Once I was definitely committed to making the trip, Jeff was allowed to tell me that he would also be going. We would travel separately and be each other's backup. He would be the primary for setting up the equipment, since he virtually designed it. I would be the primary for getting it to the sight since I was the least conspicuously associated with the agency. We would take turns along with our on-site CIA partners operating the equipment. We would train the CIA operators on site and they would continue to operate the equipment after we left. If for any reason either of us didn't make it, the other would take over.

Jeff briefed me on the intercept equipment he was putting together. He showed me how to set it up and calibrate it to get the best reception from the microwave link we were after. Pointing and calibrating the antenna was critical.

The SCS briefed us on their protocols and how this particular mission would go down. If you want to know more about the SCS you can find it for yourself in Wikipedia and since most of that came from Snowden, you will have to decide for yourself how reliable it is. I am certainly not verifying its accuracy.

My cover was simply my true identity. I was going to France to drum up business with one of the French banks offering to provide them some security services. I would fly from San Francisco to be less conspicuous. I would fly into Charles de Gaulle where there would be a car waiting for me outside the terminal. The equipment would already be in the trunk of the car. The guy who brought the car would offer to load my luggage and give me the keys. If they put it in the back seat of the car, I would know everything was a go. I was to tip with a single American dollar bill. Anything else would signal a problem. I was to drive to the intercept location which I will not disclose except to tell you it was on an upper floor of a building somewhere in Paris. There I would meet the rest of the team and they would help me setup.

If the guy put my luggage in the trunk, then the mission was aborted and I should go to the American Embassy and await further instructions.

I spent another week in Maryland tying-up loose ends. I got an expedited passport. I met with Kirby once more and told him I was going to be out of country for a couple of weeks. I gave him Rogue's name and our office number and told him to pass pertinent information to her or Pixie in California. I said my goodbyes to Molly and Jeff and caught a flight for the west coast.

#

On the plane, I was seated next to a middle age woman who was drinking vodka martinis as fast as the stewardess could bring them. As Kirby would say, the dame was throwing down the drinks like they were bringing back prohibition. I buried my nose in another telecommunications text Jeff had loaned me. I'm not a very sociable seat mate.

"Interesting book?" she asked.

"Textbook," I said showing her the cover and returning to my reading.

"Do you ever read fiction?" she asked.

"Sometimes," I said not looking up from my book.

"What do you read?"

"Science fiction mostly," I said closing my book. She was not going to give up.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I'm not a good flyer. The stewardess knows to keep me plied with liquor. It's the only way I can make this flight. I have to keep my mind distracted. I will probably be jabbering the whole flight."

"Don't worry about it," I said. I was feeling charitable. She clearly was nervous so I tried to help out by keeping the conversation going. "Do you fly much?"

"Not really, but a lot more than I'd like. This trip is to visit my brother. The only other trips I make are to see my publisher. So, who do you read?"

"You know, Heinlein, Theodore Sturgeon, Philip Jose Farmer, the classics."

"Ever read mysteries?"

"I do like Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe."

"Mysteries are what I write."

"That sounds like fun."

"It was at first. I've published fifteen books and it is starting to get difficult coming up with new ideas. Have you ever thought about how you would murder someone?"

"Never really wanted to."

"Not even the chatty woman sitting next to you who won't leave you alone?"

"Not even," I chuckled. "So you are looking for ideas for a book?"

"Always. Anything different about the how, why, or who."

"If I were to murder someone, the how would be easy. Of course, it would depend on who I was after. I'd have to study them for a while to figure the most likely way they could die accidentally, then I would simply make that happen. The hard part, seems to me, would be concealing my motive. Motive is how you get caught."

"Unless there's a witness or you leave some evidence," she pointed out.

"So make sure no one is around and you are very careful."

"Can't always do that."

"Still, I believe motive is the key. Without motive you are never even looked at. That is why catching serial killers is so difficult. There is no traceable motive to connect the killer and the victim."

The whole motive discussion got me thinking. Motive is what I had been ignoring in my own investigation. Clearly someone's motive was to protect the money laundering operation. But why would someone in government want that? NSA and CIA hiring practices pretty much screen out people with the standard motives: money, ideology, susceptibility to blackmail. I felt I was missing something.

"So you get someone with no apparent motive to do the crime," She said in response to my last comment. "Like strangers on a train where they simply trade murders.

"But even they get caught when the detective connects the motives," I pointed out.

"So, you disguise the motive by disguising the crime? For example, you make a murder look like a robbery gone wrong."

