writers_muses - 47.2.D - Quote
"We are the people our parents warned us about." - Jimmy Buffett
Agent Sheldon Jeffrey Sands sat at his laptop perusing the CIA website, gnawing on the end of a pen, wishing that it was a cigarette. Goddamn it, he thought, what he wouldn’t do to have a smoke right about now. Fucking government no smoking regulations! It was enough to give him a migraine headache. He clicked on the pull down menu entitled, ‘I Chose the CIA’
‘Oh this ought to be good,” he muttered.
KATHY - Ops Officer
I heard about the Agency during a College Career Fair. Although many other positions sounded intriguing, I was drawn to the idea of living overseas and serving as a collector of intelligence. After receiving extensive training, the Agency put their complete trust in me to travel and recruit foreign agents who provide information, carrying out this entire process in a clandestine manner. Dealing with people, operating with so much independence, and relying on my own street smarts and training to make critical decisions is the ultimate challenge. Every week is different - it can be slow one minute and breakneck speed the next. I've done some thrilling operations that mirror what is seen in the movies, and I feel tremendous pride that I, an average all-American female from an average American family, am the one doing it.
What a bunch of bullshit. Did anyone in the Agency actually believe what they wrote on these things? Sands regarded it as just another way to recruit the gullible and the inexperienced youth into helping out Uncle Sam in doing his dirty laundry. And if they came looking for you, as they had done for him, they made it very hard to say, ‘no’, especially when you had any sort of real talents. He never met this ‘Kathy’ out in the field, but he swore that if he did he’d have to sit her down, give her the straight scoop. Either that, or he would have to bang her and blow her away just for the sheer enjoyment that it gave him. He hated his job, hated the slimeball he worked for and he had long since become jaded against America’s so-called war on terror. Just a whole lot more bullshit.
And the ring leader of all the bullshit was Chief Operations Officer Gerard Smith, ‘Smitty’, or as he was more affectionately known among the field agents, ‘The Pit Boss’. It was the Pit Boss that summoned Sands out of the field and back to DC for a new assignment. Sands closed the top of the laptop and drummed his fingers on the case before putting it back in his briefcase. Just as he was zipping it up, the doors of the Pit Boss’ office opened. The slick yet ruddy faced man of medium height was dressed in his characteristic dark suit, starched white shirt and tie. Someone needed to tell this idiot excuse for a superior that he didn’t need to power dress all the fucking time.
“Sands,” said Pit Boss not extending his hand but inclining his head to indicate for Sands to come into his office,”Good of you to come.”
Sands rose, gathered up his laptop case and walked inside to the mahogany paneled, dimly lit office.
“Did you have a good flight?” Smitty asked the younger man.
“Hell no,” Sands said, “you know I hate flying.”
The Pit Boss chuckled and indicated a leathern seat in front of the large antique desk that dominated the luxurious office,”Have a seat. We don’t have a lot of time before you are on another flight to your next assignment.”
“Oh, joy.” Sands took the offered chair and put down his laptop case beside him,”will I need to go shop for a new wardrobe, Boss?” Sands reached into his jacket pocket and extracted his silver cigarette case. To hell if he wasn’t going to smoke in Smitty’s office. The Pit Boss just raised an eyebrow and with a sigh reached into his top drawer and retrieved a large brass ashtray.
“Here,” Smitty said,”I figure its useless telling you not to smoke in here, Sands. Last time I had to listen to Rosarita bitch for a solid week because of what you used as an ashtray.”
“I figure I deserve a smoke if you’re going to tell me to lay it on the line for my Country. Consider it a fringe benefit for working for our Uncle.”
Smitty didn’t answer but pulled out a folder marked “Classified”. He took a quick glance inside the cover and eyed the contents before shoving it across the desk’s great expanse toward Sands.,”I’m sure you heard the announcement from Homeland Security last week about the fact that Al Queda is now recruiting non-Muslims for its cells.”
Sands nodded and took up the folder,”Sure, big surprise. We knew that they were going for the malcontents and disenfranchised masses across the boards. Some say even inside the US.” Sands opened the folder and leafed through the contents, there were a few photos, each labeled. The one on top, of a swarthy and older gentleman of obviously Middle Eastern descent caught his eye if for no other reason than the name at the bottom, Moustafa Khatib. It was a last name that Sands recognized. He had known an Ibrahim Khatib from his days in college. He had a tall, handsome Maronite Christian from Lebanon that was a whiz at computers and Sands had judged him to be nice enough if not just a little bit twisted. There had been rumors from some of the girls about college that he was a little rough, maybe a bit kinky, but then college girls, especially freshmen, always say that. Sands rifled through a bit more and came across a picture of Ibrahim. Yep, that was him. But it was the photograph just under it that caught his eye. She was starkly beautiful and with eyes that he could have fallen into. ‘Damn’, he thought, ‘what a fucking heartbreaker’!
