by Mark McCoy
When I walked back into the room, she was already dressed. “We have work to do,” she said dryly. And it hit me. What if something happens to her while I am in love? Can I behave as I am supposed to? I got dressed and we went to the bar together. We drank Campari and soda. We didn’t speak. My pocket vibrated. The tracking device. Our friends were on the move. We hurried to the car and turned on the surveillance screen.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Fine,” she said. “You?”
“I don’t know.”
The surveillance device signaled that they were stopping. We arrived just after them. Twenty minutes outside of town, on a narrow road along the seashore. A Calypso club. Some generic name. “I’m going in,” said Daria. “Take care of yourself,” I said.
She wore a black wig and glasses (non-prescription, but with a tiny microphone attached to the arm), took the cellular camera (a special invention that enables daylight-quality zoom shots) and slipped in. Five minutes passed. I felt drops of sweat in my palms. Damn. I hadn’t felt this way in a long time. I hadn’t felt at all. What was happening to me?
“All the kids are home,” she whispered. “Be careful,” I replied. “I’m at the bar, they are at a table beside me.” I sat in the car for about an hour. You’re sweating under your armpits, I told myself. I wanted a cigarette. I quit smoking five years ago. After a few minutes, she left the club and quickly entered the car. I turned on the engine and we drove quietly down the desolate road. “A strip club,” she said. “There were some very sexy girls there. Maybe you should go?”
She handed me the camera. I looked through the pictures. The two Germans could be seen in the company of two eastern-looking men showing them images of what appeared to be personal anti-aircraft missiles. Bingo. I could not help but marvel, at the information and at Daria. “Go on,” she said. I looked further. Two men could be seen drinking beer while two girls sat on their laps. “Who are these guys?” I asked. “The Israelis, I guess,” she said. “They were also on to them. Wait, you’ll see,” she added. The next picture was unbelievable. One of the girls moved from the lap of one of the Israelis and kissed one of the arms dealers on his bald spot while her friend took a picture. “Those Israelis are bastards,” I hissed. “What do you care?” she said. “We got what we wanted.” She was right. My ego had triggered me. “Let’s go back to the hotel,” she said.
We stopped at some tapas bar along the way. When we got out of the car, she looked up at the sky and took a long breath. I grabbed her from behind and kissed the back of her neck. She turned. We embraced. I knew we had fallen in love.
At the bar I ordered a whiskey. Clean. I looked at her. Panther. “Two years I’ve been waiting for you,” she said. “Why did you wait?” I asked. “So we would be equal.” I sighed. Already in the course, she had been ambitious, focused, uncompromising. “What will we give up?” I asked. “Nothing,” she replied. “Nobody will know. We’ll stop our activities as a team.” “It’s against orders,” I said. “I was trained to keep secrets,” she answered. “I swore to report the truth,” I said, “and so did you.” She said, “I have nothing to report. There’s nothing. I don’t remember that there was anything.”
At the hotel, I gave her the honor of calling the office. “All the children feel great,” she said. “I’ll send pictures, you can see that we’re having a great time.” I liked her phrasing. On the return flight, I held myself back from holding her hand. Her smell made me dizzy, maybe because I recognized in it not only her body but also a sense of security. I’m not alone in the world.
I have no moral to share with you in that story. I just wanted to share.
Big Mouth
Words can kill
The life of a spy is not simple. Life itself is not self-evident. The constant danger sharpens your awareness of death, but also the role you play in your life.
Life is a movie. It’s a fact, not a philosophical axiom. There’s something in our personality that enables us to risk our lives until death. It’s not heroism, it’s a genetic flaw.
Come and take – you, who do not have to take these types of risks every day – the smooth and nice part of it all. From our worldview, come and take vividness. Comfort. Coolness.
You can act the right way. You’re an actor in a show. You can be a secondary actor or the lead. It’s your choice. It’s true that it’s a real play. You can go to a hospital or to jail and say thanks if you participate to the end. But if you understand and internalize that this is all one big play – that at the end the curtain falls and all of us go home – you’ll be able to free yourself, to take things lightly, to dare and take flight. Not only will she respect you more, but you will too.
