Patty – Junior CIA Analystbycowboy109©
A gray street, towering façades, and sky scrapers marked the scene in Manhattan. Business people in sharp suits and colorful ties marched past. Business women in black dresses and white sneakers swooshed past. A little green token tree was chained to a pole. A neatly dressed homeless was only recognizably by the drunk movements in the morning.
Patty stood with her back to a marble slate wall. Her height was average 5'5". Yet, her slender body made her appear tall. Her hair was a dark blond with yellow highlights. Her face looked fresh in the morning. The lip gloss was a soft pink. She wore a new pair of jeans. Her butt looked a bit blocky in it.
Her eyes were festooned on the newsstand in front of her. The freshly printed news papers were fanned out over the counter. The prints were still warm and the ink still smudged. The messy looking clerk had wool finger gloves and rubbed them to catch a bit of warmth. Patty was waiting for dead drop.
Her feet stood squarely. There was a fat golden pipe end for the fire department. A dark water stain still marked the urine of a homeless running down the wall and across the sidewalk.
Her hand hung down the side. Her palm held onto her thigh. That was her trick to find a place for her hands, when she was nervous. A passing man eyed her. She looked away shocked to be seen. As fast did she realize that her eye avoidance was suspicious. She looked back to find the man having moved on without paying any though to her.
Her mind had nothing to do. She idly thought about what to say should someone ask her what she was doing. "Sir, I am waiting here." "Why don't you call your friend?" "She will be here any moment. Really!" What if someone accused her of scooping out the newsstand for a grab and run theft? She tried to look elsewhere.
The adrenaline startled her body. She was breathing, while trying not to think about her breathing. Her neck started shaking slightly. The muscles simply spasmed on their own. She knew that feeling of anxiety crawling inside her. She feared all the involuntary reactions of her body. That only fed the anxiety even more. She had to calm herself to let the anxiety pass.
She felt naked. The jeans were only a thin cover over her body. If they'd come off, she'd stand naked in her white thong in the cool New York morning air. Surely, everyone could see the shape over her ass and thighs. The jeans merely gave her skin a blue color, yet everyone could see her body. Her breasts under the white sweater were always clearly visible. Breasts are always for all to see. Unlike a penis, breasts always shape the clothing.
Three people in big coats passed the newsstand at the same time. It was hard to see who was doing what. The bodies overlapped each other. The front page of the NY Times was torn. That was the signal. The dead drop had been made. Patty pushed off, grabbed the paper, flung the three quarters, and darted off. If there were any hidden eyes, all eyes would be on her.
Her feet walked swiftly across 11th Avenue. The yellow traffic box with the walk sign was blinking. Pedestrians were walking everywhere with flying coats and large strides. Yellow cabbies plowed their cars left and right to gain one car length advantage on their crawl. Fresh bagel stores, flower stores, and subway entrances, all provided excellent cover for surveillance.
There was no telling who would be after her. She had to move swiftly to a bottleneck location that would reveal anyone following her. Her eyes swiftly tripled down the stairs of the tunnel to the Hudson River Park. Her heart pounded. This isolated place would be the opportunity for the opposition to snatch her. The tunnel was a dark littered long tube. She could see the trees and grass at the far end of the tunnel.
Nobody bothered with the Hudson River Park at this time. There were only homeless people sleeping sheltered by the bushes. The steps of her soft soled snickers gently echoed in the otherwise silent pedestrian tunnel. She could not hear any steps behind her. Her heart was pounding in anticipation.
Once on the other side of the tunnel, she took cover behind the tunnel wall. Her fingers wrapped around the black boxy Taser with the shiny metal prongs. Guns were not approved for training missions.
Patty's heart pounded. The throat burned from the sharp inhales. Her mind was blanked to solely focus on the Taser in her hand and the spring action to push the thing onto anybody's throat, who might follow her. Her free hand steadied leaned against the wall to steady herself from the wobbly feeling of an overabundant rush.
Silence. Nothing happened. A few birds were singing. A homeless dropped a glass bottle.
"Okay," Patty whispered to herself. If she'd stick her head out to see into the tunnel, she would give her ambush away. However, if there was nobody, she'd simply stand like silly forever. Very slowly, she moved her head passed the wall. When her eye could see the tunnel, she felt like her giant pumpkin head was the size of a garbage truck – so visible. There was nobody.
