Tuesday, March 20, 2007

I'm a travelin' man...

If there is some way for me to make amends, this has to be it.

After dropping the memos, I took a cab back to the safe house. Once there I slipped out the side door and into an adjoining ally. I dumped the bright red wig and mini for a much more conservative Salwar Kameez and long black braid. A little dark pancake and I was ready to shyly board a train that took me east, then south. I waited until dark to attempt a boarder crossing with a group of Indian scholars that were conventioning near the coast. I traveled by bus with them for several miles before slipping out during a rest stop, during which I changed from Indian woman to man, plus a few pounds.

Once I crossed water I was traveling as an investor for Oil India. I attended a brief summit with fellow executives before boarding a commuter to my next destination. Several long waits and more cramped busses. I had to burn a couple days before my arrival in aljawf.

I was stuck there for several days. Needed the cool down time for those who are looking for me. My transport off the continent won’t be ready for several weeks but I can’t spend them all here. Strangers get noticed if they stay too long. The overland travel is all done in the dark. I find it peaceful. My support folks have been spot-on with the plans. Everything is where it’s supposed to be when I arrive. I’m close now. I’m almost to my final destination by timeline. But the actual distance is still huge. It will be nice to be where I can speak the language again.

Thursday, March 08, 2007

I Have Other Plans

My first Israeli field assignment: help shape a vote. Simple stuff really. Get a couple of influential people to doubt their position long enough to delay a vote.

I was handed the tightest little skirt I've ever seen and a red wig. I added a little touch of my own by injecting the left side of my face. Nothing too dramatic, but just enough flaccidity to be noticed. Sable brown contacts. Pitiably pretty, is what my handler called me, or however it translates in english. Posed as a secretary from some sub-branch delivering the pill via typed memos. The catalyst (ipratropium) has been know to cause headache when it reacts with the dendromer. Don't know why it bothers me that it has this side affect.

The skirt did it's job. I did my job. Won't know if the pill did it's job. Don't care. By the time this is posted, I will have been on the run for two days. If I'm successful, if all the stump-busters I've been building and downing since my melt-down do their job, if my few as-yet-unknown-to-the-corporation friends come through, I will be lost to this shitty game of hired assassination and on my own.

If I was good enough at convincing my team mates, my shrink, and my lover that I was safely slotted away and doing my job, they will have had no way of knowing I was bolting yet again. AND, if the several MRIs and CT scans I've undergone in the last 24 hours prove reliable, I will be rice-free and on my way. Even tried a little electroconvulsive, just in case.

I'm done with this stupid corporation and the political games. I have my own scores to settle. I have many sins to atone for. So many pricks and so full bullets. But now I have the tools. Will I have the time? Only time will tell. If I was diligent and if I did my homework and if I found whatever they may have exposed me to, I'll live to see my planning pay off. If I missed something, I'm already dead.

For now, I'm somewhere in the middle east that is hostile to the US and UK so I won't have Them on my trail for a while. I just have to make it to my Hole. Once there, I can accomplish my aims without interruption or detection. How small can one little lady make herself in a big world? How hot will finding me be?

Monday, March 05, 2007


I am seeing things that I have never been exposed to before, although I am aware that they happen in my own country. However, to my knowledge, when our government/agencies torture a suspect, they at least try to do it in secret. We even deny it. Here at UZ they do not deny, they do not hide, they do not even apologize. I guess my work has kept me at a certain degree of separation from the actual outcome. I haven't had to look them in the eye as the tools I build, sometimes create, go to work and begin to tear apart their body and/or mind.

Fayd, my subject today, is an unfortunate kid from the wrong side of the sheets, but well-loved by his father, being the only male child. His father's wife bore two daughters, but she knows nothing about Fayd, who we grabbed in Gaza and brought here to lure his father to a meeting. The 11-year-old listened to the violence being brought upon another suspect directly across the hall. I'm sure he was placed there on purpose. I'm to infect the boy with a time-bomb locally built by my host laboratory. He will be released with a most compelling note for his father.

Will the strong-man risk his own life to save a bastard son? I hope so. He's a sweet kid, even though he has the attitude of a punk already. My handlers tell me the boy has already been involved in local killings. I find it so hard to believe.