Spy Interrupted

For Mom and Dad (We Miss You Dad)

Writer Lady turns off the water to the shower and pushes the curtain aside. Grabbing her towel she dries herself off quickly. The bathroom is foggy with steam. She barely misses Spots as she steps on to the rug.

“I’m sorry kitty. I didn’t see you.”

“Yeow.”

“I have got to stop cranking the hot water. My skin is getting so dried out.”

She finishes toweling off and heads to the kitchen.

“What do you think, veggie soup or potato soup?”

Writer Lady looks at Spots.

“The veggies would be healthier...” She reads the labels. “Pearl onions. No, I need something to coat my stomach. Cream soup it is.”

She enters High Command with dinner in tow, sitting down, she proceeds to continue writing her story.

“Her story?”

Writer Lady shifts her gaze to find a handsome spy reading over her shoulder, espresso in hand. “I am the creator, you are the character. I'm telling the story, hence, the word, her.”

“My dear sweet creator, if I was not here nothing interesting would happen.”

“If I had not created you then you wouldn’t exist therefore you would not being doing all the way cool things.” She stops typing and grasps her hands in front of her waiting for Scotch to finish reading her response.

“You don’t have to wait for me to read. I am an Oxford man.”

She adds his response, pauses again, and waits.

“No really. You don’t have to do that.”

A smile crosses her lips which she contains quickly hoping the spy will not notice her enjoyment at his discomfort.

Scotch leans closer and catches her smiling.

Writer Lady grins. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist Luv.” She rises from her seat in the Big Writing Chair and collects her dirty dishes, taking them into the kitchen. When she returns Scotch has taken her seat and taken over custody of the computer. She coughs to get his attention. Nothing happens. She coughs again a bit more loudly this time.

Scotch turns to address her. “I’m sorry were you needing something?”

Writer Lady points to the chair. “I would like my seat back.”

“For what purpose?” He asks.

“To continue my story.”

Scotch’s finger hovers over the back facing arrow.

“To continue writing the story.” She corrects.

Scotch begins deleting letters. (correc)

“To continue writing your story?”

Scotch stops deleting and repairs the damage. The spy relinquishes his seat with great ceremony. “By all means, take my seat, please.”

Writer Lady sits down. “Thank you Scotch.”

Three Days Later

Scotch was still sitting at the computer. He blinked. He blinked again. The spy scratched his chin. He needed a shave. A shave? He wondered how long he had been here. With these...pervs. Pen was right all he had succeeded in doing was finding a large population of men all looking for dates. How was he ever going to face her?

“What?” Scotch’s voice invaded Writer Lady’s peaceful moment. “I would never let a case get the best of me. I’m a professional.”

"Professional what?” Tinkletoes’ voice asks from Writer Lady’s other side. “Whiner?”

Writer Lady pretends to ignore all of the um...whatever these ya-hoos are up to and continue writing the story.

“That’s supposed to be my story.” Scotch points out.

“Who you calling a yahoo?” Tinkletoes asks.

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes and raises an eyebrow.

“She caught you with that one.” Scotch points out grinning.

“That’s okay.” Tinkletoes says. “I’m a giving guy. It’s important to let a girl think she’s winning every now and then. It looks good.”

Writer Lady stops typing and drums her nails on the table.

“What happens to the stuffed shirt next?” Tinkletoes asks.

“He’s not a stuffed shirt.” Writer Lady corrects. “Scotch is a spy. A very good one.”

“I’m a spy. A very good one.” Scotch looks at Tinkletoes. “And you are?”

Tinkletoes looks down at Scotch. “Bigger than you are.”

“Clearly.” Scotch responds enjoying the moment. “What are your talents, Sir?”

“I’m big and mean. I can kill any ninja zombie or space alien in existence. I train assassins and keep the creatures of Faerie from wandering beyond the confines of Writer Lady’s house...her yard. Except for that one time.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“A couple of years ago, Writer Lady’s sister went through a thing and the door between Earth and Faerie was opened allowing all kinds of suitors to pursue her. Human, animal, magical creatures... They were everywhere.”

Scotch rocked back on his heels, barely able to contain his laughter. “One man couldn’t handle all of that on his own, could he? We all can’t be legendary, can we?”

Writer Lady stiffens. Unhappy with where this is going she is determined to prove that all of her characters have their own gifts and qualities and should be appreciated as such.

