A sample from My Retirement From the Agency 

                                                                                                                       1

                                                                                                   Breakfast of Champions

 

There was perfume in the air when I woke. The fragrance was strong—almost too strong. It made my nose itch so I turned over and saw the blonde head sticking out of the covers. Janet was my off-and-on-again girlfriend. (Yes, I meant it that way.) She was a thirtysomething who worked at the Agency. She supervised the Cryptology Lab that breaks unbreakable codes and unscrambles computer-encrypted messages. I can’t say too much about her without getting in trouble with the censors. I will say she was hot in bed and we’d been covertly breaking each other’s codes for a couple of years.

Janet was snoring lightly. Give her a break; I was very hard on her last night.

I carefully rolled out of bed so I wouldn’t wake her and shuffled to the toilet where I performed my morning ritual. 

As I was finishing up, I glanced out the window of my cramped little condo off Twenty-Third Street NW in the Foggy Bottom area of DC. The same gray Toyota was there, with the same bored-lifeless man sitting behind the wheel. He’d been there last night when I went to bed. I know it was the same guy because I took his picture with my telescopic, night-vision camera before I went to bed. I usually made files on the actors who imposed on my privacy so if I ever needed to address the problem, I could work with information.

Before, I described this poor guy as “bored-lifeless,” but right now, he looked as if he was really cold and miserable. Someone had left the guy out here alone all night. Didn’t they relieve their people? He must work for Homeland Security, unless the Russians or Chinese were still watching me. All three had about the same caring attitude for their employees.

Whoever he worked for, didn’t they know I was retired? I expected this when I was active, but this was silly. I’d been retired for a full week. Why would someone be watching me now?

It was winter here in DC, with a couple of inches of snow and ice on the ground, and I thought he must be freezing his ass off. Then I noticed the steaming exhaust pipe: the engine was running. He probably had the heater on full blast—real covert and stealthy.

He must’ve been a new guy. I felt sorry for the poor bastard for a moment. You always sent the new guy on the shit details. It was not uncommon for some a-hole supervisor to send the new guy on a detail the experienced guys refuse. Maybe I’d invite New Guy to join me for coffee this morning. Or maybe not.

This was why I kept a condo in DC.  I didn’t want spy scum soiling my real home—a hundred-acre estate in the Shenandoah Valley, Virginia, located southwest of the DC Power Belt. I usually only got home for long weekends and vacations, but now that I was retired, I expected to spend more time at my Old Rock House. That was what I named it because it was built in 1796 from rocks carried in wooden carts from the Blue Ridge Mountains of northern Virginia. There had been a dozen renovations since 1796, so my Old Rock House was now a modern five-thousand-square-foot manor with a detached six-car garage, plus an aircraft hangar on the back of the property.

You may ask how a civil servant could afford such an estate.

It is better you don’t ask.

I gave New Guy one last look to ensure he was staying put and then went back into the bedroom.  Janet was wide-awake and sitting up in bed with the blanket covering her breasts. She always slept naked.

I liked that.

She was giving me the look.

What the hell? I thought. It’s my retirement celebration day.

I climbed back into bed and threw the blanket off so I could see all of her. Her body was one reason I liked her—a thing of pure beauty.

Yes, for you who think I’m a chauvinist—a throwback to an ancient generation—you’re right! Worse yet, I’m proud of it. I love women. I enjoy women’s bodies and the naughty things men and women can do together. If the woman feels the same, we have an accord.

If you don’t like gratuitous sex, romantic innuendos, a complicated plot sprinkled with action, and a lot of killing, maybe you should stop reading.

Good-bye.

For those still with me, Janet and I spent the next forty-five minutes enjoying each other’s bodiesin almost every way you can imagine or have seen if you’ve watched a good porno movie.

Now thoroughly exhausted, we were taking a shower—together to save water, of course. We played more games under the water, doing some things that should only be done in the shower.

Finally, I stepped out and grabbed a towel.

That’s when she announced, “I won’t be seeing you again. This was our last time.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does! You wake up in my bed, suck all the energy from my body, take a hot, sexy shower with me, and then standing there naked, unbelievably sexy, and dripping wet, say, ‘Dear, John, this was our last time’?” 

I threw the towel at her—a little harder than normal—then grabbed one for myself. There would be no dry-each-other-off games this morning.

She laughed. I liked her laugh, even when she was laughing at my pain. “Well, I wasn’t going to tell you beforeI sucked all the energy from your body.”

“Why?” 

