Captured

Chapter 03. Our history, after college.

By the time we celebrated our 30th birthdays both of us lived in Houston about two miles apart, renting apartments and paying off our student loans ahead of schedule. We both drove cheap old cars and had frequent chats over Facetime. Daniel said sometimes he got to drive home an investigator's car but to use it for personal errands had a strict set of rules, basically he could make stops as long as it was on his way home, but not too far off the main routes. They actually allowed you to stop at a liquor store if it was on the main route home. It was an unmarked car, so few people could tell it was city property, but the municipal license plate and the stubby antennas on the trunk were clues.

He told me about a lady from the State Department that was looking for two detectives for a position with State that would locate and capture wanted fugitives around the world. The job paid well (better than Houston PD) and had a great retirement plan and top notch health and benefits plan. He said there was lots of travel and the best part was many of the fugitives we captured also had cash rewards for being surrendered to authorities alive. That money was tax free and could easily triple our annual pay. She quoted us starting salaries of $96k gross with the huge State Department benefits package that was worth another $30k a year. The starting base salary (gross) with State would be about $500 a month more than being a city cop.

As feds we'd qualify for discounts on insurance, mortgages, travel, shopping, and additional health packages. On the down-side it sounded like a job that wouldn't cultivate a happy marriage since we'd be gone months at a time and only home about five months a year. Neither of us were married so we both applied and flew to D.C. for an interview, then we went back the next day for another unscheduled interview. After the second interview they asked if we'd be willing to undergo an FBI security check while we were in Washington and we both said yes, so they were scheduled for the next morning at 6am.

During the interview it sounded to me like it was an actual true crime detective job and I was thrilled. Daniel was much more cautious about what they were telling us. He said as feds they can lie about anything and get away with it.

I asked why the State Department was involved in the capture of fugitives and she explained they often hide in foreign countries and it took special negotiations to get permission to go in and capture them, then transport them back home under arrest. I think I've read that sometimes they go into other countries to assassinate some of those bad dudes to avoid the hassles of extradition and transport home.

We were both subjected to an intense interview and background check by the FBI; they spoke to our families, friends, teachers, our bankers, and our neighbors. Luckily neither of us spent much time on social media so that wasn't a problem. We'd only taken off enough time for one day of interviews. When it grew into three days we had to call home to beg for more days off work.

When I got home my boss was upset because the FBI already invaded his office asking questions about me and they wouldn't leave. He said they copied my entire employee file and left. They also invaded my old neighborhood and spoke to my parents and the neighbors, they probably also got my school records.

Two months later we were offered jobs (as work-partners) with State as Fugitive Capture Agents (FCAs). We accepted the positions and started packing. I threw away about half of what I owned except my Trek bicycle and my book collection. We located a rental house, a tiny two bedroom house on Zelma Avenue at Old Central Avenue (in Capitol Heights, Maryland), within walking distance of the Blue Line subway station that took us within one block of State.

On day #1 in Washington D.C. we were wined and dined at a welcome meeting with three other pairs of brand new FCAs hired at the same time. We were told we needed to start training for pilots licenses, we had to eventually be qualified to fly a private jet on instruments because travel would be a huge part of the job and sitting in airports waiting six hours for a connecting flight that might get cancelled because the airline fired 45 pilots... I thought it sounded neat, but Daniel was mum on the subject. He said he'd only been in a jet airplane four times in his entire life.

We'd also be going through 'agent school' for high risk captures and learning to use some high tech surveillance tools to locate and capture fugitives. We learned we'll be assigned to cover a region around the western end of the Mediterranean Sea, the countries of: Italy, Spain, Portugal, Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, Malta, France, Sicily, and all the islands. Both of us were handed a stack of booklets written by CIA analysts on each country with information about every city within those countries, their politics, economy, and religious customs.

