I wake up, smile at Jack’s sleeping form beside me, get out of bed, stretch and look out the window at the Argentinean landscape. I know; you’re wondering what the fuck am I doing in Argentina? Good question. I use the hotel phone to call my Electro Shock cell phone and use it to taser Jack to consciousness as it rings.
"What the fuck are we doing in Argentina?"
Jack tells me that we are looking for work as he searches for the burn ointment. (The Electro Shock Corporation has agreed to supply me with a fresh batch of burn ointment every month as part of my cellular contract and in exchange for my dropping the pain and suffering lawsuit I was bringing against them.)
Okay, so it’s a long story, but I’ll make it brief.
It goes like this: (Up)Chuck is put in charge of a mission … no seriously, this is not a joke. Anyway, the whole thing is way too complicated to get into, but as it stands, the big guy has currently infiltrated a group of Nazi-type super assassins who are bent on world domination. Sounds like the plot to some bad Bond flick (although I doubt it could be as bad as Die Another Day).
So where is the rest of the gang? Well, Karin is in Argentina … reportedly. Neither she nor Stefan has been seen outside of their room in days. Must be doing some under covers work. (Nun)Chuck is in jail for the attempted murder of one Harry Callaghan (not one of my favorites, as you may recall). Remind me to send him a care package. Seems that a high-speed chase ended with a dead bad guy (the best kind of bad guy), an escaped Rossi and an imprisoned (Nun)Chuck. Daniel and Serafina are investigating a rash of dead, bloodless chickens somewhere in Chile, and before you ask, no – it did not turn out to be a bunch of French soldiers. Serafina must have been really bored to go along with that one … or perhaps she got into Alex Architect’s Ecstasy stash. Speaking of Alex Architect, he is also in Argentina undergoing some fitness training (this gets stranger every minute) with SPOAT Trevor Harddick. Hardwick, Harddick, whatever. Okay, so Alex is also doing a little surveillance, although I am not sure on what. Romy is with Rossi in Amsterdam investigating a storage facility unit that was rented by one now deceased Nazi-type, bent-on-world-domination super assassin. Claire is in Argentina attempting to coordinate … keep track of … actually, I think she’d be satisfied to simply maintain her sanity at this point.
So, you’re still wondering what the fuck Jack and I are doing in Argentina, right? Okay, so Jack is slightly bored, because he hasn’t been able to attempt to kill anyone in months. He has taken to threatening to throttle his patient little Pierre if he doesn’t stop giving Jack the raspberry every time the little shit’s mother’s back is turned. Jack even substituted the lollipops in his office with a new product called Nitro-pops. Anyway, we had heard rumors of (Up)Chuck’s disastrous run as mission operative, so Jack decided we should take a flight to New York. We are also seriously considering relocating due to the prevailing French belief that they have something important to contribute to world politics.
After going to New York, we found out that most of the current action was taking place in Argentina. So off we went.
Which brings us to now. We are having a lovely lunch when my cell phone goes off. I am in the habit of not touching it when it actually rings now and I let it go to voice mail. Jack can’t stand an unanswered phone and he grabs it just as it stops ringing. The person called right back though, and Jack experiences the joys of Electro Shock first hand. He answers it and Cahill asks for me. He tells me that two onions have gotten into a pickle in Amsterdam (oh wait, I think he said yunguns, but I am very hungry now) and he wants us to run up there ... I interrupt him to tell him that we can’t ‘run up there’ on account of the large ocean in between us and Europe. He seems surprised to learn that we are in South America. Never mind, he says. I hang up the phone.
After lunch, Jack and I go shopping at the 732 Dollar store. As Jack is trying to decide between two shirts, a strange man walks into the shop and approaches us.
"I am Jean, you must be Jacques," says the stranger in French. If this is some kind of reunion I don’t want any part of it. I walk out of the store with Jack following. Outside, there are four armed out-of-their-league policemen. Jack and I stop out of fear that one of them will hurt themselves with their big new weapons. Yeah, this department is bizarrely well equipped. We go for coffee with Kasner, the police commissioner for the region. He seems to think that there will be trouble because we are here and he wants to know how Jack went from Argentina to Amsterdam and back to Argentina in less than a day. So do I. He didn’t, of course. It’s just another of those Jacques the International-Cabaret-Terrorist-turned-Pediatrician sightings. Boy are those getting annoying. We part company with the less than pleasant Kasner. Since there is one person who always leaves Jacques-sightings in his wake and Cahill informed me that an onion had gotten into some difficulty in Amsterdam, we realize that Rossi must be in Amsterdam. I phone Cahill and ask him why Kasner is under the impression that there’s been a Jacques-sighting in Amsterdam. He says he’ll look into it.
Jack and I decide to leave. I mean, this Kasner guy is ready to blame us for anything that happens here. I don’t mind if we actually do something, but with (Up)Chuck in charge, this thing is bound to end badly. Besides, I don’t like it here. We should go back to France and decide if we are leaving or staying. We check out and I drive through the night towards Buenos Aires. We are finally getting close. Jack is snoring away in the passenger seat and my phone starts to ring. I pick it up and gently nudge Jack with the stun gun … I mean cell phone. He jumps. I smile. It’s Cahill. I stop smiling.
