A Patchwork of Old Spies

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Zach asked Josie what she really thought of the present state of affairs. “I’m tempted to use that line from my favorite movie, ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.’”

“Okay, Scarlet. But surely you are concerned over what’s been going on. That famous memory of yours must be putting … what do you call them? Oh, yes, patches. Aren’t you putting two and two together and getting five? That’s what you usually do.”

It was Josie’s turn to laugh. “Honestly, Zach, what I’m putting together reads like a script for a bad spy movie. We have nothing but red herrings, a mishmash of motley characters from various parts of the globe, more spies than villains, an attempted kidnapping, a fistfight, a car chase, a car blown up, a car accident, an escape on a motorcycle, nefarious thugs, virtuous good guys, covert agencies falling over covert agencies, a safe house or hideout, as the case may be, drug smuggling, romantic intrigue, false passports, not to mention changing locales: an offshore bank, an Irish pub, a travel plaza, a small animal hospital, and marinas up and down the east coast. We even have a plateful of old ops: Seagull, Mulberry Bush, Polaris. I’ve even had to revisit the Patches program. The inmates are running the asylum.”

“So you think we’re being set up?”

“That’s what bothers me. Just what are we doing in this particular script? Why Chipley Island? Why round up all these old spies? Why here?”

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