“The real reason? I guess I owe you that. I’ve been flirting with a new cryptologist in R Section. I’d like to know him better. Your retirement gives me a good breaking point to go our separate ways. Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry,” I grumbled. “And copulating with a subordinate in R Section could turn into sexual harassment later.”

She smiled and finished drying off then playfully threw the wet towel at my face. It smelled nice. By the time I’d hung it on the rack, she was back in the bedroom and had on her panties and bra. She was fully clothed in less than two minutes.

She really means it.

“Based on this announcement, I’m assuming you don’t want to stay for breakfast,” I said, standing in the center of the room. I was facing her and still fully naked.

Janet treated herself to a leisurely look, as if she were memorizing every part of my body. Then she slithered up to me, like a cat in heat, and stood as close as possible without us being back in bed. She tilted her head up to my face, and we kissed. It lasted long enough that I was beginning to think she’d changed her mind and I was going to be breakfast. 

Finally, she stepped back for one final look.

I hated my body for its reaction. Little John was betraying me—out of control—even after all he had been through last night and this morning. What made it worse, it was a good-bye kiss!

She continued to press her body against mine while she looked deep into my eyes. “This hurts me too, John. I’ll miss your hard, muscular body and those deep-blue eyes that burn with passion, the way your curly black hair falls so casually across your forehead . . . and your cruel smile.” She playfully tapped her finger against my lips.

“But you’re still leaving me,” I retorted.

Janet gave me one last, quick kiss and slinked to the door. Her hand curled around the handle as she turned and looked back. I could see the amused twinkle in her eye.

“Au revoir,” she said, chuckling as the door closed quietly behind her.


 

                                                                                                                    2

                                                                                            No Good News This Morning



I watched Janet through the bathroom window as she exited my building and strolled down the street. She knew I was watching her. She tossed a quick kiss at my bathroom window and then popped into her bright-green Mini Cooper with the two white racing stripes running from bumper to bumper. She started the spunky little four-cylinder engine and jumped into the morning nightmare that DC calls traffic.

I was still peering through the window as the Mini Cooper disappeared around the corner, but I really wasn’t watching Janet. True, I was a little depressed—maybe despondent—she had dumped me, but primarily I wanted to know if New Guy, sitting out there all night with his engine running to stay warm, was watching Janet or me. If New Guy followed Janet, I’d call her cell, warn her, and then it wasn’t my problem anymore. On the other hand, if New Guy stayed put, I would have a different reaction.

New Guy stayed put. He was watching me, and I couldn’t even begin to guess why.

I retrieved my binoculars and zeroed in on the front seat of the Toyota. From the way he was wiggling around, either he hadn’t brought a bottle to relieve himself in or he’d already filled it up during the long, cold night. Either way, he didn’t have a pot to piss in,as my grandmother used to say.

I didn’t feel too sorry for him because he was watching me, and in my experience, that indicated somebody who wasn’t on my side and was up to no good. I decided I might have to hurt him.

Next, I opened a hidden closet where a fireproof safe contained a collection of toys and personal documents. I selected an aerosol spray can of special formulated clear latex and gave my hands a heavy covering. The spray dried in about thirty seconds and blocked fingerprints and DNA. It didn’t wash off without acetate, so it would last all day.

Then I selected a nice little .40-caliber semiautomatic and two extra magazines. As an afterthought, I pocketed two tiny surveillance devices that transmitted video and audio signals using cell phone technology.

I was about to leave the condo when my landline telephone rang—probably a telemarketer or solicitor. I intended to let it ring, but my little voice had a different suggestion.

Pick it up.

I answered. “Hello!”

“John, this is Janet.”

“Back so soon?”

“This is serious. I just got a call. Jimmy Trang was found dead in his car this morning in the employee’s parking lot at work. It looks like suicide, but they haven’t ruled out other possible scenarios.”

“You mean murder?” I asked.

She was silent for a moment then said in a quieter voice, “They’ve blocked the local cops from the investigation—handling it internally. Sprout says there’s no need for an autopsy. He says the cause of death is obvious.”

Sprout!

I have this little voice in my head that runs a constant commentary about what’s happening around me. It’s sometimes distracting and nags me, but it also keeps me alert—warns me of trouble. My little voice is not always right, but it’s right more than wrong, so I listen to it. Right now, my little voice was screaming, “Cover-up.”

Or frame-up!

“How did he allegedly kill himself?” I asked.

Janet said, “He was shot once in the head. The bullet traveled left to right. The car doors were locked, engine off. The pistol was found on the floor inside the car.”