I’ll use the omniscient point of view to tell you what happened in Amsterdam. Rossi and Romy have moved into (moved into, broke into … it’s all the same) the apartment next to the apartment of one now-deceased-Nazi-type, bent-on-world-domination, super-assassin in Amsterdam. They go to his rented unit at the storage facility and find that the unit next to his has been mysteriously locked, even though the employee didn’t think it had been rented. Rossi breaks into it (after realizing that it is wired with explosives and defusing it) and he and Romy find IDs, weapons, clothing and other goodies belonging to a couple that Romy saw in Argentina. Hmmm. The dead assassin’s unit contains the expected unused furniture and lamps sort of stuff. Oh, and the control to shut off the explosives for the unit next-door. Rossi switches the explosives to the dead assassin’s unit, so anyone trying to go there to inactivate them will fall victim to their own device. Unfortunately, he rented the unit in Jack’s name and the next people to access the dead assassin’s unit were the police. Thus, the legend of Jacques the Terrorist continues …
Romy and Rossi have taken their stash of goodies to their new apartment and Rossi calls Claire to ask about having them shipped to the States for him. ISIS is sending two couriers to pick up the goodies. In the meantime, Romy hears some rummaging in the dead assassin’s apartment next-door and then notices that someone is drilling through the wall. She squirts toothpaste through the hole and tells Rossi that it may not be the best time to have someone pick up their goodies. He agrees and laments, "if only I had that phone number …" A knock at the door startles both of them. Rossi hands Romy one of his guns and cautiously approaches the door. His phone rings. He answers. "Open the fucking door," says the courier. Rossi opens the fucking door. The man picks up the goodies and heads towards the hall. Rossi gives him a tip – you know – for his trouble. The man leaves in disgust and Rossi watches as his head explodes. I don’t mean the guy was befuddled or angry, I mean his head explodes. That’s because the bad guy in the apartment next-door is shooting at the couriers. Oops – there goes the head of the second guy, who is waiting by the elevator.
Romy is more than a little disgusted and shocked by this strange turn of events. Rossi starts blind shooting around the corner. Someone grabs his arm and pulls him into the other apartment. Rossi punches the guy, and manages to stun him long enough to shoot. He fires two more rounds and finally the bad guy stops moving. Rossi goes into the hallway to begin clean up (I can’t help but imagine a voice overhead saying wet breakage – cleanup in aisle six). Romy realizes that she has Rossi’s other gun in her hand and she heads next-door. Upon hearing the bad guy moan, "I’m not dead yet," she quickly rectifies the situation with one shot. Rossi hears the shot and, knowing that this may have been Romy’s first kill, runs to get her a beer. He then calls Claire and informs her that the pickup guys have suffered a fatal case of lead poisoning. He and Romy take their booty and head towards my apartment in Paris. Why does Rossi feel so free to use Jack’s identity and residences? Good question. Perhaps Jack will get to beat it ou… ask Rossi about it in the near future. However, on the way to Paris, Romy suggests that the Bonn ISIS office may be a safer bet than Jack’s and my apartment. Good choice.
So, back to my phone conversation with Cahill. He doesn’t want us to leave Argentina. He tells us that one of the local political figures, Kasner, the ever-charming regional police commissioner; Muñoz, the governor; or Flores, governor’s aide, is sitting on the fence between both sides – the criminal Nazi group and the government, and Cahill wants us to find out which one it is.
I tell Jack.
He wants to know how much.
The usual, according to Cahill.
Naah. Not interested.
Okay, $50,000.
Each? Jack wants to know.
Heavy sighing. Fine. Cahill seems aggravated.
We turn around. Back at the resort, there is a little political fund-raiser going on. Jack and I decide to plant the seeds of doubt about each to the others and see what happens.
Unfortunately, it is a gambling affair and Jack is distracted by the sounds of shuffling cards and falling chips. I manage to keep him away from the tables and we approach Muñoz. The policemen guarding the governor appear nervous as we approach and they look to Kasner for guidance. He nods and they allow us to approach without interference.
The governor is dumb. In fact, I think he’s planning on pursuing a political career in France when his term is over here. I’d say it went in one ear and out the other (and, unfortunately I am not talking about a bullet), but I don’t think it even made it in one ear.
Whatever.
We approach Flores, the politically savvy man who has been aide to many governors and lived to tell about it (no small feat in South American politics). He listens and comprehends. Awesome. After talking to him, we don’t think it’s him.
That leaves our buddy Kasner. After we drop our little hints, he all but admits it’s him and implies that in exchange for access to a 40x40 foot room full of illicitly obtained gold to buy new equipment for his police department, he hands out super get-out-of-jail-free cards to the local Nazi thugs. How nice it would be for the public to become aware of this gold stash, thus allowing him access to it without having to make concessions to the bad guys who currently have control of it, he laments. Jack is bemoaning his less than stellar performance in high school geometry as he dizzily tries to figure out the volume of the room and the current market value of that much gold. I can tell he is having a greed attack, as his heart rate is elevated, his breathing is short and a thin line of sweat has broken out on his forehead. His pupils have dilated into some shape that vaguely resembles a dollar sign. Down boy. I tell him that he can’t have any of that gold. He seems to think that Kasner wants us to ask for something – perhaps a small percentage of the gold – in exchange for exposing its existence.
That’s where we are. Jack is counting his potential gold, Romy is counting her blessings, Rossi is counting his new weapons, Karin is probably counting orgasms, (Up)Chuck is counting the number of listening devices in his room, Trevor is counting pushups as Alex Architect does them, Claire is counting the number of favors (Up)Chuck is going to owe her when this is done, Daniel and Serafina are counting dead chickens, (Nun)Chuck is counting the cracks in his cell wall, and I am counting the ways that I can keep Jack from allowing the greed monster to take over. Unfortunately, my list is empty. Why the fuck am I in Argentina?