That evening we carried home our books on the train and agreed to apply the same study technique we mastered in college to reduce workload and time. We were given five months to study every book. Our classes at State would last six months, and then the focus would be on flight school and technology. Daniel met another girl in school but it turned out her boyfriend gave her a ring the previous weekend. I kept in touch with Jen, she was sad I left Texas but I invited her to come visit us in our tiny rented house (900 sq ft) near D.C. and she came for five days. We didn't even own a car but there are tons of places to go in D.C., the Blue Line subway station was 600 feet from our front door.

Dan and I took Jen to see museums and the monuments. We ate at some famous restaurants in D.C. and toured the theater where Lincoln was shot and died across the street from Ford's Theater. We ate Chinese delivery food and drank Sake and played cards until 1am. Jen and I had sex twice during her visit but it kinda felt empty because I'm not 'in love' with her but I do love her as a very close friend. Don't get me wrong, it was great fun but it wasn't love to me but it probably was to her. It's too bad we can't discuss love unemotionally, but I think she'd get seriously depressed if I told her the truth. I should admit too that I'm a pretty good kisser, I put a lot of passion into my kisses, I'm sure that is just as good as saying the three words as far as Jen's concerned.

One other night during her visit we spent almost two hours in the bathtub telling secrets and making out. She's the only person I've ever explained what Dan and I were going to be doing for a living. Some of our assignments would be in potentially dangerous areas capturing dangerous dudes. I don't think she heard a thing I said. Something tells me while I was gently caressing her flesh in her mind she was mentally designing our wedding cake.

In the tub we sat at opposite ends and talked and gently caressed each other while our legs were tangled together. Then we turned around and got face to face at one end and snuggled in the warm water. She had me very gently fondle her nipples and caress them with my fingertips or my tongue. Her tits turned bright red and fully erect as I caressed her. I've seen her naked since 2nd grade and never saw her nipples as red and swollen as they got that evening, she got so horny it made her say weird shit.

After the underwater part of the tub party she sat naked on the bathroom counter with her legs spread wide and let me use peroxide and Q-Tips to sanitize her belly button and closely examined her girl parts at the same time. I think she's wanted to do that with me since we were little kids, sort of the ultimate show-and-tell. We spent almost half an hour with all our attention focused on her girl parts while the peroxide was bubbling in the hole. I used warm water and soap and gently hand washed all her girl parts just like she showed me which made her squirm with pleasure.

Then she sat on the toilet and I stood between her knees with my boner inches from her face, right at eye level. I showed her twice how to stroke my boner but she just couldn't do it. I think she faked being unable to master the grip. That evening during our bathroom party we even got out of the tub and used the toilet in front of each other for the first time. Then she sat on the counter and had me watch while she rubbed herself to a powerful orgasm.

After the bath tub party she stayed close to me the rest of her visit, like we were Siamese Twins, but it was nice. I gotta say one of the things guys liked about Jen was she had a guy's laugh and a guy's sense of humor (she liked action movies, football, Monty Python movies, and gettin high). If only she was nicer looking in the face, but her body was very nice. Her tummy was so sexy, her belly button was a nice round hole that went way in (I said I could probably slide my boner inside her belly button because of how wide it was). The flesh on her chest and tummy was so silky smooth I could rub my face side to side and kiss her for hours. And I think in grade school she was about the horniest person I knew, she was constantly trying to get me to play doctor with her.

That evening I showed her the stack of CIA books we had to read, and then her entire plan changed. She wanted the three of us to do at least one book on her last two nights here, she wanted to see exactly how we split up reading assignments that worked so well in the past. We did the smallest CIA book on the history of Malta from 300BC to 1996AD. The three of us did the 51 page Malta book in 19 hours, and passed the self-test quiz in the back of the book too. We took an hour to read 16 pages then teach it to each other, and then pass it along to the next person to do 16 more pages.