In a play, the text is the anchor. “To be or not to be.” Does it matter the way you read this line? Often, an agent’s verbal skills determine his fate more than any other skill. You have to activate and influence strangers – with your words alone – in hotels, on the train, at airports, border stations. Courting, seducing, persuading.
There are many guidelines about the first conversation. It’s not easy to make a positive impression. It’s also not easy to correct a negative impression. That’s why there’s the concept of the opening line. Let’s start by forgetting clichés like, “You look familiar…” Someone who tries to use that line with me will be met with, “Yeah, I think you sold me some shoes.”
First of all, look at her. Who is she? What do her clothes say about her? What’s her style? Her hair, handbag, shoes, glasses. Her body language, how she moves. Is she introverted or a social butterfly? Her body type, age, face. Did she order her drink decisively or does she have no idea what she’s ordering? How does she eat, act, laugh? Maybe you don’t even like her? Keep your self-confidence, but don’t deteriorate into vulgarity. Gentle, polite, witty, mischievous, nonaggressive. That’s the way. And the look you give before uttering that first line is like setting the ball on the white spot before the kick. Your magic touch, Maradona, begins here.
Let’s take a difficult situation. Elevators. You’re not alone. Ten more seconds and she’s out on the street. What now? You walk out after her. “Hi. My name is Mark, sorry that I’m holding you back for a moment from the race of life. I saw you in the elevator and told myself I must meet you. This is the first time I’ve ever done this. Can we go for a coffee? Now, tomorrow, whenever you want. I work here, on the thirteenth floor. Business consulting.”
Let’s analyze: “My name is Mark, sorry that I’m holding you back.” You’re not some nameless guy from the street. You apologized for your interruption. You are quiet, considerate, but you follow your heart. “For a moment from the race of life.” You gave her a big compliment. You see she’s in a race. You understand that she’s not playing a game. She has a career, she’s under stress, you offer a slight respite. “I must meet you.” Because you are intriguing, ignite the imagination, worth it, exciting. “Must meet” implies a missed opportunity if the meeting doesn’t happen. Maybe she’ll think so too. “This is the first time...” Great. You’re not a serial womanizer. This time, unlike your usual custom, you gathered courage and followed your heart. “Now, tomorrow...” no pressure. You aren’t going anywhere. She can go and enjoy the thought that there is something fun waiting for her. “Whenever you want.” She decides. The ball is in her court. Excellent. “I work here...in business consulting.” A serious guy, orderly, on his way up, also pretty busy. Surely interesting, without vanity. Beautiful.
There are more interesting situations. More extreme. Nothing to lose. You can be tougher. Go for the jackpot. In any case, if it’s not intriguing and stimulating, then it doesn’t really interest you, and there’s no reason to pretend. You see her as an object of desire and want her to notice this between the lines. These are situations that begin with verbal wrangling, in midst of the eternal struggle between the sexes. But without fear. You are the hunter. She is the deer. She runs faster but you have the weapons. The fact is, she wants to be caught.
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br /> You: “An ordinary Nokia ringtone doesn’t suit you. ”
She: “As long as it’s not you calling, there’s no problem.” (Yes!)
You: “I don’t call a woman whose ringtone sounds like a million other ringtones.”
She: “You choose women according to their ringtone?”
You: “No. According to their personality. Their mind. Every moment, I hear a ringtone like this. How am I supposed to know if it’s yours? Don’t you want to feel a bit special?”
She: “I feel special. I don’t need noise and ringtones to know it.”
You: “Maybe you’re just too lazy to change the ringtone. Maybe there’s no one to change it for you. Maybe you’ve been using the same ringtone for a long time.” (You’re exaggerating a bit, the symbolism is clear.)
She: “The main thing is that I don’t need to hear your little bell.” (She’s hurt, she fires back.)
You take a leap. You sit on her desk. “Mark McCoy. Let’s grow up a bit. I guess I wanted to call you and sound special. The problem must be with me.”
