To borrow from one of literature’s greatest artists: it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. After all, here I am, enjoying a cup of hot coffee with Jack, who is recovering from his shoot-out with the Ice Queen in New York City. We smile as we look down from my balcony to the street and wave at Andre le Couer ((Up)Chuck’s gay detective admirer) and the usual posse of French policeman who spy on my apartment. Occasionally for S & Gs, we throw out some pictures of (Up)Chuck flexing and watch Andre dance around the street picking them up.
However, the joy of this and every moment is overshadowed by the spectre of the newly formed gaping hole in the Manhattan skyline. If you are familiar with my reports, you know that very few things could make me want to work for Uncle Sam. Apparently, the fact that a bunch of sick deranged fucks could use commercial airliners filled with innocent people to take the lives of more than five thousand other innocent people in one incredibly asinine act of mass murder is one of those things. I mean, these pricks are following an ideology that is so twisted and out of line with the teachings of the Koran, that it makes my ‘vegetarian’ recipe look truly vegan, meat and all! I would willingly take up arms and actually listen to what Cahill (note the use of his proper name) says in order to do something about this.
Anyway, Jack gets a phone call telling him to be in Florida for a briefing before heading to Curacao. Well, the only thing that makes me more nervous than another terrorist attack is the thought of Jack unattended (by me) on an island filled with casinos and … well, more casinos. Nope, there’s no way he is going without me. So we pack our bags and head to Florida (not my favorite state).
We arrive in Florida and make our way to the Miami office for the briefing. Happily, I see that they have gotten most of the band back together for this one (especially (Up)Chuck, because we need some new pictures for Andre). Claire and Karin are exchanging nonsensical heavily accented remarks. Paris is looking lovely, as ever. (Nun)Chuck is skulking in the corner, so we pretend that we don’t see him.
The annoying (and usually uninformed) sales guy gives us our briefing: there are three groups of men on Curacao for the purpose of doing a three way drugs-for money-for weapons deal. Three Middle Eastern men named Amal, Janus and Fawaz will be selling about 300 kilos of heroin to a group of Hispanics. The Arabs will then use the cash to buy arms from a group consisting of some Cambodians and former Soviets. All of the idiots involved reportedly have ties to terrorist groups, from the Khmer Rouge to different Central American groups. Our new policy of zero terrorism tolerance means that we will be able to terminate them with any kind of prejudice we want! We don’t care to whom they swear their allegiance, it’s open season on terrorists.
During the briefing, I notice that Cole Wyatt’s usual I’m going-to-puke-because-these-morons-are-in-my-state-again countenance is missing. Instead he appears pensive – and that’s no small feat for someone of Wyatt’s unpleasant shoot first, ask questions later demeanor. I wait until the briefing is done (when is one of these things actually going to be brief??) and hunt down … I mean, find Wyatt. He takes me into the men’s room. I ask if he would mind if I tried to use a urinal for no reason other than I want to say I tried so I can cross it off my to-do list, but he wants to make this quick. He tells me he’ll meet me at Gallaghers’ (a strip club, in case you are not familiar with it) at nine o’clock that night … alone.
Back at the hotel, Jack and I have a ‘discussion’ about the casinos on Curacao. He promises he’ll stay out of them, but I need more than that. Perhaps if he writes it in his blood…
I tell him that I’m going out that night and he can’t come with me. He is less than understanding until I explain that I am trying to get information. I tell him to go to the hotel bar, have some drinks and write 500 times: "I will not go to any casinos on Curacao, Sheila Dear." Jack eagerly takes his notepad to the bar.
Meanwhile, Paris has called William Gallagher to arrange a meeting in order to discuss the transport of our weapons and stuff to Curacao. (Up)Chuck has arranged to meet some of his law enforcement contacts at – you guessed it – Gallaghers’ (Wyatt is never going to believe that I did go there alone). (Nun)Chuck is checking out the intel in the rest of the Orientally confused community and, now that Claire has gotten a taste of the glories of drunken abandonment, Karin is taking her out on the town.
Anyway, Paris arrives at Gallaghers’ first and proceeds with little formality to ask if he can ship our weapons to Curacao. He promises to work something out and then starts ordering champagne.
I get to the club and see Paris sitting with William Gallagher. I select a table in the other corner and wait for the tardy Cole Wyatt. I notice a group of four men sitting at a table. They seem to be glancing from Paris to me and back again. Hmmm. Are they staring because we are women in a strip club? I can’t tell if they are looking at the other women in the club.
Wyatt comes in with a few other men. He breaks off from his group and makes his way to my table. The waitress comes in and I order a dark and chewy ale. Wyatt orders the same and the confused waitress heads to the bar.
One of Gallagher’s cronies approaches his table and chuckles while mentioning that some woman ordered a dark and chewy ale. Paris immediately looks around for me.
