by Mark McCoy
Location is also a mystical matter. Things are not always under your control. A car swerves onto the sidewalk, a bullet is accidentally shot, a bouquet of flowers is thrown by the bride. Who will be hit by lightning? Early understanding and analysis are important. A striker can’t know for certain that the ball from a corner kick will land on his head, but he can certainly increase the chance that it happens. The more elements in the equation and the less time you have to decide, the more skill you need to get the precise answer. Would you prefer to sit with your back to the door, or your face to the door but the sun in your eyes? Having sun in your eyes is temporary. You can wear sunglasses or a hat with a visor until the sun sets. A door at your back is a fixed and final fact.
A stewardess leaves the first-class kitchen with hot coffee. Who is more likely to have coffee spilt on them, the passenger in the first or second row? Clearly, the exit is the state of change, so it seems the stewardess will be less focused here. From this, it can be understood that the first row is prone to trouble. However, if the stewardess slips on her way to the first-row passenger, there’s a chance that, in her attempt to recover, the first row will be saved, and the unavoidable collapse will occur at the second row. Of course, all of this drama could also happen in the sixth row. I just want you to start paying attention to detail.
A propos airplanes and the art of location, some airlines place security personnel on every flight. They sit in the same seats every time. It’s not a coincidence. Someone explored the issue and reached the conclusion that this was the right place for the job. He was right, of course. It’s the place I want for myself. But it’s always taken. Always.
Timing
This is no less important. Everything rises and falls in a decisive moment, the fraction of a second after which you might be burned. Any leopard can come within three hundred yards of any deer. The trick is for the leopard to get as close as possible before it starts its assault, a moment before the deer discovers it and tries to escape.
Anyone can trick anyone. The question is how far you can go before you’re caught. A figure sits with his back to you; you approach softly on a wooden floor. The closer you get, the greater your chance of hitting him. The floorboards are old and dry. If you keep approaching, you may make a sound. Maybe he’ll sense that something isn’t quite right behind him. Maybe he also has a sixth sense. Chances are, he does. Which one of you will have the ability to know when one more moment is too late ?
Observation
Unlike vision, observation contains two other elements: thought and drawing conclusions. The man in front of you is a resort manager in Thailand. He looks to be in his forties, tanned, fairly muscular but already developing a gut. He speaks English well. If you observe carefully, you’ll see: the back of his neck is carved by deep sun lines; his hands are not the hands of a clerk, nor are they the hands of a farmer; his shoulders are not equal in height (the left one droops slightly); he wears safari pants with a belt; there are sunglasses hanging around his neck; on his left wrist, a Seiko watch; in his right hand, the business section from today’s paper; it’s eleven o’clock in the morning and he’s clean shaven, with a few bristles under his nose. He socializes with some of the guests, doesn’t really motivate the staff. At his temples, close to his hairline, there’s a narrow strip of light skin. You’ve never seen him use a mobile device. And so on.
Now I’ll tell you what I think: This man is easily seduced. Looking for opportunities. Unconnected and uncommitted. This is his first job as a resort manager, probably his last. Born into a middle-class family, Australian or maybe British. Moved around a bit as a child because of his parents’ work. They must have divorced. Used to play tennis. Didn’t try too hard. A bit lazy. Became a tennis instructor. Had a few good years. Knows how to connect with people and likes befriending his superiors. Important for him to look good, but not a perfectionist. Began drinking at night. Probably whiskey. Gained weight over the past two years. Discovered the delights of life. Wants money. Feels as though he’s wasted years of his life, and now’s his chance. Prefers nights to mornings. Had a haircut this week. Has problems with women. Doesn’t have one right now. I wouldn’t trust him.
Seems a bit too much? I won’t go into the entire analysis. I’ll just say one thing: You can spot significant weight change by examining the location of a belt hole. A hole that was used regularly is wider, and followed by a trace of the groove that was left by the clasp. When someone loses weight, the wider hole appears before the new hole; when someone gains wait, the wider hold is behind it. Observation is the basis for every decision.