Patty walked on. She circled around the park and went into the nearby office building. It was one of those dingy building with printers. Big boxes of paper stood everywhere in the cramped building. Her office was on the twelve's floor. A freight elevator took her there. The buttons were so worn that one always worried, if they would register. The elevator had little jumps upon starting and stopping. The door was a cage door that let the passenger see all the floors that it passed.
The office door looked like any other dingy printer office - a heavy metal door that made a dragging sound on the floor. A little water cooler was cramped into a corner. Two foldout chares for visitors barely fit in. The reception room was the size of a prison cell. Dirt stains had developed after years of only light dusting.
Past the reception room was her department office. The CIA seal proudly adorned the wall. An American flag sagged in the ever windowless office. Those were all the decorations. Four desks with phones, black Dell computers, and paper piles filled the small backroom. The whole operation was in here. The office was separate from the known CIA offices in Manhattan for a low profile.
"Patty, I see you brought me my morning newspaper."
"Yes, Grenoble, here you go."
Grenoble was about eight years older than twenty-two year old Patty. Grenoble wore an impeccable business suit with a metal pin of the American flag. Her eyes were black as her hair. A little rouge made her cheeks rosier than natural rosy cheeks. The skirt was short, tight, and had a triangle cut out the front. Grenoble sat uncomfortable in the low end office chair, because the skirt was so tight. Her high heels tapped on the floor.
"Listen up, kids," announced Grenoble.
"Your second day in the field office has started. For the next months, you will apply all the techniques from training in the real world. Reading about protocols in a textbook and playing role plays with your classmates is very different than reality. Reality is unscripted. Anything can happen."
"While you are in the training office, you will not engage in any live operation. You will practice basic intelligence gathering. You will survey regular people. You will setup safe houses. You will not see any action or even benefit. However, know this. All the data that you gather could become critical in a live mission."
"Imagine you interviewed a regular residential high rise. Nothing's going on there. However, one day a terror suspect moves in. Then, our field team draws on your intelligence. When the terror suspect moves in, there is no time to gather this intelligence. It has to be primed and ready."
"So, your first assignment is to make those phones smoke. You will pose as a telemarketer to make a survey for a made up book publishing company. Your true target will be to identify their daily habits, roommates, and e-mail address. You will here a lot of rejections and hang ups. You will become very discouraged. You will see no point in calling a random residential tower. And, that's the point. The biggest enemy of intelligence gathering is frustration and pointlessness until you find that one detail that changes the course of the war on terror."
"Go at it. Nobody leaves before I am satisfied. Let that be the motivation."
Grenoble starred down one by one until the crew of three tugged on their yellow call notepads, cheap pens, and eventually lifted the head set. Patty glanced at Sandy's red, blustered head and Angela's pale white, tense head. Patty's screen was blinking to indicate that a pre-dialed line was ready for her to answer. She silently whispered to herself, "I will be noble." That was a little advice that her yoga teacher had given her, a little affirmation to spell before having a difficult conversation.
"Hi, this is Patty with Green Morning Marketing Associates. I'd like conduct a marketing survey with a chance to win an iPad. It will only take a few minutes. Would you be interested?"
A tense, female, middle aged, Brooklyn accented voice hissed, "Shove the phone down your face, cunt! (click)" Patty got a mental glimpse of the caller wearing tacky red nail polish and poorly bleached, dull hair.
The monitor cheerily announced, "presence confirmed, beginning attendance analysis, ten more calls to predict home presence with 50% certainty, 1 point awarded." The call ready sign was already blinking with the next pre-dialed call. Patty drew the air in sharply threw her nose. She captured a moment of Angela's high pitched tense voice shaking, while she read a question.
"Hi, this is Patty Morning with Green. No, I'm morning green with associates. There is this survey you should take. It'll win you an iPad. No, no, you don't get an iPad, it'll enter you into drawing. Yeah, and it's about marketing... sorry... let me start over. I am getting all garbled."
An old, male voice answered. There were pauses in the voice not from hesitation, but a challenge to clear the throat and form a clear thought: "That is very nice of you. I would like to participate in the survey. Go ahead, darling."