We took time off flight school for her visit, but when she arrived we'd already taken the classroom portion and took the FAA private pilot's license written test and passed. We were flying out of a smaller airport (Freeway Airport) 11 miles from home and flying Cessna 172s. Both of us would be solo flying soon. Flight school is super expensive but it's reimbursed by State as long as we got passing grades. Daniel admitted he was getting nauseated sometimes during flight training. We went to an urgent care clinic in D.C. for State Department employees and the nurse wrote him a script for Ondansetron oral dissolving tablets to take before getting in the plane. They worked perfectly and his attitude greatly improved.

At the end of her visit I rode with her to Washington-Reagan International so she could fly home. We cried and hugged and then she got to the line for security. I had a long and depressing train ride back home, it almost felt like when she left she took a piece of my soul with her. I think I'm the only man that ever fucked her, and she's secretly worried she'll end up a spinster in another 30 years. That night Daniel and I played cards again and drank shots and got sauced. The little house certainly seemed quiet with her gone. We cranked the music and discussed oral sex again, he was slurring drunk so when he acted like he passed out I did him again, same as two years ago. I think he was pretending to be passed out, I doubt any man can get erect and orgasm while passed out drunk.

I spent a lot of time thinking about the time I spent with Jen. For some reason she's always wanted me to see her naked. I even saw the bottom of her belly button while I scrubbed it. It actually looked nicer than her baby making parts. There is something about a really wide and deep belly button hole that I think looks very erotic. She would never walk around in public with a shirt that exposed her tummy to the world, but I think she should try it once to see what happened. She only wears one-piece swimming suits to hide it at the beach. Thank God she has no piercings or tattoos, except tiny earrings.

I should pause briefly and confess something to you, but you probably already figured it out. Another one of my autistic obsessions (like collecting true crime paperbacks) is belly buttons. My eyes are drawn to them almost more than any other body part. Once in a while I see one that's truly erotic, but most of them are boring. I should also say that as a professional belly button evaluator I have never seen one that was made better looking by hanging jewelry in front of it. My ultimate belly button fantasy is to clean them for people like Jen lets me do to hers. It actually turns me on.

Jen never makes fun of me for cleaning hers and then frenching it like her mouth.

Two months after Jen's visit Dan and I completed flight training and were fully licensed on the Cessna 172. Our next step was to get licensed on twin engine private jets with full instrument rating. Learning the instruments were the hardest part but they say once you learn Avionics you won't want to fly without it. In ground school we still had to learn to use the E6B slide ruler. Today private jets have instruments that perform all those calculations. At the new flight school we flew two jets, the Cessna Citation XLS and the Cessna Citation Mustang. State was paying 100% for all of it. We also went to Wichita, Kansas, for simulator training and pilot training on actual jets at Cessna, we were there Cessna (at Eisenhower Airport in Wichita) for six weeks and I was tired of living out of a suitcase in a motel room by the time we finished. At home we had to drive north to College Park Airport to finish jet aviation school; it was the only general aviation airport near D.C. with two jets. The problem with College Park was their jets were sometimes rented out and could be gone for days at a time so you had to reserve them weeks in advance. I think they leased the jets from Cessna because they'd be awfully expensive to have sitting on the tarmac waiting for a student to use. And the airspace around D.C. was super crowded so we were restricted to specific routes and altitudes.

Actually, by the time I did my first solo in a business jet our training with State was nearly complete. We pushed to get flight training finished and to get certified in two business jets. I liked the Cessna Citation Mustang so much I signed up for emails whenever a used one was for sale in the U.S. and Canada. If I was ever going to own a jet I'd have to get bigger fuel tanks, even if it meant losing passenger capacity. After eight weeks we completed jet training, ours went faster because we were already licensed pilots.

One Friday afternoon during my fourth solo flight in the Citation a thunderstorm cell formed over the runway, so I had to circle long enough to let it drift out of my way, then I tried to land and suddenly had a strong tailwind appear during final approach and the entire flight dynamics of the jet suddenly changed and I had to do a landing abort and go around. It scared the crap out of me but it worked fine and the jet handled it perfectly. I goosed the throttles and got down to 300 feet above the runway and pulled back on the wheel and went around the pattern once again. I think I slightly peed my underwear that day! That situation was one of the ones I spent hours practicing in the simulator. We also did simulations like: engine flameout/restart, landing gear stuck, flight control surface failures, sudden tailwind and microbursts, runway intrusions, cabin decompression or smoke, and instrument/comm failures.

