Tagged: spy

Oh God, Do You Think This Town Has a Taco Truck?

  • I helped him to do it!k-avatar
  • for a grander fate!
  • we knew we’d have a reasonable turnout
  • you suck!
  • Oh god, do you think this town has a taco truck?

“Oh god, do you think this town has a taco truck?”

I had to answer carefully, and so chose not to say anything at all. I had only just met Darlene so I didn’t know yet whether she was testing me. Was she relying on the secret meaning of “taco truck” or was she just hungry? I took the exit ramp, so our options would be open.

“You suck!” Darlene spat. My knuckles turned white on the wheel, but then she laughed. Only then did I notice she was playing a game on her phone, and it was the game which had elicited her condemnation.

“Maybe, if there is a taco truck,” I said cagily, “we should pick up a few extras to take along.” We were almost to the meeting site. We knew we’d have a reasonable turnout and the catering was bound to be inadequate.

She shrugged. A clever counter-agent hoping I’d tip my hand? Or just the apathetic teenager she appeared to be? Maddening. When had my career degenerated into these pointless road trips? My training had certainly prepped me for a grander fate!

Darlene put away her phone and sighed. “If there is a taco truck,” she said, “you keep the driver occupied so I can sneak up on him with the chloroform. Then we’ll have to ditch this car and roll up to the meeting in the truck.” She stared at the trees and utility poles along the highway for a silent moment. “And if there’s not, well, I guess we’ll find a drive-through and get some lunch. Play things by ear later on.”

I looked at my smiling reflection in the rear-view mirror, watching all my worries recede with the trees and poles. I never should have doubted Darlene’s integrity, should have known Edgar wouldn’t let me down. He set up a perfect system for recruiting these operatives, which I knew only too well because I helped him do it!

bonus points for using them in reverse order!

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The Explosion Occurred at Noon Sharp

  • by jenmouth turned down
  • “See ya later.”
  • his fondness for her
  • nodding in admiration
  • all the gasoline on the island

The explosion occurred at noon sharp, and the fire still raged now at midnight. The sky was a smear of orange and black, like the aftermath of a halloween riot. Mason knew all the gasoline on the island had been stored at the airfield, the one still blazing nearly 12 hours after Cassandra lobbed the first incendiary grenade. Mason couldn’t help nodding in admiration of Cassandra’s efficiency, but his fondness for her professionalism did not bleed over into fondness for anything else about her. The woman was ruthless and now Mason and the very rich man he was paid to protect were stranded on the island with her.

He spoke into his walkie-talkie to his employer, safe in the estate’s panic room. “See ya later.” He hoped to be told to stand down, to take cover and wait Cassandra out, but no such order came.

Mouth turned down in a determined frown, Mason checked his weapon and strode into the jungle.

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Our Plans Worked to Perfection

  • k-avatarscreen door of his sleeping porch
  • impatiently explains to strangers
  • very sore and humiliated
  • save for spasmodic jumping
  • Our plans worked to perfection

Our plans worked to perfection, save for spasmodic jumping. We didn’t anticipate that side effect. The rats showed no such symptoms during our preliminary experiments, and we still haven’t pinned down the cause. Anyway, Fleming is very sore and humiliated, and I find it delightful to observe as he impatiently explains to strangers, through the screen door of his sleeping porch, that he’s a government agent working deep cover to expose illicit and unethical psychological research at the university. He evidently doesn’t know we carted him across the border, and these strangers don’t speak English.

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My Left Lung Contains Compressed Natural Gas

  • k-avatarMy left lung
  • “Doc! Moose!”
  • and her pet Arthur
  • unfamiliar with “flipping the bird”
  • Puerto Rico meant nothing to her
  • “Survival of the fittest,” she hissed
  • “Far worse, Uncle Kent,”

My left lung contains compressed natural gas, which gives me a formidable weapon but impairs my stamina. My partner’s toenails can generate an electromagnetic pulse, making her a threat to sensitive electronics and augmenting her tap dancing.

“Doc! Moose!” That had to be Biff, counteragent and general numbskull, calling for his associates. We were in danger.

My partner rounded a corner in the warehouse and stopped short, confronted by all three of our enemies. I peered past her to see the men’s disappointed faces as they discovered she was unfamiliar with “flipping the bird.” Suddenly she leapt aside, and the bullets struck me instead. Moments later she returned fire, dispatching her clueless adversaries.

“Wait,” I groaned as she started to leave.

“Survival of the fittest,” she hissed. Puerto Rico meant nothing to her.

The gunshots had embedded harmlessly in the kevlar envelope surrounding my left lung, but I was woozy. I just needed a hand up, but she was abandoning me for dead. So I flicked my lighter and exhaled forcefully, roasting her where she stood.

Her, and her pet Arthur the Mouse who always rode in her pocket.

“Can this day get any worse?” I muttered.

“Far worse, Uncle Kent,” came my evil nephew’s chilling retort.

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Traveling with Diplomats

  • k-avatarnot always the cleverest
  • pretend to hold the wheel
  • staying at the Austrian embassy
  • I wished to shake her sang-froid
  • the long-legged Englishman
  • the length of his mustache
  • A good scent?

Traveling with diplomats is not always the cleverest way to see the world. The accommodations are usually posh, but infested with spies.

Once, while staying at the Austrian embassy in Australia (or was it the other way around?), I found myself ensnared in unseemly entertainments which led to a course of antibiotics. I’d tailed a sultry espionage agent to the private club in the basement, and although I wished to shake her sang-froid she only wanted to shake her money-maker. Then she’d pretend to hold the wheel of a ship and cry out, “Thar she blows!” each time the long-legged Englishman recrossed his ankles. I think she was impressed by the length of his mustache, and its scent. But was it a good scent?