"You mean like in Die Hard three, where they make the police think it's a terrorist attack when they are actually robbing the Federal Reserve," I suggested.

"Exactly," she said. "I guess there's nothing new under the sun,"

"Ecclesiastes. My favorite," I said.

"Or, if you prefer your philosophy with a Germanic bent, Goethe said, 'Everything has been thought of before, the problem is to think of it again.'"

"That's a new one for me. I like that."

"New? Intentional Irony?"

I chuckled, "I'm not that clever." We spent the rest of the flight discussing motives and ways to disguise them. In my mind, I kept trying to relate things to my own investigation, but I wasn't having much success. The idea of using one crime to conceal another did stick in my mind, however.

#

Rogue picked me up at the airport. I had let her use my car while I was back east. Of course I had sung the Beatles "Drive My Car" when I told her. She greeted me with a hug and a peck on the cheek. With Rogue, I am never sure of the status of our relationship. I usually, always want it to be more than it is. I think she does too sometimes. But one of us always seems to decide it is best if it isn't. Usually for reasons related to the uncertainty of her cancer's prognosis.

We got each other caught up on events as I drove us back to our office.

"So are we done with this job now?"

"Not yet."

"Can you at least tell me what this has all been about?"

"No."

"Are you at least done with Agent Slutty Dey for now?

"What are you talking about?

"I got the bill for the room in Napa. I called them about it and they told me it was double occupancy. I assume I should bill it to this job? Was it marketing or an entertainment expense?"

I don't know why I didn't see this coming. I had used our company credit card and Rogue handles all our bills. Technically, I had nothing to hide. Rogue and I were no longer together romantically. Sadly, I still wanted to be; so, I felt guilty about my dalliance.

"I don't know how to categorize it," I said regretfully. Then after some thought, I said, "It was a mistake. I'll pay for it out of my pocket."

"Having Kirby Jackson follow Agent Slutty Galore is that business or personal?"

"Strictly business." I noticed she had cranked up her defamation of Mistie from Agent Slutty Dey to Agent Slutty Galore. I guess it sounded more in keeping with the James Bond motif. "You've already talked with Kirby?" I asked.

"Yeah, I like him," she said smiling. "Does he always talk like he is in a nineteen forties detective movie? He kept flirting with me and calling me 'babe' and 'doll' on the phone."

"He is a character all right, "I said.

"Back to the point, how is having our client followed business?"

"Technically, she is not our client. The NSA is. Right now, she is as much a suspect as anyone else I'm looking at."

"Also, why did you need to hire a private investigator? Isn't that what we do?"

"I'm going to have to be away from the D. C. area for a while so I needed someone to follow up on some things locally there. Agent Lee recommended him."

"You're going to be back here for a while?" she asked. I think she sounded hopeful.

"Only long enough to pack some bags. Then I have to go to Paris."

"You have to go to Paris? What is that about?"

"All I can say is I'm going to pitch our security services to some French banks."

"Why would we want to do business in France?

"I really can't talk about this."

"So it's related to all this spy stuff and now you've gone international. I don't like it. Just tell me truthfully, is it dangerous?"

"Not at all," I lied.

"Chuck, I can tell when you are lying to me. If it is not dangerous, then I'm going with you. Or are you going with Agent Slutty Galore?"

"She's not going, but why do you care?" I stammered scrambling for a reason she couldn't come along. I really would like her to come with me, but I couldn't justify putting her in that kind of danger. Especially since I couldn't tell her what was going on.

The only thing I could think of were the lyrics to Billy Joel's "My life":

"First you say I can't sleep alone in a strange place.

Then you say I can't sleep with somebody else..."

Rogue was used to my resorting to pop lyrics. She sang completing the lyric:

"Just as long as you wake up at you own place.

Anywhere it's okay, suit yourself."

"I don't need you to worry for me 'cause I'm alright

I don't want you to tell me I can't come along

I don't care what you say anymore this is my life

Go ahead with your own life I'm coming along!"

I was losing the argument. She had figured out how to get the better of me. I continued:

"I never said you had to offer me a second chance.

I just wish it were a different circumstance.

Don't get me wrong,

but you're not coming along.

You can speak your mind.

But not. . . on... my. . . rhyme."

I thought I had finished her off with that last line, but she came back:

"No, I'm coming along.

Don't get me wrong.

You can speak your mind.

But I'm through. . . with... this... rhyme."

"Well done," I complemented her verse.

"You're a bad influence on me. Anyone listening to us might think we were really weird."