We were taught in Wichita that the most common flight incident in the USA is runway intrusion. But almost nothing is done about them.

The last segment of State School was at the USMC Training Academy in Quantico, Virginia. The campus is on the banks of the Potomac River about 140 miles in from the Atlantic coast, about 50 miles south of Washington D.C, and 16 miles northeast of where Booth and Herold rowed across the Potomac, a week after shooting Lincoln.

We stayed in barracks on the base and attended classes seven days a week for four weeks. Our classes included basic police work, capturing and arresting dangerous suspects, explosives, gasses, drugs, weapons, marksmanship, basic artillery, combat medic first aid, and some chemical/biologic/electronic devices I cannot discuss.

While Daniel and I were in the last phase of State School we had a private meeting with the lady who recruited us back in college with our final assignment. She told us that after school we'd be assigned to the US Embassy in Barcelona, Spain. We saw photos of the place, I was impressed. The place looked like a group of large old mansions behind a perimeter wall.

The US Embassy in Barcelona is in the southwest part of the city. They have several large old mansions, most had four stories, 24 hour armed security, perimeter fencing, patrol dogs, and a gorgeous campus that looks like a very wealthy old neighborhood (from the early 19000s) that sits behind a tall stone wall. We would report there after Quantico and would be assigned housing, offices, and tasks to perform on campus while we await our first fugitive cases. She said we would ease our way into our new jobs and could get assigned missions for the INR too.

Both of us were excited and scared. I've never left the USA before and now I was packing my bags and getting ready to move to a new country with a new language and totally new culture and diet. We'd have a lot to learn. I was so glad I took four semesters of Spanish in high school, time to brush-up on my Espanol! I suspect the Spanish they speak in Barcelona would be different than the Spanish we spoke in Houston. Someone in Quantico told us he heard the Ambassador in Barcelona was one of the best and spent a lot of money on perks and high class services for the employees.

In case I never said it before Daniel grew up in a home that spoke English and Spanish combined together, also known as Spanglish. It's kind of a native tongue in parts of Houston and Texas.

We raced home and started packing and throwing away stuff. We had to rent a trash dumpster because most of our stuff wouldn't fit in the allowed cargo space on the flight to Barcelona. I read we'd fly on a large military cargo jet to Barcelona but luggage space was limited. We could bring two standard trunks on-board the military flight to Spain, so both of us had some hard choices to make. Our cargo plane flight to Spain was this weekend. It was weird how we went from students to Embassy staff suddenly one day without ceremony or even official notice. I guess I was used to the idea of report cards and a ceremony at the end of training. We got raises too.

I packed my computer stuff, most of my clothes, and my family photo album. I also kept a bunch of books. All those CIA text books we had to read were returned to the CIA (they were not secret). We had a yard sale and got rid of our TV and stereo and household stuff, kitchen stuff, and a few pieces of furniture. I had to sell my beloved bicycle too. As planned, the taxi arrived Saturday for the ride to Andrews AFB and our seven hour military cargo flight to London, then another flight to Barcelona. We flew with a bunch of American soldiers heading to Europe and despite the noise I think I got a two hour nap. Most of the young soldiers left the plane in London but we stayed on-board and watched them unload half the cargo in back, then the tail-end closed and we heard engines start up. They told us to get belted-in, our next stop was Barcelona, Spain, where the military shared the runways with civilian passenger jets but they had their own terminal for military passengers.