One of the stages in agent training is catching pickpockets. It’s our contribution to the local police force. The trainers put you in a crowded subway line that suffers from petty crime. You have to spot the person who just pickpocketed someone and make a sign to an undercover cop so they can catch the thief red-handed. You’re measured by your ability to assess and locate.
I’ve never understood how pickpockets don’t realize that if they wear sunglasses when they read the newspaper, I’ll spot them in a second.
Your Car
City of refuge
Ever since I had my old Pontiac with the hole around the antenna, I’ve understood that a car is much more than a car. It’s a city of refuge. Seats, heating, music, a phone, GPS, glove compartment, mirror – where else do you have so much comfort, so much privacy, such control? Try to adopt the belief that your car is your mobile rescue station. Anytime, anywhere.
Your vehicle is you. Not in the eyes of those around you; in your eyes. Every detective, every mafia man, every character in a movie was close to the car that represented him. Just look how right a pickup was for Mel Gibson. So he could take his dog, go to the mountains, and threaten to kill himself with a gun. Imagine Gibson in a Ford Fiesta. No way.
One time, when I was on a mission in Beirut, we were looking for a car that wouldn’t stand out. In the end we took a ‘69 Mercedes and installed a new eight-cylinder engine. It looked like a pile of junk, but we knew we could rely on it .
Preparation
It’s true that, as someone who has spent many a night in his car, I may be exaggerating a bit, but a car is definitely something that can be used as an emergency storage room. First of all, stick a duplicate key on the underside of the car. There are tiny magnetic boxes designed exactly for this. Sound silly? Let’s say you go to a movie. Just as you arrive at the car, your keys slip out of your hand, straight into the sewer. Your date thinks the situation is lost, that you’re a moron, an unlucky bastard. Don’t let her jump to conclusions. Go to the car nonchalantly, reach under the bumper, take out the duplicate key, and start the car which also contains a spare key to your apartment. You come out looking like a magician, a king, a man, and she’ll never forget it.
Keep a small suitcase in the trunk of your car. Put a spare key to your apartment in it. Put toiletries, underwear, a T-shirt, socks, an old leather jacket. In the glove compartment, I want you to have a few items handy at all times: Tylenol, antihistamines for sudden allergic reactions, gloves. You can also keep some Viagra here for all I care, but you must remember one thing: aspirin. If you feel bad suddenly or think you’re having a heart attack, aspirin can save your life. It gives you about two hours to make it to a hospital. No heart attack, no problem, but there’s aspirin in the glove compartment.
No less critical: pills to stop diarrhea. Every secret agent in the world keeps aspirin and a pill to stop diarrhea in his wallet. You’ve been watching a suspect for an entire night, and just when he leaves his apartment, you have a bout of diarrhea. By the way, just then, because of the sudden excitement, that’s exactly what happens. If you go for a walk along the beach with her on your first date and you get diarrhea – not so fun.
Go to the pharmacy and get yourself an EpiPen (you know, those needles that you self-inject into your thigh) against poison, nerve gas, bee stings and severe allergies. It’s true, you’re not a secret agent, but it’s a good
idea and can save your life. Assassination attempts are not uncommon in the world of espionage, and there are cases of mistaken identity. It could happen to you. Our agent in Cambodia was attacked by a swarm of bees and immediately developed an allergic reaction that was expressed in suffocation. He injected himself with his EpiPen and was saved.
Young children suffer from stridor. The result is dramatic stenosis of the windpipe. An injection prevents suffocation.
Hide a bit of money in your car too, local currency, or foreign currency if you are abroad. You can’t always find an ATM when you need one. What I’m trying to say is, don’t rely on one. It’s true, someone could steal your car, but you don’t have anything of real value in it anyway, just some equipment for moments of truth. Needless to say, it’s best if you know how to change a tire, and everything else that has to do with that. Don’t be lazy; give the whole thing a try on some free weekend. You don’t want to go out looking for the spare wheel on a stormy night. Don’t get stuck without gas. Leave the humiliations to someone else.