"As weird as P.I. who narrates his life like a pulp fiction detective novel?"

"Almost. So, when do we leave for Paris? I have packing to do."

"One problem, you don't have a passport. The state department expedited mine, and I barely got it in time."

"Problem solved. I already have one. I got it two years ago for a trip that fell through."

Of course, I gave in. She had beaten me fair and square. I actually liked the idea of her coming along. I was just worried about the danger. A danger I wouldn't be allowed to explain to her.

#

Back at the office, Pixie also greeted me with a hug which seemed a bit unusual. In fact, Pixie seemed different but I couldn't say why.

"Welcome back, stranger."

"Glad to be back. To what do I owe this warm welcome?"

"Would you believe we missed you?"

"No, I was only gone for less than three weeks."

"Hey Pixie, guess what. Chuck and I are going to Paris!" Rogue changed the subject.

"Wow, work related?" Pixie asked.

"For Chuck, it is. It is part of his hush-hush project. I'm going to keep him out of trouble."

"I'm envious," Pixie said.

"How is your project coming?" I asked Pixie.

"Well, I was hoping to have made more progress before you got back."

"Is that Greg Odem still giving you a hard time?" Greg is the head of software development and I. T. services at First International. It is the bank that hired us to look into the potential front running.

"That guy varies his tune less than my uncle's jackass! It's always: I don't know why we hired you. There's nothing wrong with our software. You don't need to look at that; we've already checked it out."

Now I'm pretty sure Pixie's uncle doesn't have a jackass. What you have to understand about her is that having spent her childhood as a military brat, she picked up speech from all over ranging from southern charm to valley girl indifference. Usually she speaks plain vanilla American. She only brings out the country metaphors referring to farm animals and other critters when she is really excited or really angry.

"Isn't there anyone else at First International you can work with?" I asked.

"Charlie Franklin, Greg's coworker has been really helpful, but he'll talk your ear off. He keeps me tied up on the phone forever. I think he just wants to talk to a girl."

"I may have some help for you on that. There's a young girl named Amy Braun who has expressed an interest in interning with us. She is working on a degree in business and knows something about front running and the like. I'm sure she would just love talking to Charlie.

"And should I expect to see entertainment expenses associated with her recruiting?" Rogue asked suspiciously.

"No, it is not like that at all. I work with her mother and her boyfriend. They took me sailing with them and that is where I met her. The girl is really bright and was very excited about the type of work we do. I was hoping Pixie would call and talk with her and figure out if we could use her here in the office. I'm still waiting to hear if it is okay with her mother?"

"Sure it might be fun having an intern," Pixie said.

"Does her father work at NSA also?" Rogue asked.

"That's an interesting story, her mother has never been married. She adopted the girl when she was five and raised her on her own. They are both very interesting people."

"So, was it just the four of you that went sailing?" Rogue asked.

"Yeah, why?" I replied.

"Like a double date?"

"No, we just went sailing together."

I'll give her a call now," Pixie said. Sensing Rogue and I were about to get into it, she went into the other room for privacy.

"You're not sleeping with the mother, are you?" Rogue asked accusingly.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because I know you. You fall in love with any girl who is nice to you. Then you try to show it with inappropriately extravagant gestures like offering her daughter a job."

"It's not like that at all."

"Then tell me about this girl's mother. Was she nice to you? Do you think she's good looking? How old is she? And again, I ask, did you sleep with her?"

"The answers are: yes, yes, thirty-eight, and no in that order.

"Your answers seem honest enough. I guess I'll believe you for now."

"Gee thanks. Speaking of sleeping arrangements, how many beds should I make arrangements for in Paris?" I asked. Rogue's seeming display of jealousy made me optimistic I might have a shot here.

"Well..." she appeared to be giving it some thought. "It is Paris. And I wouldn't mind having company in bed while we're there. Clearly you have needs that aren't being met if you have to take up with the likes of Sluts Galore."

I noticed Mystie no longer got the courtesy of being called an Agent.

"Still," she continued. "I wouldn't want to be nice to you. We know how you are. You would start getting serious and we wouldn't want that. What do you think?"

"I'm getting mixed signals here. Are you suggesting friends with benefits?"

"I am," she smiled.

"Then I'm booking reservations before you change your mind." I got on the office lap top and booked our flight and hotel.

"Are we good to go?" Rogue asked?

"Just call me Eddie Money," I said. "I've got two tickets to paradise. Won't you pack your bags we'll leave tonight."

#End Chapter Seven