Well, I am finally recovering from the ridiculous trek through the Peruvian jungle. My complexion is back to normal, I am able to bathe regularly, I snuggle into my Bonnie Prince Charlie slippers nightly, my cooking skills are returning, and I am drinking a martiki a day!
As always, the peace of my urban existence is shattered by a knock at the door. I peer through the peephole, half expecting to see a smiling Jack, or a retching (Up)Chuck, but instead I look out to see Cahill. Oh, this can’t be good…
I contemplate the wisdom of opening the door and, against my better judgment, I let him in. He is pleased to notice the addition of whiskey (thanks to Jack) to my bar stock and even returns Jack’s flask.
He asks how business at Chez Sheila is and mentions that he is going on a Mediterranean cruise, on which there is an opening for a chef. This sounds suspiciously like a mission…
I express my concern at missing more time from work. He infers that poor Fluffy Fang’s transference from a 16 acre plot of land to a 16,000 acre piece of property may be jeopardized by my failure to cook my way through the Mediterranean.
Reluctantly, I agree to go and we head to Greece and attend our briefing. I look around the room and see Karin, someone I don’t know, who is introduced as Claire Fouchaud, as well as Luke and Maggie. Okay, that’s it. Obviously, this is an Uncle Sam mission. Have I mentioned how much I dislike working for Uncle Sam?? No, well I’d sooner be trapped on a small boat being tossed about in a tropical storm with a green-around-the-gills (Up)Chuck than work for the government.
After the briefing, we have two days before the ship sails. Two days to find that damned pair of ruby slippers that never did materialize in Peru. I tell the team I am going shopping, only to have Cahill tag along. Shit. Several attempts to lose him fail, but I am finally able to get away. First, I call Jack and, after reminding him that he owes me because he slapped me in the face in Peru, I tell him that he has to free Fluffy Fang from the evil grasp of Bob Diamond. Then I try the usual planes, trains and automobiles, however, it seems impossible to get out of this f*#$% country.
I am able to find a rowboat and I think, hey if a bunch of Albanians can cross the Adriatic, why can’t I? On second thought, that seems like a bad idea. I opt for hitchhiking. After all, I only have to pass through Macedonia, Bosnia and the tattered remnants of Yugoslavia, and Northern Italy to get back to France… I entertain visions of being shot by UN peace-keepers for a few minutes and decide to board the ship. I think I’ll add Greece to my list of places not to return to.
Now I have to think about the stupid mission. Apparently, a Belgian scientist has decided to use the cruise as an auction floor for a formula he has developed that enables ice to burn. Hmm, melting polar ice caps, global destruction, rising sea levels - I don’t see what all the uproar is about!
Back in the states, Jack has contacted Paris to meet him in El Paso, Texas. She seems intrigued by the idea of stealing from Mr. Diamond (I keep telling them it’s not stealing, Fluffy Fang is mine) and hurries to Texas.
I make a quick stop at the Parthenon, apply some duct tape to a crack and snap a photo for Jack.
Two days later, it is time to board the ship. I call Jack on my way to see if he has freed Fluffy Fang yet, but he has not. Gloomily, I board the ship. Some runty shithead who speaks in monotones shows me the kitchen facilities. Then he tells me that he understands that vegetarian dishes are my specialty. Who the f#$% told him that – when I get my hands on Cahill…
Meanwhile, Cahill has boarded as Richard Cornwell, Teneco executive, with Claire as his assistant, Luke, who is only slightly less thrilled to be here than I am, is preparing to act as a physical fitness trainer, Maggie is disguised as a porter, and Karin is posing as a social director.
Cahill phones me and tells me that Fluffy Fang is safe on the 16,000 acre Texan ranch. Uh-oh. Forget the fact that Cahill lied (by omission) to me, Jack and Paris are going to try to get onto the ranch and ‘steal’ Fluffy Fang. Visions of Special Forces units who are there on training missions pursuing the hapless Jack and the lovely Paris loom in the back of my mind. I call Jack and tell him to forget about Fluffy Fang and return home. He seems reluctant to give up his little escapade, so I ask to talk to the voice of reason (that would be Paris, the agent not the city). She seems okay with forgetting the mission, saying something about still being entitled to a shopping spree, although from the sounds in the background, I think Jack was pitching a little fit. Relieved, I hang up the phone.
From his cabin, Cahill spots a familiar face boarding the ship: Detective Fanelli of the German bio-genetic engineering German fiasco. Surprisingly, she seems to have no limp (you’ll recall that Cahill left his calling card – a bullet wound to the kneecap the last time he saw her).
Luke later spots the seemingly able-bodied Detective Fanelli in the gym and notices a very small scar above her knee. He questions her about it, but she brushes off his inquiries and tells him she is retired. He recognizes by her choice of words that she must have been in law enforcement.
I check out one of the lounges. The company sucks, but the alcohol is okay.
In another lounge, Cahill has spotted Dr. Gumball and sends Claire over to make an introduction. Although the portly scientist seems more interested in Claire’s attributes than the sale of his formula, he does listen to Cahill’s I-am-a-potential-buyer spiel and agrees to provide Cahill with some papers documenting his work.
Claire does an admirable job of offering her organizational services to the scientist and gives him her room number to call if he should need any assistance.
As the doctor is leaving, Cahill notices an Irishman follow him out – so identified by his enjoyment of a particularly dark lager and his Legalize Blarney button.
So, while I’m stuck below decks cutting vegetables and threatening Monotone Man, Luke, Maggie and Karin are eating in the crew’s dining area, and Cahill and Claire are in the dining room.
Maggie, Luke and Karin compare notes. Luke mentions the elusive woman with the mystery scar and Karin recognizes the description as Detective Fanelli. Luke insists that she is French, but Karin recalls her as being Schweizer-Deutsch. Karin and Maggie search their manifests for a room assignment, while Luke goes to the dining room to inform Cahill about her presence.
As Luke is making his way in, Maggie phones him on his cell phone to tell him that the detective is seated at table sixteen. He writes the information down, grabs a busboy’s water pitcher and heads to Cahill’s table to drop off the note.
The ship has entered an island port and I decide it’s time to go. After I finish preparing dinner, I catch a shuttle boat to the island. After several fairly frustrating attempts at finding the ferry to the mainland, I am told that it doesn’t leave until tomorrow, and there are relatively no hotel provisions available. Since Peru, I am morally opposed to camping anywhere, so I dejectedly return to the ship. As luck would have it, I meet up with Cahill on the way back. He seems surprised at my unwillingness to proceed with this mission and tells me that he has assembled a team that he can trust. What??? He trusts me? I would sooner trust (Up)Chuck alone in a zoo for the day. He’d have more luck setting Paris loose on Rodeo Drive with an exorbitant amount of money that she is not supposed to spend. Better to send Jack and his Gamblers’ Anonymous group to Vegas or trust Karin to correctly translate a peace meeting between warring factions of Balkan Republic groups than to trust me on an Uncle Sam sponsored mission. Has he lost his marbles? Methinks he has spent too much time on a bucking Texan bull.
The next morning, the team gathers in Cahill’s suite to talk about the developments thus far. The documentation from the scientist reveals that the gas used in his process is not terribly stable. I feel the best solution is to find out where he has copies of the process, destroy them and toss his lifeless body overboard. Well, we’ll see…