She: “Tanya Kahn. I just got the phone today and haven’t played with the functions yet. You thought I’d get stuck with the Nokia ring? I expected more from you.”
You: “Orange Champagne?”
She: “Cassis Champagne. Please.”
Bingo.
Advanced conversations
This is your fourth or fifth time together. Everything is less stressful, but the road is long. There’s interest, curiosity, attraction. But the criticism mechanism is starting to work, too. How you talk, how you behave, your habits of conversation, the table layout, how much of a gentleman are you, spontaneous, cute, funny?
First of all, let her talk. Be attentive. When she talks, ask questions. Show interest. You’re supposed to remember the things that she says. When you talk, don’t turn into a movie track on play. Check that she’s with you. Tell her true, real things, but leave room for curiosity. Don’t go overboard with details. You can tell her that you once spent half a year in Mexico, there will be time later to tell her what you did there. On the other hand, you’re not a headline editor at the local paper. You should expand on what happened to you while you were a barman at the Sanderson in London.
Go for two specific, enticing stories. Let her feel your moment, late at night, when Elton John left you a five hundred pound tip and you had to decide whether the money should go to the shared tip cup or straight into your pocket. Your ex-girlfriend was a cellist at the Academy of Music. You met after she came to the bar after a show at the Palace Theater. Here, don’t expand. Let her fill in the blanks. “Why did it end?” It’s a long story – I’ll tell you one day. No rush.
When you’re the talker, communicate life. Tell a story, not a grocery list. It doesn’t have to be dramatic or hair-raising, but it has to show your humanity, discernment, emotion. You must understand one central issue: It doesn’t matter what the actual story is. It matters how you behaved, what you thought, what mattered to you, if were you moral, whether you were generous. It really doesn’t matter if it was regarding a crate of vegetables or guns, what really matters is what you did after you found a litter of cats in the crate. You see, in every story of yours, she will see herself. She’ll try to predict your future together from your past. She’ll tell her friend if you have a heart, if you fascinate her, frighten her, or both.
Have you asked about her parents? Sisters, brothers? Get on with it. What happens at her job? Does she like it? Who is her boss? How is he? If you haven’t slept over at her place yet, when does she get up, what does she do in the morning? Does she eat something or just have a quick coffee? What’s her favorite sandwich? Avocado is a good sign. Anchovies, it depends. From here, move on to her soul. What’s her favorite type of music? When does she like to listen to it? Does she fall asleep quickly? Read new novels or classics? If you’ve gotten to the point where she admits to having a teddy bear that she’s been carrying around since she was nine, you’re doing good.
Movies are a great topic for conversation. If you’ve seen a good movie, together or separately, talk about it. The relationships, the characters. What role fascinated her, what’s her opinion about the hero’s mother, which moment is etched in her memory. The conversation will enable you to understand her world, her spiritual and mental depth. Same for her. Talk. At the end of the day, you’re interested in someone you’ll be able to talk with for the rest of your life. Going to a restaurant is just the backdrop. The heart of knowing someone, relationships in general, is conversation. It turns out that you’re not a man of words. Maybe you don’t have any heartwarming stories. Maybe you just woke up, brushed your teeth, studied, worked, and suddenly met her. No problem. Maybe she’s also like that, and this brings joy to both of you. But I want to tell you a secret, another one.
The dialogues
This isn’t a genre, but it’s the base of every movie, every play, every great television series. The texts, and usually the texts between a man and a woman. The dialogues. To me, this is the ultimate creation. Take some classic film masterpieces and watch them again, the parts with the dialogues. Aside from the sheer pleasure, the elation, they can be excellent lessons in the art of conversation, speech and relationship building.