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Dear Mum

  • k-avatarwoe to all unlabeled invaders!
  • I have posed a little puzzle
  • a momentary feeling of satisfaction
  • I’ll skip the boring details
  • The thrill has remained dormant
  • that is a weird notion

Dear Mum,

Stationed now in the produce department. I’ll skip the boring details. Central Command wants stickers on all the fresh fruit, and woe to all unlabeled invaders! So I have posed a little puzzle for the stockboys. But it only brought a momentary feeling of satisfaction, until the customers started throwing tomatoes. My manager expects morale to improve now that we’re using the new aprons. The thrill has remained dormant. Hoping for reassignment to frozen foods. Need to make contact with the turncoat liaison, and I’ve heard he’s a cool cat. Insurrection is predicted in the toothpaste aisle. That is a weird notion.

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Francine’s Toes Hurt

  1. by jenCharacter – South American cannibal
  2. Setting – submarine
  3. Object – lucky rabbit’s foot
  4. Situation – new shoes today

Francine’s toes hurt. The new “sensible” shoes were worse than her old heels.

Stopping her pacing, Francine leaned against the wall of the submarine passageway and felt the faint vibration. They would be in Caracas soon.

Francine rubbed her lucky rabbit’s foot and thought about what it would be like to be reunited with Stanley after all this time.

The mix-up, last time, had been unbelievable but understandable. Stanley and Ngegue looked exactly the same. Still it was embarrassing to explain to both the Bridge Club and Stanley’s mother that she had mistaken a South American cannibal for her own husband.

No matter. Everything was about to be put right. Ngegue would go back to his tribe, Stanley and Francine would return to the State Department.

Francine wondered, though, whether Stanley would ever live up to Ngegue’s performance in the sack.

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Agent Smedley Raised the Collar of his Trench Coat

  1. k-avatarCharacter – inept hacker
  2. Setting – world’s most inappropriate McDonald’s
  3. Object – nail gun
  4. Situation – midlife crisis

Agent Smedley raised the collar of his trench coat, shot a shifty glance up the hill to see if he was being watched, and ducked into the restaurant. He queued for his ultra-fatty burger and deep-fried potatoes.

The vibrant yellow insignia that had led him here stood in garish contrast to the centuries-old stones of the fortification that housed the establishment. Mere steps from the site of royal decapitations, amid the grand murk of the Tower and its veil of history, lurked a hive of incipient obesity and totem of the very rebellious colonists who repudiated this empire.

Smedley surveyed his fellow diners, alert for anyone else who seemed to be looking for someone. His contact had said, “Meet me at the world’s most inappropriate McDonald’s,” and this had to be the place.

It was Smedley’s turn. He looked at the person awaiting his order, and saw that his piercing gaze was being shrewdly returned. He smiled.

“Deep-fry me a nail gun,” he muttered.

“This job is just part of my midlife crisis,” responded the young man in the polyester hat. He slid a tray across the counter, and Smedley noted an excessively printed order slip. He nodded and took the empty tray to an equally empty table.

He read the slip. He shook his head. Although there was lots of jargon about firewalls and encryption, all the strip of paper really told him was that he’d been outbid for the clock he really liked on eBay.

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Xavier Knew

  1. k-avatarCharacter – retired pearl diver
  2. Setting – dead end
  3. Object – Geiger counter
  4. Situation – obscene phone call

Xavier knew what few others even thought to suspect, things hidden in the inky depths of the sea. Forced into early retirement over the Bimini Road Incident, he scraped by on a consultant’s income, unable to line up a big score without drawing down the wrath of an international conspiracy bent on keeping the Deep Things forever secret.

And now he walked quickly, sure he was being tailed. Damn! If only he hadn’t agreed to make that one last dive. His shadows were cool, professional, relentless. And they could zero in on him wherever he went by following the clicking of a Geiger counter, which would betray his presence ever since he retrieved the launch codes from the crippled Trident sub.

He turned into an alley and jogged to the first bend. It dead-ended behind a dentist’s office. Peering back out to the street he saw the men seeking him with their electromagnetic bloodhound. They came into the alley, but slowed. Xavier held his breath. The waste disposal containers from the dentist were masking his own signal! If he just kept silent…

His phone rang — why didn’t he set it on vibrate? He instantly silenced it and hissed, “Hello?” into the mouthpiece.

“I’m calling for Mr. Hunt, first name Mike. Is he there?”

The situation was worse than Xavier had feared. It wasn’t the CIA or NSA tailing him. The obscene phone call was the signature motif of the Pearl Divers Union, local 308, and they frowned upon scab sinkers.

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“Does He Expect Us”

by jenIn this special holiday edition, the stichomancy prompt phrases were all taken from Christmas carols. Jen went in a different direction with it, though. Happy holidays!

  • you can do the job when you’re in town
  • me, I want a hula hoop
  • with a broomstick in his hand
  • dressed up like Eskimos
  • later on we’ll conspire
  • down through the chimney

“Does he expect us to go down through the chimney?” I asked, incredulous. “That place is impregnable. There’s a guard at every door, and I don’t mean the kind with a broomstick in his hand. I mean the kind with guns.”

“Boss says ‘you can do the job when you’re in town,'” replied my partner in crime. “Like it’s easy to assassinate traitors in broad daylight. The man hasn’t been out in the field in at least a decade. His expectations are unreasonable.”

I downed another shot before replying. “When he was on active duty, the Russians all dressed up like Eskimos. Made ’em easy to spot. Let’s just do this damn job. Later on we’ll conspire about a coup.”

The bartender approached. “Another round?”

My partner perused the drinks menu, then said, “Me, I want a hula hoop.”

“Make it two.”

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