If you don’t have a cell phone installed in your car and only have one mobile device, make sure you keep a spare device in the car. It’s nighttime, late, you discover that you’ve lost your phone. Don’t rely on the mercy of someone on the street. Take a photo of your car papers and put them in the suitcase. You don’t have your license, but at least you have a photograph. It could save you a nighttime trip to the local sheriff’s office. The same logic is behind packing toiletries, a razor, a change of clothes—you never know when you might have a fling. This way, you have everything you need in your car, even aftershave. You know the saying “A man’s home is his castle.” Well, I say, “A man’s car is his embassy.” Secret apartment, weapons, communication and support center. By the way, I also have a jar of instant coffee in the car. Press the bottom of the jar, wait five seconds, and voila – hot coffee. The day will come, probably at night, when I’ll use it.
Driving
When it comes to using the car, let me give you some advice: Take a driving course. I recommend rally driving and a few lessons on an ice rink. This is much more important than another trip to London or a lazy week in Thailand. A few facts:
On a winding, smooth road, one where you usually drive no more than thirty miles an hour, you’ll be able to drive up to fifty miles an hour if not more.
If you find yourself in a ditch after skidding off the road, you’ll continue on your way to Venice as if nothing happened.
On a frozen lake in Lapland, you do a lap in ten, eleven minutes. A professional rally driver does it in six. I do it in seven, eight. A few lessons, a few sessions, you can too .
Before you take a driving course, you should learn some driving secrets. First of all, you need to know whether you’re driving a vehicle with front or rear-wheel drive. In front-wheel drive, the motor is connected to and powers the front wheels. In rear-wheel drive, the motor is connected and powers the rear wheels. Classic European vehicles like BMW and Mercedes have rear-wheel drive; Japanese cars like Toyota and Mazda have front-wheel drive. Rear-wheel drive vehicles tend to oversteer. This means that when you’re going into a turn, the rear part of the car seems to want to push straight forward, causing the front part of the car to go too far into the turn and risk spinning out. A vehicle with front-wheel drive has the opposite problem. It has sub-steering, which means the front part of the car slides away from the direction of the turn.
The treatment for these two problems is the opposite of each other. That’s why for amateur drivers, front-wheel drive is preferable. Avoiding the skid is done with a driver’s natural instinct. Experienced drivers and rally drivers prefer rear-wheel drive because it allows for a controlled skid. Amidst all of this, remember that the distribution of the car’s weight over its wheels is very important. When a car accelerates, it rises slightly at the front which means there is less weight on the front wheels. When braking, the car goes down a bit at the front, which means there is less weight on the rear wheels. This basic law of physics directly affects the car’s grip on the road.
Take a course, you’ll learn and understand. Not only is it fun, but it gives you some important experience. Remember this simple fact: You’ll never be able to hire a skilled driver. Worse than that, if you don’t learn, you’ll never be able to get away from one.
My Umbrella
A story without a moral, maybe with
She was my operations partner. Daria. I broke a basic rule. I fell in love in her. I broke an even more basic rule. I didn’t report it. Her code name was Umbrella. I needed her when it was sunny, too.
She was a few years younger than me, a graduate from a prestigious university in the east. Brunette, green eyes, one hundred and thirty pounds, five feet seven inches tall. Liked skiing and guns. Her father had been in the army in a senior position. Eliminated from a navy pilot course just before the end. He was fluent in five languages. Tough face, strong handshake, soft soul.
We started off on the wrong foot. She lost a target (the person she was tracking). I was in charge of the front command room. During the investigation, I was cool and cynical. She argued that more pressure in the tracking would cause her to be exposed. I said I wasn’t sure that would be such a loss. Hurried and stupid. She refused to accept my apology, justifiably.
Years later, she was assigned to be my partner. We spent weeks together. Trained in source security (a method for preventing source exposure), geolocation (location discovery using technology), situations and reactions (action scenario analysis). We passed our tests with the highest grades. Our assessor snooped to see if I didn’t know her a bit too well. I said no. At the time, it was true.