Let’s take James Bond in Casino Royale . The novelty of this movie, compared to previous Bond movies, is the witty dialogue between 007 and his girl. Behind the scenes lies the studio’s desire to turn the Bond girl from a pair of boobs into an intriguing woman with a powerful personality of her own. The dialogues between them are a pleasure for any man, experienced or rookie. Notice how the first conversation is sarcastic, clever, as if it were taking place in a wrestling arena; later comes the softening, the closeness, the mutual appreciation; and finally, the love and sharing of fate. I don’t want to talk anymore about classics like Casablanca . Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman. “I remember…The Germans wore gray, you wore blue.” Don’t be disappointed if you don’t reach this level. It was written by the world’s best screenwriters. It’s just meant to give you inspiration.
I’ve put together some movie titles worth watching in this context, and a few more. Here they are:
Simple People; Basic Instinct; Food, Drink, Man Woman; Thelma and Louise; Blue Velvet; Three Women; Paris, Texas; Kill Bill; Crimes and Misdemeanors; Breathless; His Girl Friday; Taxi Driver; Manhattan; Husbands; Cries and Whispers; Pretty Woman; Bitter Moon; Chinatown; Kramer vs. Kramer; Silence of the Sheep; When Harry met Sally; Body Heat; The Usual Suspects; Casino Royale; Prizzi’s Honor; The Player.
And of course, again, Casablanca – Bogart has inspired me more than once. The detective, the spy, the lone man in the field who always has a woman behind him, in front of him, almost never beside him. Bogart fell in love with a magnetic actress, Lauren Bacall, and played alongside her in a few movies and in the end married her. More proof that life is just one big play.
You’re the star, the actor. Don’t forget it. It’s your key to success and pleasure. In times of distress or satisfaction, remind yourself that this is a movie. On the one hand, make the most of it. On the other hand, take things in proportion. When you have a problem, physical or mental, imagine that it’s a movie, imagine what the hero would do at this moment. Do the right thing, as he would.
There are Times…
When everything goes smoothly
We were a pair of agents, Michelle and I, on a mission in Turkey. Michelle was wearing a bikini, was wrapped in a Brazilian kanga, and I was in surfing shorts, sailing on a yacht in the Bodrum Bay. There are more difficult missions than these. We were asked to create a staged meeting (a seemingly accidental contact with a target) with Krusal, a known Turkish sailor. We tracked his activities. He had a very impressive yacht. We discovered that he went to a specific beach restaurant every afternoon. From here, the rest was easy.
Thursday, 6 p.m., Cleopatra Bay. A gray cliff slides straight into the water, seagulls float-glide, lone yachts dock nearby. The silence is
deep and blue. Paradise. Krusal arrives on a small motorboat from his yacht to the restaurant. Michelle is already at the bar, pretending to be a little drunk (a basic rule in staged meetings is that you cause the target to believe that he bumped into you, not you into him).
Her phone rang. I’m on the line. “So the generator died?” she asked, giggling. “What are we going to do? How will we find a mechanic?” she asked as she walked by him (I saw them through my binoculars from our yacht). Krusal, as befits a Turkish knight, invited her to his table, interested in the problematic generator. “My husband may not be a bad sailor, but he’s got zero mechanical skills,” she said, crushing my ego for the sake of the mission. “Don’t worry,” said Krusal, taking macho guardianship over her.
Thirty minutes later, I arrived with dirty hands (our experts prepared a burned out engine in case Krusal the professional wanted to check if our generator had really died). We sat down for a drink. I described our difficult trip in 1986 to New Zealand. We told him about the house we had recently purchased in Corfu. We invited him to a weekend at our place. “You have to come. You’ll love the island. There’s an airport, wonderful weather, great people.” Krusal didn’t blink. “On condition that you’ll be my guests this evening,” he answered. I agreed immediately. Michelle played the “No, thank you,” but quickly agreed.
We arrived at Krusal’s yacht. It was immediately clear that this was not just another yacht that couples who like to sail come to for enjoyment. There were three men on deck. Their girlfriends were presented as their wives. Whatever. A waitress in a crew uniform served us drinks. Dinner was served on the deck. We stayed until late. Krusal was a generous host, as befitting a hedonist of means. We said goodbye, exchanged emails, and went down to our small boat.