"Okay," Patty smiled and a feeling of happiness welled in her chest, "how many books a month do you read?"
"Young lady, you have such a lovely voice," said the old man with a voice raspy from age, "could you ask me the question again? I love hearing your voice. Could you speak a little softer?"
"Okay, how many books a month do you read?" Patty blushed a little for her new colleagues hearing her talk with a sex phone operator voice.
"Oh, I read the same book over and over. It's Lolita. Let me ask you a question. How old are you?"
There was slight panting on the other end of the phone kind of like a dog trying to stifle its panting to avoid being heard.
"Uh, I'm 23 years old. Have you ever bought a book online?"
"You are a sweet young girl. No, I don't have one of those new fangled computers. What are you wearing, child?"
There was another nasal pant. Patty visualized an old shriveled man sitting on a decade old hard wooden chair in a room with curtains bleached by decades of sun light. She imagined him with his old man pants down the knees handling his penis. The mental image made her shudder with disgust from deep in her gut.
Grenoble made quick steps toward Patty. Patty froze with the caller equally breathlessly waiting. Grenoble's slender hand with the old fashioned gold ring covered the microphone. Grenoble's cheek rested against Patty's hair as she whispered into Patty's ear: "You have a compromised caller. Put out a little bait, move of the script, and get as much intel as possible."
Patty stuttered, "I am wearing blue jeans. It's new. It's my first time wearing."
"You young girls buy those ripped jeans that show thighs, calves, and sometimes butt."
"No..." Grenoble pressed her thumbs on Patty's thigh in a putting-the-pressure-on motion. "Actually, they are completely ripped up the front. My whole thighs are peaking through. And, I got one rip running across my right butt. When I bent forward, my green panties show through the slit. I wear them to tease my boss. I bent down in front of his office. And, I could see his face squirm. He's been coming by my desk all day."
Grenoble showed the thumbs up gesture. The panting on the phone became more intense, "What... What else are you wearing?"
"We have to do a little quit pro quo. You tell me, if there are any other cute girls in your building. And, I tell you more about me."
"Oh, there is this blond head downstairs. She has clear bond hair all the way to her fanny. She works at the Starbucks around the corner. I sometimes stay in front of her door and I can hear her moaning. I don't think that there is a boy friend. I can only hear. I stand there for a little bit."
"Oh, there is this really rude black haired girl. She is heavy and ugly. She always comes home very late from work. But, her boobs are so large and jiggling. She keeps her door key under the welcome mat. I accidentally stubbed my toe on her mat once and kicked it over. Your turn."
"Those jeans are kind of tight. They are not worn in yet. I need to get out of them for a little bit. (panting) I'll just pop the top button or maybe the second one, too. Phew, that feels so much better. I hope nobody notices that my panties are showing. (a stifled groan)" The line clicked.
Grenoble looked sternly at Patty, "You let your mark come. You need to learn to string them along." Grenoble swiveled her crossed-knee skirt butt off Patty's desk.
Patty's mind flickered with the old man in his old clothes, handling the penis with aging spots and the gooey come on his hands and belly. A hard pounding tension in her head made her feel that her dignity had been stripped off her. The monitor happily announced that she had received 10 points for the intel.
The calling system mercilessly pushed call after call on the girls. The constant tension of calling on strangers was grinding with boredom. A tension headache had set in. The pain dimmed the emotional anxiety about calling. The breathing became tense and shallow. The whole plainless of the room sunk in. There was nothing pretty or elevating about the room – only impersonal office walls. It told you, who you were – a nobody, a cog in a machine.
"Do you guys have any aspirin? I got a head ache."
Angela set up a little more upright than she had already been sitting. Her blond hair was neatly pulled back into a pony tail. Every strand of her was pulled back. She was wearing standard office clothing from Banana Republic – khaki pants and a white blouse. Nobody buys just office clothes without a little fun or something special to it. These clothes had a straight standard cut and appropriate fit. There was nothing fancy about the color or the details.
Angela wagged her finger with her nose held high and spoke with a sweet, angelic, high pitched void, "I don't do drugs. If I need something, I ask god for it. We should pray together and your headache will be gone."
Patty grinched on the inside – a proselytizing Christian, "I'll just take an aspirin."