Smitty nodded when he saw the looks of recognition and obvious interest in the last photograph,”That’s Aisha Khatib, “ he said, “She’s the sister of your friend, Ibrahim, daughter of Mostafa Khatib.”
“Well, he wasn’t exactly my friend,”Sands said, “Still, nice lookin’ sister. What about her?”
“We believe she may be working for her father, or some more prominent arms dealers or was. Word on the street is that there was a bit of familial falling out. She is not with her father, she’s come up as being more recently married to a hotelier by the name of Christodoulakis. He’s a bit of a mystery, maybe a little shady. We have agents checking it out. Apparently there was a shoot out in Amsterdam a few months back between your friend Ibrahim, his sister and the Christodoulakis organization, but we haven’t been able to get enough on him or find out enough. NSA top brass seems to think that they could be planning something.”
Sands shook his head,”Seems like rather small potatoes. No one has ever been able to pin anything on Mostafa Khatib or his family. Do we know where Ibrahim is?”
“Yep,” the Pit Boss pursed his lips, “he’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Mmhmm...shot by his own sister according to eyewitnesses. That’s why we are trying to find out more about what she is up to, if she is connected to her family still. The man whom she was betrothed to, a man by the name of Hafiz, has some very distinct connections to some top Al Queda operatives.”
“She shot him?”
“Blew out the entire back of his head, mate. Either that was a piss lucky shot, or there’s much more to her than we thought.”
“So where do I come in?” Sands blew the smoke of his cigarette straight out of his lungs, the clove scent wafting toward Smitty.
“Get inside, snoop around, find out what she knows” Smitty said, “She’s scheduled to make a trip to the States in the next couple of days without her husband. She’s traveling with one of Christodoulakis’ associates. Eliminate the associate, bring her in for interrogation. And if she tries to escape, then you are ordered to eliminate her.”
Muse: Sheldon Sands
Fandom: Once Upon a Time In Mexico / Desperado / El Mariachi
Word Count: 1402
Agent Sheldon Jeffrey Sands sat at his laptop perusing the CIA website, gnawing on the end of a pen, wishing that it was a cigarette. Goddamn it, he thought, what he wouldn’t do to have a smoke right about now. Fucking government no smoking regulations! It was enough to give him a migraine headache. He clicked on the pull down menu entitled, ‘I Chose the CIA’
‘Oh this ought to be good,” he muttered.
KATHY - Ops Officer
I heard about the Agency during a College Career Fair. Although many other positions sounded intriguing, I was drawn to the idea of living overseas and serving as a collector of intelligence. After receiving extensive training, the Agency put their complete trust in me to travel and recruit foreign agents who provide information, carrying out this entire process in a clandestine manner. Dealing with people, operating with so much independence, and relying on my own street smarts and training to make critical decisions is the ultimate challenge. Every week is different - it can be slow one minute and breakneck speed the next. I've done some thrilling operations that mirror what is seen in the movies, and I feel tremendous pride that I, an average all-American female from an average American family, am the one doing it.
What a bunch of bullshit. Did anyone in the Agency actually believe what they wrote on these things? Sands regarded it as just another way to recruit the gullible and the inexperienced youth into helping out Uncle Sam in doing his dirty laundry. And if they came looking for you, as they had done for him, they made it very hard to say, ‘no’, especially when you had any sort of real talents. He never met this ‘Kathy’ out in the field, but he swore that if he did he’d have to sit her down, give her the straight scoop. Either that, or he would have to bang her and blow her away just for the sheer enjoyment that it gave him. He hated his job, hated the slimeball he worked for and he had long since become jaded against America’s so-called war on terror. Just a whole lot more bullshit.
And the ring leader of all the bullshit was Chief Operations Officer Gerard Smith, ‘Smitty’, or as he was more affectionately known among the field agents, ‘The Pit Boss’. It was the Pit Boss that summoned Sands out of the field and back to DC for a new assignment. Sands closed the top of the laptop and drummed his fingers on the case before putting it back in his briefcase. Just as he was zipping it up, the doors of the Pit Boss’ office opened. The slick yet ruddy faced man of medium height was dressed in his characteristic dark suit, starched white shirt and tie. Someone needed to tell this idiot excuse for a superior that he didn’t need to power dress all the fucking time.