Back at my table, Wyatt is being cryptic. Sometimes, I hate this spy shit. He tells me to go put a dollar in one of the stripper’s bikinis. This from the man who wouldn’t let me try to use the urinal in the men’s room. And they say that woman are hard to understand! Jeez. So I go up and put a dollar in a bikini. Good thing I’m not a male homophobe like (Up)Chuck. As I am heading back to the table, I notice the four men, who were watching Paris and me, taking notes – as if they didn’t know how to put money in the bikini of a beautiful stripper. Hmmph.
I return to the table and wait for an explanation. Wyatt asks if I noticed the note-takers. Of course I did. He implies that there will be note-takers everywhere and we should watch for them. My therapist is going to have a field day with this. Wyatt knows more, but he won’t say anything and returns to his cronies.
I think about this latest development. Are we being evaluated? Is it a training lesson for these bozos? Perhaps someone is compiling a ‘How not to Spy’ manual… Hey, this could be fun!
My corner is suddenly plunged into darkness and I realize that (Up)Chuck has entered the club. I’m thinking that the Itty Bitty Book Light would be powerless against the mass of light-blocking well-oiled muscle in front of me. My thoughts are interrupted by the ear-piercing ring of my cell phone. Shit! I meant to get this fixed before going on another mission, as I may yet have to switch it to electrocute, I mean vibrate. I answer the cell phone. It’s Paris. She asks me to join her and William. I tell her I’ll make my way over.
(Up)Chuck has joined his contacts at a table close to the stage. His yearning thoughts of the stripper Bambi are interrupted by the news that the law enforcement ranks have been thinned out in the region. Are they clearing the way for us to wreak murder and destruction upon the terrorist morons that have gathered to make a deal on the island? Cool, as Rossi-Dude would say.
I start doing suspicious things at my table to see what the reaction of the note-takers is. Some are scribbling furiously in their little notebooks. I head toward Paris’s table, passing very close to the note-takers and notice that there are now six of them at the table.
Some slimeball at another table asks if I am into men or women. I tell him it’s none of his fucking business, but he keeps pestering me until I mention that his fleas are a real turn-off.
I head over to Paris’s table and ask her if she sees anything unusual about the note-takers. She asks if I am talking about their bad taste in shoes. Leave it to Paris to notice irregularities in footwear. We stare at their obviously government-issued boots. We ask William if he knows who they are. He calls Andrew, one of his cohorts, over. Andrew says they are Navy SEALs. I have sentimental flashbacks of watching my former roommate dance on the table for a group of SEALs. Then I remember that she pushed me off of the balcony of my neat and orderly apartment. Okay, moment gone.
The fact that the number of note-takers increased with (Up)Chuck’s arrival is very interesting. I call Jack. He is busy working on his list at the hotel bar. I tell him to meet me at Gallaghers’.
Jack hails a taxi and tells the Hispanic driver in Spanish to lose the car that is following them – or so he thought. The driver makes his way cautiously toward Gallaghers’, being careful not to lose the pursuing car. Jack asks again and the driver takes off at breakneck speed, causing Jack to appreciate my excellent driving skills even more. Jack gives him a handsome tip as the tailing car pulls up. Money well spent …
Somewhere downtown, Karin tells Claire that they are being followed by a man and a woman. Now, if there’s one thing an East German is good for, it’s detecting an unwanted tail. They attempt to lose their tail without becoming lost themselves. Karin is a little fearful, because she thinks they shoot German tourists in Florida. Okay, so maybe one or two got shot…
Anyway, the girls are successful at losing their tail and end up in a transvestite club. Oh, to be a fly on that wall!
(Nun)Chuck is heading for Orientally-Confused town and notices that he is also being followed. He attempts to double back on his pursuers, but they have disappeared. He continues on his way and asks about anything suspicious happening around Curacao. He finds out that two Cambodians that may have ties to arms dealers are going to be there.
Back at the club, (Up)Chuck has attracted the attention of a girl dressed as a French maid. He buys her drinks and refrains from calling her Bambi, as her name is Nancy. He approaches our table and we mention that he should try stripping. He does. Actually, he ‘performs’ quite well. Paris and I go up to put money in his … undies – do you really want to know if he wears boxers of briefs? I didn’t. Shit! Where is my camera? Do you know what this footage would do to Andre le Couer?
Paris and I turn back and realize that the note-takers have split up into groups of two and dispersed themselves throughout the club. We decide to approach them to see what they’ll do. My targets skedaddle as soon as I start to approach, but Paris has her guys trapped. One of them looks quite nervous, but the other is playing the guy-coming-on-to-girl-in-strip-club routine.
Jack is planning on sending each of the watchers a lap dance and wastes more money on his scheme. I decide it’s time to turn the tables and take out my pad. I am busily taking notes on the activities of the note-takers and barely notice that they are all leaving post-haste, as they have obviously been made.
Paris has tired of her little game and the horrendous conversation she is having with the note-taker and heads back to her table.