Tinkletoes fiddles with the mouse and brings up the monitor that Writer Lady is not using. “What is so challenging about being a spy? Let’s see...it looks like you’ve been hanging out online and you’re hacking into some lady’s account. She’s hot but still...”

“That is not some lady. That is my partner, Pen. We are solving a murder. Several and possibly thwarting an attempt to take over the world.”

“Thwarting, really?” Tinkletoes nods. He looks at Writer Lady. “How does a guy get a looker like that on his team?”

Writer Lady stops typing long enough to shoot a glare at the self-proclaimed mercenary. “Characters are created based on need and necessity. Pen is integral to this story. A looker like Pen is not integral to your stories. Besides you get to work with me, Aunt Purdy, and don’t forget House.”

“Yeah, but what do I gotta do to meet her?” Tinkletoes asks pointing to Pen’s profile picture.

“Not Be You.” Writer Lady says. She mutters. “The man is just one big walking, talking hormone.” She shakes her head.

Tinkletoes looks at Scotch. “She says that like it’s a bad thing.” The self-proclaimed mercenary shakes his head. “Women.”

The Spy Who Whistled

“Suicide. Committing suicide is your answer?”

“Not for me. For him. Why would McKinney put himself in such a position?”

Scotch turned away from the monitor and looked at Pen.

“Why would he put himself in such a position...” Pen repeated in an effort to cue Scotch into finishing his thought.

“McKinney was on to something. Something big.”

“Clearly.” Pen sipped her coffee. “Did he usually take such risks?”

“In his early days, but by the time I was brought in he was a firm believer in calculated risks. Thoroughly planned out, calculated risks. If he was on social media he had a plan, a good one, and he knew all of the players.”

“All but one.” Pen responded.

“You’re reading my mind now. And you said we weren’t partners.” Scotch said with a grin.

Pen bit back a growl. “Could you just get to the point?”

“You have no sense of spontaneity do you?” Scotch turned back to his computer, hiding one tab and pulling up another. “Here is our first bread crumb.”

Pen stepped forward to read over Scotch’s shoulder. “Whistle.”

“It’s a social media app where users post things they found, restaurants, movies they liked, comments on trending events etc… Posts tend to be short, 250 characters or less.”

“Long whistle, short whistle, Wolf whistle?” Pen asked.

“A long whistle is 101-250 characters, a short whistle is 100 characters or less.” Scotch explained.

“The Wolf whistle?”

“Is the equivalent of an internet stonker.”

“What?”

“Something large, impressive, or...” Scotch looked at his lap, turned to Pen, and raised an eyebrow.

“An erection? Really?” A brief smile crossed Pen’s lips. “You Brits pretend to be so proper and then create this.” She commented continuing to study the screen.

Scotch shook his head. “This app originated and is currently operating out of the Bronx. Sorry darling but this one is all American.” The spy countered using his American accent.

“Why was McKinney using it?”

Scotch sipped at his espresso, his eyes shone with secrets to be shared, “To talk to other spies.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Which is probably why they were doing it. It was crazy; more importantly no one is expecting it. If no one is expecting it then no one is looking for it.”

Pen shook her head.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I don’t.”

“Look at this.” Scotch pulled up another tab. “These are the discussions that McKinney had been having on Whistle during the last two weeks.”

“I am looking for what?”

“You’re a smart woman. I think you’ll find it.” Pen perused McKinney’s Whistles. “These people are talking about dog parks.”

“What are they discussing specifically?”

Pen looked at Scotch. “I have to say it? Out loud?”

Scotch nodded. The spy had a twinkle in his eyes.

“The best poop spots.”

“Go through it again. What else do you see?”

“Play dates for their pets, where to dispose of dog waste bags, the fees for not following the rules, who to call if you find a dog that is without an owner in the park.”

“No my dear Pen that is not what they were discussing.” Scotch announced as he rose from his seat. “Look at the accounts of the users that he’s talking to. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Pen took his chair, studied the accounts briefly, and waited. When Scotch returned she said. “We have an @IF20 and an @JB7.”

“And…?”

“@IF20 is an international property dealer and @JB7 is an ambassador of a country that I’ve never heard of.”

“Take a look at the activity on their accounts.”

“There’s just a bunch of information about dog parks.”

“Exactly. You have an international property dealer and an ambassador and all they talk about is dog parks? No restaurants, no vacations they enjoyed, no properties for sale, no announcements of any new treaties...” Scotch pointed out.

