sal goes to the hotel and picks up Karin and Ian to bring them to the castle.
Meanwhile, somewhere upstate, I am singing along with the radio as I cruise in Jack’s Jaguar. Jack is whispering calming words to the carsick Gatsby. I realize that I’ve forgotten to call in sick to work. Lost list: 5 suitcases, most of my clothing, my dignity, my cell phone, my therapist’s phone number, and possibly my job.
The peace of our country drive is shattered by the sound of sirens and the appearance of flashing lights in the rearview mirror. Shit. I wasn’t even speeding.
A local deputy approaches and asks for my license, etc. Jack gives me his insurance card and registration, and I hand the cop a license in the name of Celia Langdon.
We wait impatiently in the car as we realize that it is taking too long.
Back on the plane, Jake Jake has received a call that Jack has been located with a female named Celia Langdon. Paris cries in relief, ‘Jack and Sheila are okay!’
Of course, okay is a relative term. Sure, we were okay if you considered being pulled over on the side of the road in buttfuck nowhere with a howling cat in the back seat and half of the state militia on their way. Jack and I see it differently.
Jack gets out to talk to the cop. I am checking on Gatsby when I hear the cop on the microphone telling Jack to get back in the car. Finally, I agree with the police about something! Then I see the cop pulling a shotgun out. I start the car and yell for Jack to get in. As we are pulling away, the deputy shoots out the back window of the Jag. Now Jack is pissed. He shoots at the police car and manages to blow it up. Nothing like having your expensive car damaged to improve the shooting skills, eh Jack? Lost list: 5 suitcases, most of my clothing, my dignity, my cell phone, my therapist’s phone number, possibly my job, and the ID for my only alias.
Another police car arrives and gives chase. I manage to lose him when he skids out of control on the ice. Good thing that ice is there, right? Wrong! A short time later I experience what we excellent drivers call a slight loss of traction. This followed by what we excellent drivers call an oops. Okay, so we crash. And maybe, the car was not quite as operational as it was before. Or maybe it was completely fucked. Shit. Now I will have to replace Jack’s car (since I made him buy me a new one after he lost my car at Le Par King Garage in Paris). Lost list: 5 suitcases, most of my clothing, my dignity, my cell phone, my therapist’s phone number, possibly my job, the ID for my only alias, and lots of cash.
We get out of the car and realize that Gatsby is injured. Luckily, I paid close attention to the first aid that was given to Fluffy Fang in Peru. I patch up Gatsby, who thanks me by removing some of the totally unnecessary skin from the back of my hand. Lost list: 5 suitcases, most of my clothing, my dignity, my cell phone, my therapist’s phone number, possibly my job, the ID for my only alias, lots of cash, and a bit of skin.
We start off on foot in the freezing cold of the upstate New York winter. Jack is moping.
Back on the plane, Jake Jake announces that there has been another explosion. Paris is riding the they’re not okay-they’re okay-they’re not okay roller coaster of emotions, Alex is making googly eyes at the flight attendant, Rossi is trying to drink away his pain, (Up)Chuck is trying to convince Paris that he was not trying to kill Jack and me, Himself has emerged from the back room and is having another Melon Ball, and Jean Giscard and Stefan are still shaking their heads in bewilderment at the events unfolding around them.
Somewhere in buttfuck, nowhere, I am pissed. I am cold. I am going to kill Jack if he doesn’t stop saying, ‘well we could drive there – oh no! we have no car.’
A beatup pickup pulls up with some country bumpkin in it. We ask him to drive us to the airport just south of here. He agrees. As we approach the airport, we see all sorts of flashing lights. It’s okay, though, it’s just the local law enforcement airlifting their wounded to a hospital. What a relief. I thought it was something we had to worry about. (That’s sarcasm, in case you didn’t figure it out.)
As we get out, Jack gives the bumpkin some cash and asks him not to tell anybody. As he drives away I know one thing for sure. He is going to tell the very first person he sees.
Jack goes into the terminal to grease some palms and get us into the air quickly.
So here we are, sitting in a puddle jumper with a pilot named Earl. Perfect. This is exactly what I was looking for in my retirement. Flying through the countryside with my love at my side. Gatsby is howling his displeasure at the less than smooth ride.
We finally land at an airport, located just outside the Canadian border. There is much activity at the airport. Apparently, someone important is landing. I catch a glimpse of the airplane’s Global Excursion Management logo. I look at the security measures and yell, ‘fuck!’ I tell Jack that Himself is in the other plane. This is no good. We want to be on the other side of the border. Jack offers to pay Earl to fly us over. As we are on the runway waiting for clearance, our plane is spotted by the militia guarding the airport. We tell Earl to take us back to the hangar. He does, but we are being followed. Jack grabs Gatsby and we run.
I am running in the cover of the fuel supply tanks and am making good progress when I hear the blackhawk helicopters firing on Jack. Diversion time. Boy is that demolition school coming in handy. Deciding that a small explosion was called for, I run a cloth to the nearby jet fuel tanks and light the cloth with a match. It occurs to me that the jet fuel will perhaps cause a rather large explosion, so I start running.