“Sands,” said Pit Boss not extending his hand but inclining his head to indicate for Sands to come into his office,”Good of you to come.”
Sands rose, gathered up his laptop case and walked inside to the mahogany paneled, dimly lit office.
“Did you have a good flight?” Smitty asked the younger man.
“Hell no,” Sands said, “you know I hate flying.”
The Pit Boss chuckled and indicated a leathern seat in front of the large antique desk that dominated the luxurious office,”Have a seat. We don’t have a lot of time before you are on another flight to your next assignment.”
“Oh, joy.” Sands took the offered chair and put down his laptop case beside him,”will I need to go shop for a new wardrobe, Boss?” Sands reached into his jacket pocket and extracted his silver cigarette case. To hell if he wasn’t going to smoke in Smitty’s office. The Pit Boss just raised an eyebrow and with a sigh reached into his top drawer and retrieved a large brass ashtray.
“Here,” Smitty said,”I figure its useless telling you not to smoke in here, Sands. Last time I had to listen to Rosarita bitch for a solid week because of what you used as an ashtray.”
“I figure I deserve a smoke if you’re going to tell me to lay it on the line for my Country. Consider it a fringe benefit for working for our Uncle.”
Smitty didn’t answer but pulled out a folder marked “Classified”. He took a quick glance inside the cover and eyed the contents before shoving it across the desk’s great expanse toward Sands.,”I’m sure you heard the announcement from Homeland Security last week about the fact that Al Queda is now recruiting non-Muslims for its cells.”
Sands nodded and took up the folder,”Sure, big surprise. We knew that they were going for the malcontents and disenfranchised masses across the boards. Some say even inside the US.” Sands opened the folder and leafed through the contents, there were a few photos, each labeled. The one on top, of a swarthy and older gentleman of obviously Middle Eastern descent caught his eye if for no other reason than the name at the bottom, Moustafa Khatib. It was a last name that Sands recognized. He had known an Ibrahim Khatib from his days in college. He had a tall, handsome Maronite Christian from Lebanon that was a whiz at computers and Sands had judged him to be nice enough if not just a little bit twisted. There had been rumors from some of the girls about college that he was a little rough, maybe a bit kinky, but then college girls, especially freshmen, always say that. Sands rifled through a bit more and came across a picture of Ibrahim. Yep, that was him. But it was the photograph just under it that caught his eye. She was starkly beautiful and with eyes that he could have fallen into. ‘Damn’, he thought, ‘what a fucking heartbreaker’!
Smitty nodded when he saw the looks of recognition and obvious interest in the last photograph,”That’s Aisha Khatib, “ he said, “She’s the sister of your friend, Ibrahim, daughter of Mostafa Khatib.”
“Well, he wasn’t exactly my friend,”Sands said, “Still, nice lookin’ sister. What about her?”
“We believe she may be working for her father, or some more prominent arms dealers or was. Word on the street is that there was a bit of familial falling out. She is not with her father, she’s come up as being more recently married to a hotelier by the name of Christodoulakis. He’s a bit of a mystery, maybe a little shady. We have agents checking it out. Apparently there was a shoot out in Amsterdam a few months back between your friend Ibrahim, his sister and the Christodoulakis organization, but we haven’t been able to get enough on him or find out enough. NSA top brass seems to think that they could be planning something.”
Sands shook his head,”Seems like rather small potatoes. No one has ever been able to pin anything on Mostafa Khatib or his family. Do we know where Ibrahim is?”
“Yep,” the Pit Boss pursed his lips, “he’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Mmhmm...shot by his own sister according to eyewitnesses. That’s why we are trying to find out more about what she is up to, if she is connected to her family still. The man whom she was betrothed to, a man by the name of Hafiz, has some very distinct connections to some top Al Queda operatives.”
“She shot him?”
“Blew out the entire back of his head, mate. Either that was a piss lucky shot, or there’s much more to her than we thought.”
“So where do I come in?” Sands blew the smoke of his cigarette straight out of his lungs, the clove scent wafting toward Smitty.
“Get inside, snoop around, find out what she knows” Smitty said, “She’s scheduled to make a trip to the States in the next couple of days without her husband. She’s traveling with one of Christodoulakis’ associates. Eliminate the associate, bring her in for interrogation. And if she tries to escape, then you are ordered to eliminate her.”
Muse: Sheldon Sands
Fandom: Once Upon a Time In Mexico / Desperado / El Mariachi
Word Count: 1402