“No pictures of their dogs. Did McKinney have a dog?” Pen asked.

“He was allergic. There you have two people who if their accounts are accurate would travel a lot and not have much time to take their dogs for walks.”

“They would hire someone else to do it.”

“Now you’re catching on.” He sipped on a fresh cup of espresso. “Would you like me to tell you about the numbers?”

Pen rested her chin on her hand as she moved back and forth between various accounts studying the numbers. “Um...no.”

Scotch moved to the leather chair and waited.

“These are fake accounts. The number of accounts the users are following is much higher than the number of followers the accounts have. If these were the accounts of a international property dealer and an ambassador they should have thousands if not hundreds of thousands of followers.”

“Some high profile users have over a million followers.” Scotch pointed out.

“Really?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“How much time do people really have to spend using these apps?”

“When was the last time you didn’t see everyone looking down at their phones?”

Pen blushed a little.

“You’ve never noticed?”

“I”m a chemist. I’m always working and it’s usually in the lab. When would I notice something like that?”

Scotch shook his head. “These were posts listing meeting dates, times, and places. They also showed amounts due for the exchange of items or information.”

“Twenty dollars?”

“Look at it again. Two zero decimal point zero zero. A. Two thousand dollars American. The reader moves the decimal down two spaces and adds two zeroes behind it. The initial is not the first letter of a name.”

“It’s the country the currency originates from.”

“Very good Pen, very good.”

“What’s the plan?”

“It’s only been a few hours, we have no idea which of these followers knows that McKinney is dead or if any of them do. I’m going to leave his account open and see if anyone comes looking for him. In the

mean time, we have another account. This user is following all of McKinney’s contacts both the followers and those he was following.”

“How do you know any of his contacts are going to be interested in following the new account?”

“I studied them. Sex of the user, country of origin, occupation, outside interests and I think that I have come up with something that is irresistible.” Scotch clicked and revealed their new endeavor.

Pen studied the account. “Brittany ‘The Pen’ Abercrombie—Travel Writer!” An American In Paris. Looking for fun, adventure, and romance. Where did you get this picture? This is a negligee picture from the other night.” Pen rose from her chair. “I knew there were cameras in here but I hoped it was something that you turned off when you entered the apartment and found the perimeter secure.”

“It is a lovely picture.”

“I am practically naked.”

“You are wearing the robe. You can’t see anything. Not really.”

Pen raised an eyebrow.

“Look at it closer. It’s not revealing, it just accentuates your curves.”

Pen does not respond.

Scotch looked into Pen’s eyes. “Trust me, I tried everything and all I saw was fabric.”

“You tried everything?”

“The more I explain things the worse I’m doing.”

“I can’t believe you put me out there like this. All of that talk about digital footprints being suicide for a spy.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Use a generic picture of some random woman.”

“And put her in danger? Pen I am surprised. Aren’t you the one who keeps insisting that you aren’t a spy? If Pen, you are, in fact, not a spy, you shouldn’t be in danger.”

“This is dangerous.”

“Yes but you’re with me. You can count on me to be lazy enough to never let anything happen to my Pen.” Scotch looked at Pen. “I hate looking for things. It’s important to always have a good pen at the ready. Look at your first Whistle.”

Hi. I’m Brittany! I’m a sexy, fun, single woman interested in experiencing all that Europe has to offer an adventurous cousin from across the pond.

“You forgot something.” Pen said. “You forgot ‘call me for a good time.’ The only thing that you’re going to attract with this Whistle is slimy oversexed men with overinflated ideas about...about...how well they’re endowed.”

“I don’t think so. Brittany looks like a sweet woman that I would like to get to know better.”

“Perverts. You’re going to attract nothing but perverts then you’re going to have set up a new account.”

“I’m a spy. I have experience using many levels of communication. This is going to be easier than sorting through my winter wardrobe.”

Pen looked at Scotch.

“Mum insisted.”

Pen turned to watch the screen as the number of responses to her Whistle steadily climbed. “Twenty-four hours. After twenty-fours of dealing with these perverts you are going to be begging me to help you set up a new account.”

“The rush will be over in forty-eight hours. McKinney’s killer will be found by the end of the week.” Scotch countered.

Pen rose from her seat. “The responses are climbing rapidly. You have 1200 new followers. I suggest you sit down. You’re going to be here a while.”

 *This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.