Hmmm, I am still torn between the evaluation vs. training exercise vs. ‘How not to’ thing. At least I know how to supply our team with anti-surveillance gear: a pen and a notebook. Simple, yet effective.
The next morning, the team, minus Paris, who will arrive later with our gear, assembles at the airport. We caution (Up)Chuck not to leave anything on the tarmac this time.
(Up)Chuck tells us that he believes that we are being watched. I instruct the team to take out their notebooks and start writing. Claire wants to know if this will be graded. "Of course," I tell her. (That’s because I really want to see what inane thoughts this bunch puts to paper in a pinch!)
The heightened state of alert at the airports leads to the confiscation of Jack’s lock pick set at the airport. The security people are less than pleased with my transmitter pen. I attempt to feign surprise that there is an electronic device in my pen. Jack chimes in that it is my personal dictation device, because I am so forgetful. They return the pen and let us go. Remind me to complain to the authorities about how easy that was.
We finally make it to Curacao and go to get our rental cars. (Up)Chuck searches his vehicle and finds a tracking device hidden under it. We look at the other car and find one on it, too. Just for laughs, we put one on the airport shuttle bus and another on a baggage cart. Now, who will be chasing whose tail???
Upon arriving at the hotel, (Up)Chuck spots yet another note-taker in the hotel lobby. He approaches and tells the man, who is pretending not to speak English, that he ((Up)Chuck) is going to put him (the note-taker) through a wall if he doesn’t leave us alone. Then he goes to the desk and reports that the man may have a gun. The observer leaves the lobby quickly. The rest of us have tired of the whole thing and are heading to our rooms. I suppose you could say that we were more than slightly paranoid by this time and we begin checking our rooms. I find so many surveillance devices in the room that it’s surprising a seismic event hasn’t occurred yet (just what I need - the US geological survey geeks back on my trail). When I am done ripping out wires in my room, I go to Karin and Claire’s room. Claire has found a few devices and I find a few more. Then I go to the Chucks’ room and find it wires as intensely as was Jack’s and mine. Of course, now I know I have to return to Claire and Karin’s room and search again. I find it as chuck full of electromagnetic transmitter devices as the others and proceed to rip wires out and turn lamps, etc.
That evening, (Nun)Chuck goes to check out the rest of the Orientally-confused population of Curacao and get the ‘lay of the land.’ (Up)Chuck takes Karin and Claire check out the drinking establishments and they find them acceptable. Jack and I go for a walk on the beach, out of ear-shot of the casino noises. We spot a ship off the shore and hear a suspicious noise out at sea.
The next morning, we all go separately to breakfast. As Jack and I are trying to figure out how to spend the day, (Up)Chuck calls me and tells me that we have to come meet him for breakfast. Never one to turn down the opportunity for more morning coffee, I take Jack and return to the hotel café. (Up)Chuck points out that Amal is dining with another man who looks Hispanic. I call Karin and tell her to take Claire to wait outside the café so they can follow the men, splitting up if necessary. Karin doesn’t have time to consult her dictionary and has some difficulty translating the idea of splitting to Claire. This could get ugly…
Two other diners, posing as honeymooners note the departure of Amal and guest.
A short time later, Karin calls back to ask if the men have left yet. Shit. Apparently, twiddle dumm und twiddle le dee have lost them.
Then Paris calls. She has arrived. Oh good. She tells me about a bizarre dream she had about Jaws and Richard Dreyfus. I am in the middle of asking what she took last night when … Wait – Paris has arrived? Who was supposed to warn her about the tracking device on the car and the taps in her room? Shit, shit, shit. I tell her to leave her room first and then tell her we’ll meet her at her car. There may be people listening to the cell phone conversation, but at least I know who they are. Who the fuck tapped our rooms? If they were looking for a chapter in the ‘How not to’ book, it wasn’t going to be on eluding hotel surveillance. (Up)Chuck removes the tracking device from her car and I take care of the bugs in her room.
We make our way back to my hotel for Martikis and an imparting session.
So, here we are, the unwilling subjects of a surveillance that will probably not portray us in a good light (even if (Up)Chuck doesn’t block it out). I do the ever important mental inventory on my resources: Karin and Claire – armed with English slang to German and French dictionaries; (Nun)Chuck, the shadow master from – where the fuck is he from, anyway?; (Up)Chuck – armed with stomach remedies and an undying devotion to strippers named Bambi and Nancy; Paris – whose lovely trip has already been ruined by the presence of bugs in her hotel room and a close encounter of the ugly actor and large marine mammal kind; Jack – and if I can just keep him away from the casinos, everything should be okay; and me – and aside from a brutal determination to shoot any terrorist (except for the International terrorist Jacques – that is, unless he wanders into a casino), my only purpose is to muck with the note-taking bastards who are watching our every move for some unknown purpose at every turn.