As the tanks explode, Jack and I take some bruising damage. I run full speed to the forest. I turn with relief to locate Jack. There he is, running while holding a cat carrier through the field with gunfire bursting all around him.
‘Sheila, where are you?’
‘Over here.’
‘Fucking meow!’
I watch horrified as Jack is hit and falls to the ground. Freedom – so close, yet so far. How far, you ask? Seventy-eight feet. That’s how far Jack is from me. I stare longingly at the cover of the forest, moan and run into the field to get Jack.
That is, I was running until I was hit in the leg and the chest. I fall to the ground. I am barely conscious, but decide that playing possum offers the best chances for survival.
As Jack and I lay bleeding on the ground waiting to be captured, I yell at him, ‘look at my hair!’ I swore I would not be captured dead or alive with purple hair. Lost list: 5 suitcases, most of my clothing, my dignity, my cell phone, my therapist’s phone number, possibly my job, the ID for my only alias, lots of cash, a bit of skin, and about two pints of blood.
Back at the castle, the team is discussing the events. Kelly Newman, double oh-one for those of you who don’t know, is there. They mention that the Van Buren family has been successfully rescued from their captors in Switzerland. She tells the group that the Ms. Van Buren that they’ve been guarding is really a terrorist. (Up)Chuck murmurs, ‘Karin was right.’ Karin agrees that she is indeed right-handed. (Nun)Chuck tries to share something with the group. Surprisingly, Karin doesn’t understand. She tells the group that she can’t understand (Nun)Chuck’s English, because it is so bad. Himself informs her that her English may not be up to par. Fortunately, this was done auf Deutsch, so nobody needs to explain to Karin that it doesn’t matter that she doesn’t play golf.
Jake Jake receives a phone call and leaves.
I am now laying on a gurney and am none too pleased to see Jake Jake walk in. He starts rubbing his head so I ask what’s wrong. Apparently, he is still pissed that I hit him over the head with a beer mug in Scotland all those years ago – I mean arresting me wasn’t enough revenge? And people think I hold a grudge! I pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about and he applies some ‘gentle’ pressure to one of my wounds. Let me just say, ‘FUCKING OUCH!’ He wants to know what he’s supposed to tell people he found here. I offer some suggestions: nobody? He’s less than enthused. Two bodies (I offer to supply the bodies)? He leaves to go talk to Jack.
Jack offers up two ice fisherman who got carried away and blew up the airport.
Paris is still awake at the castle when they carry Jack and me in on stretchers.
(Nun)Chuck goes out for a run in the morning and is astonished at the vast security measures on the island. He tries to sneak up on some guards, but soon realizes that the Flying Ninja Act will soon be the Dying Ninja Act if he doesn’t stop.
I wake up and look around. Fuck. I’m in Diamond’s castle. I look for my pocketbook, but it’s nowhere in sight. Lost list: 5 suitcases, most of my clothing, my dignity, my cell phone, my therapist’s phone number, possibly my job, the ID for my only alias, lots of cash, a bit of skin, about two pints of blood, my passport, my money, all of my ID, my gun, and my extra large bottle of extra strength aspirin. Oh, who am I kidding. I’ve lost it all. Once again, I am stuck in a castle with no passport, no money and no means of escape from this country.
Out in the hallway, Jack is looking for me. He meets Antos and excuses himself to keep looking. Then he sees Jake Jake. I emerge from my room and we go to the dining room.
Just when I thought I could not possibly exceed my current level of exuberance, there is our would-be assassin, (Up)Chuck. The wounded Jack attacks him and (Up)Chuck punches Jack, who falls unconscious to the ground. I hit (Up)Chuck in the balls with a coffee cup. The scuffle might have continued, had not Kieran put two rounds into the ceiling, causing Paris, the plaster, to fall on Paris, the agent and the other diners.
We stop fighting and they revive Jack.
Diamond tells me to shut up and sit down. My unhappiness knows no bounds.
Himself wants to know who is in on the plan to shut down the terrorists once and for all. We will have the assistance of GSG9, MI6, the Swiss Guard, and various other international Special Forces groups.
What are my choices? To beg Jake Jake and Diamond for my passport and hope they’ll let me go (over my dead purple-haired decomposing body!)? To what? A job I may or may not have? Do I let the assassins who want to kill my Jack go on without trying to stop them?
So that’s where we are. Diamond, the puppet master, is pulling strings, Paris is upset that even though Deputy Defender keeps making an appearance with the Special Forces guarding the island, he is unable to stay for a night of bliss, (Up)Chuck is soaking his sore groin and bemoaning his personal code to never hit a woman, (Nun)Chuck is perturbed by the lack of sushi at the castle, Karin is secretly swearing never to speak English again, Rossi is admiring the new stained glass window that replaced the one he broke with a drumstick, Alex wants the flight attendant to join the team, Jake Jake finally thinks we are even (I hope), Jack is still trying to figure out how to fake his own death and collect the two million, and I am hovering above the abyss of nervous breakdown, about to lose my footing. The only thing that could possibly make me more miserable would be the appearance of Cahill. My only consolation is that somewhere in Paris, my Bonnie Prince Charlie slippers await my return in the safety of my neat and orderly apartment.