Our first mission was in Spain. We arrived as a couple on vacation. I was transfixed by how she looked in her outfit. We stayed in the same hotel room. We were ordered to follow a meeting between two Iranian agents and two German arms dealers. There was a well-founded suspicion that the Germans were transferring anti-aircraft missiles to a country that supported terrorism. The Israeli Mossad had passed on the information. I was worried that there would be Mossad agents in the hotel too, and that they would interfere with our surveillance.
At night, we went for a stroll to gather more preoperative information. We spotted the Germans, identified their rental car, and attached a tracking device to it that transmits location data. At breakfast the next morning, I stayed in the room and Daria was supposed to go downstairs with tourist maps of the area. The Germans began talking with her. Superficial familiarity. Toward evening, they invited her to a drink at the bar. She sent me a message and I came downstairs. I joined them. They were in Spain as representatives of a company that markets adventure tours for Germans (a classic agent cover story which allows them to go on tours, “get lost” and ask lots of questions). I thought one of them was flirting with her. She giggled and let him touch her to his heart’s content.
Back in our room, I told her that I thought there had been excessive contact. She asked if I was jealous. I told her that I wasn’t really her boyfriend. She started exercising in the room. I pretended to be absorbed in the news. Her sweaty shirt distracted me from the screen. Her nipples were clearly visible. Her breasts bounced at different rhythms. She was absorbed in the music from her headphones. When she moved on to sit-ups, she asked if I could hold her legs. Silly and reckless. Maybe not. I got up, sat on the carpet, and held her feet. She folded herself up and down, over and over again. Her shirt stuck to her chest. My breath stuck in my throat.
“Are you going to shave?” She asked, panting. “Why, should I?” I answered. “I think so,” she said. “We sound like a couple,” I said. “We’re not?!” she wondered. “Could we be?” I snapped back. “If you didn’t work at the office,” she answered. A surprise. What did she mean, I wondered. “Who would be with the children now?” she added, reading my thoughts. “Do you want children?” I asked. Silence. In response, I leaned toward her, she was sweaty and sexier than ever, and put my lips closer to hers. We wer
e drawn passionately. In a moment, she took charge. I experienced a moment I didn’t want to end. A warm, open, intensive moment. Comfort, that’s the word.
My loneliness vanished as though it had never been there. I felt as though I was a part of something. To someone. I wanted to live. I was afraid it would end. That I would die. Her breath penetrated my heart. Her nails dug into my back. I moved toward her slowly. She lifted her hips and grasped me in the small of my back. She wouldn’t let me move, sharing my desire to stop time. I kissed her eyes. She cried. I made noises I’d never known before. She bit my lip. I felt a pleasurable pain I’d never felt before. We turned over, her on me. Only then did she take off her shirt and begin to rise and fall, slowly, without opening her eyes. I was mesmerized by the sight of her breasts, the rounded abundance and perfect nipples.
She clutched my wrists as if she were subduing me, lay down on me, and with catlike movements she clung and let go. She kissed my neck. She bit my ears. “I want you,” she whispered. I couldn’t understand whether she meant now or in the future. The thought that we were doing something forbidden flashed in my mind for the first time. The passion burned in me even more. I pushed her on her back and began to move inside of her forcefully. I became an animal. She moaned, also from the pain of lying on the floor. I didn’t let go. I preferred that she think I was macho aggressive, not romantic thoughtful. Then she made a series of sighs that I’d never heard before in my life. Lucky, I would not have lasted one more minute. I came seconds after her. I stayed inside of her, breathing into the carpet.
I couldn’t look at her. We lay there, without saying a word, for several minutes. I pulled out of her and climbed onto the bed. I put the pillow on my head. She went into the shower. What now, I asked myself. She came out wrapped in a towel, sat in front of the mirror and started brushing her hair. We stayed silent. I went into the shower. The hot, strong spray lashed my neck. I stayed in the shower for a long time, soaping my sins.