“Keep me informed,” I said.

“I will. I’m going to the site now,” she said, and the connection went dead.

Jimmy Trang is . . . was a second-generation Vietnamese descendant, born in the U.S. His parents had escaped Saigon in 1975. I liked Jimmy. He was smart and energetic—a lot like me my first couple of years in the Agency. Jimmy was also willing to take chances, which is another reason I liked him. I recommended him to take my place after I retired. I briefed him on all my projects, so he could take over seamlessly. Jimmy was also naive and trusting.

On my way out the door I switched on the covert CCTV system that utilized cameras disguised as mundane objects, placed strategically inside the small condo. The cameras do not run constantly but are activated by motion detectors. The system alerts me via an app on my smartphone if there are any intruders. I can see them in real time on my smartphone. I don’t always activate the system when I leave, but today I was feeling insecure.

As I walked down the stairs to the underground garage, I replayed Janet’s phone conversation in my head. She said the bullet had entered Jimmy’s head on the left side and exited on the right. That meant he shot himself holding the pistol in his left hand.

Jimmy was right-handed.

​                                                                                                 skip to  Chapter 10

                                                                                                 The Black SUVs

 
Like I’ve told you, I have this little voice that advises me from time to time. It usually whispers from the back of my mind, and I can ignore it if I foolishly choose to do so. This time the voice was shouting at me.

Look in the rearview mirror!

There were three very big, black Suburbans traveling in convoy formation and tailgating me.

I foolishly argued with my little voice: They aren’t following me.

You should make sure.

I exited the expressway at a travel stop, and they followed—not very subtle. I drove directly back onto the expressway, and they still followed. They didn’t care whether I knew they were following.

Being followed twice in one day?

Again, I had no idea who it could be, or why they were following me. There were a lot of people who didn’t like me. I needed to clear this up, but I couldn’t just stop at a coffee shop and manhandle three Suburbans full of soldiers.

Shit! 

It wasn’t my decision any longer. The head Suburban pulled in front of me and cut me off. The second Suburban pulled alongside and began to crowd me over to the right shoulder of the road, while the third nearly bumped my rear bumper. I only had one direction I could go—to the shoulder of the road. I moved to the edge of the pavement. They continued pressing me until I was in the dirt. The three worked together as if they had done this many times before. They brought me to a full stop on the shoulder of the expressway.

Where are the cops when you need them?

Now the Suburbans were flashing emergency strobe lights I hadn’t noticed before. It all looked official, as if they were the cops! I sat in Mary’s Mercedes and waited.

Maybe they’re after Mary. Was this a case of mistaken identity? The windows are tinted very dark—they wouldn’t be able to see who was inside. 

I’d know soon.

Men poured out of the front and rear Suburbans. They were carrying exotic little submachine guns. I didn’t recognize the brand. One of them tapped on the passenger-side window with his gun barrel. I was seriously outgunned and decided to try dumb and innocent—at least at first.

I rolled the window down. “May I help you?” I was smiling.

I think me smiling under the circumstances threw him. He didn’t expect that. He backed up a step, looked around at his buddies, and then returned to the window. “Out!”

I couldn’t open the driver’s-side door because of the roadside Suburban was nearly touching the Mercedes. So I scooted across the front seats and opened the passenger-side door. As soon as I did, two big bullies grabbed me and dragged me all the way out. This wasn’t going to be civilized. They spun me around, searched me, and found my and Mary’s pistols. Fortunately, Mutt and Jeff’s pistols, the spray cans, flash drives, and the other cute little gadgets I’d stolen earlier at the office were locked in the trunk. Someone slapped a pair of cold steel handcuffs on me from behind, and two men began shoving me toward the front Suburban.

“Am I under arrest?” I asked.

No one answered my question. They didn’t even grunt.

I wondered whether the Agency had somehow caught me for my skullduggery this fast, but I didn’t have time to dwell on the question before I was pushed into the back seat of the Suburban and two huge bullies climbed in on either side of me. Within a minute the caravan was moving again. One of the thugs drove Mary’s Mercedes.

                                                                                            Opening for Chapter 11

                                                                                                Meet The Major

 
A thug slipped a black hood over my head. I was now blind and handcuffed, with huge knuckle draggers bracketing me. Nothing today was working the way I had anticipated when I woke this morning.

“What’s the problem fellas?”

No one answered.

“If you tell me what you want, I’ll cooperate.”

Still—silence.

Maybe they don’t know how to talk....