Sandy smiled with a smirk, "I've got a new bottle." She picked it out of her hand bag. She handed the bottle to Patty. On the way back, she dropped the paper packaging toward the trash can and missed. She bent over to pick it up. Her butt fully stretched the tight, white leggings. She was a bit chubby and the bent only made her butt expand even larger. The color of her pink skin shone through the white fabric, because it had been stretched so thin. Her g-string was clearly visible. It was silver and sparkled red-yellow-white in the office light.
"Why are you wearing leggings at work?"
"Oh, I was on assignment at the UN this morning. I had to play the unintentionally slutty nanny. You know, the girl that doesn't try to be a slut, but somehow her clothing ends up being revealing. My job was to distract a middle aged family man. Those pervs always have to stair. So, I did my little clumsy routine and had his full attention. In the meantime, the field team hooked him up with a microphone and tracker. Those leggings are two sizes too small. Otherwise, the thong didn't show clear enough."
"Wow, you were on a field mission."
"Uh, it's not a big deal. I was just an extra actor."
"It's at least something. We are just calling random citizens with no point. And that's after we had training simulations for advanced combat, infiltration, interrogation, and..."
"Patty, are you feeling that you are too good for solid intelligence work?" asked Grenoble.
"Grenoble, it's just that I feel ready. I'm ready to be in the field."
"Oh, you are ready to be in the field. Would you bet on that?"
"What kind of bet?"
"I drop you off and you retrieve a piece of intel. If you come back with it, you win. If you fail, you are on shit detail and don't get to say another word. Are you still feeling cocky?"
Patty's heart was beating. Her lungs were pumping and made her want to say big things. And, then only a little squeak came out: "I'm mission ready."
Grenoble smiled for the first time with true pleasure, "then get yourself in a business suit."
Minutes later, Patty was sitting in the passenger seat of an oversized black SUV. Everything was black about the SUV, the outside color, the seats, and the steering wheel. Everything was a little oversize, the steering wheel, the chairs, the armrest handle. Patty felt herself little in her tight business suit. A gray cross-hatched pencil skirt kept her thighs together. She looked at her knees that poked a little past the hem. She was wearing a silky white office blouse that felt foreign to her being so fresh out of college.
Silence remained between them. Patty glanced occasionally at Grenoble. Grenoble looked like an ant steering an elephant. The power difference must have been obvious to Grenoble, because she sat firmly squared in her seat with an iron grip on the steering wheel to show the SUV who was boss.
The gently roaring engine calmed down to a whisper, when the car slowed down next to the curb. "The field is out there, Patty. Open the door and you are inside the field." Patty had extra spit in her mouth and tried not to gulp. "Do you see that green dumpster down the alley?" Patty nodded. Her mind spun stories of her infiltrating the building through a backdoor past the dumpster. "Your mission is to find the phone bill with the phone log for apartment 1B."
"Your mission is to find the phone bill with the phone log for apartment 1B in the dumpster. Get out!"
Shocked by the bossy yelling, Patty opened the door and stepped down from the high SUV seat. Grenoble drove off without waiting for Patty to close the door. Patty heard the click behind her of the acceleration snapping the door closed. Grenoble didn't even want to relish in her victory of watching Patty dumpster dive in a business suit.
The sidewalk was empty. All the tenants were at work. A front desk receptionist looked bored out of the big glass entrance of the building. The receptionist was a heavy set black man in one of those silly uniforms with the gold stripes and a hat. The lobby had couches and a fake fire place to receive visitors. The building was one of those fifty story apartment high rises.
Patty slowly walked down the alley. Her black high heels had delicately skinny straps and gold buckles. Her step wobbled a bit from being so young in life that wearing a business suit was a new experience. She felt equally high for having joined the business tier at least visually and equally low for feeling vulnerable and helpless in her situation.
The alley was a typical alley. The pavement was all messed up with cracks, fixed pot holes, permanent garbage stains, little trap doors into the basement, fire hydrants that accumulated refuse around them. The green dumpster had been beaten up severely. The paint had chipped off sections. The sections had rusted into a brown color. Newer gashes exposed the silvery metal beneath. A yellow sign read the phone number for the waste removal company. The lid had been blown off long ago.