The flight from London caught a lot of turbulence over France. By the time we landed in Spain nineteen hours had passed, the time difference really messed up my internal clock. We landed in Spain around 9am local time; I think I slept one hour during the second flight. We were met on the military cargo tarmac by unmarked busses with bars on the windows. They drove us to a small unmarked warehouse nearby. I guess they try not to advertise the presence of US troops and government officials in Spain by having us load and unload far from civilian eyeballs. The terminal looked like a just another warehouse. An elderly man in a black suit with a large luggage cart approached us as a forklift driver in uniform set a pallet on the deck that was tightly wrapped in a nylon net and two other soldiers came over and removed the netting. All it contained were our four trunks and they said we were free to grab our stuff and stop at the Immigration Desk. We loaded our trunks on the old man's cart and pushed it over to the window marked: INMIGRACION. I got in line behind Daniel. They never asked about what we were bringing into the country or even looked in our trunks. I assumed that was because we had State Department passports. I think the entire immigration thing was a formality. All he did was stamp our passports and nod toward the nearby exit door.

After stamping we rolled out the door to a large van. We hand-loaded our trunks into the back then got in the center and sat side by side watching the crowded and ancient looking Barcelona streets speed by and twenty minutes later we stopped at what looked like a prison entrance. The steel gate slid open then we were escorted out of the van by armed guards and guided into the security building where we were fingerprinted and photographed, we were DNA sampled and issued badges then walked into the Ambassador's office where we met with the Assistant US Ambassador to Spain. The lady welcomed us but her accent was a challenge sometimes. She said today would be long and challenging, but please be patient with staff. Her entire welcome speech lasted about fifteen seconds. We shook hands and she directed us to another woman, (also spoke with a local accent) she directed us to follow the cart with our trunks to the men's dormitory. Our new home looked like a very old four story limestone block mansion with a copper roof. We were assigned an apartment on the fourth floor; we were told there was a tiny elevator that usually worked.

Our trunks were moved on carts by a small-skinny elderly man with gray hair. The three of us went on a long walk across the campus toward the north and he paused to identify all the buildings and eventually we arrived at our destination. We entered through the dramatic front entrance into a main room on the ground floor that was a large open space like a gigantic living room.

The lobby reminded me of a classic East India Company hotel lobby from the early 1800s when wealthy British people traveled by steamship or steam trains and slept in ornate Pullman sleeper cars. Meanwhile, the old man carefully unloaded our trunks on the patio stones at the base of the marble steps outside the front door. He already told us our apartment number on the 4th floor, he said up to the top floor, exit to the right, down to the end of the hallway, on the right. We walked back outside and carried our trunks in the lobby and stacked them near the tiny elevator door.

I opened the door and set mine in the car and rode up to the fourth floor and carried them out into the hallway without scratching the 200+ year old mahogany flooring. Then I went back downstairs to see if Daniel needed help. He loaded his in the elevator car but chickened out and took the stairs so I rode with his trunks in the elevator to the 4th floor. The old man told us 'you do not want to be inside the elevator if the power goes out.' I heard Daniel whisper, "Fuck that shit."

I carried my first trunk down the hallway to the last door on the right. I opened the door and walked into a small furnished living room with windows and two thick old rugs. The windows had a view toward the mountains which would help shade us from the late day sun. The rest of the view was of Barcelona which was a sea of red ceramic tile roofs.

Then I went back to the elevator and grabbed my other trunk, while Daniel slowly trudged up the ornate staircase. Moving-in and getting stuff set-up took two hours. I wondered why they didn't offer a two wheel hand cart for moving day. Perhaps that was a sign how the locals felt about 'Mericans.'

Daniel said he didn't care for the elevator, I told him they tended to be much smaller in Europe than we're used to in the US. The elevator car was about 30 inches across and didn't have automatic doors. When it stopped at a floor you saw the inside of the hallway door. All the doors looked exactly the same from inside the elevator car, so I guess you had to pay attention. I wondered if the building had a basement. When the elevator was on the 1st floor Daniel tried to open the door on the 4th floor and saw it was locked. It appeared that if you rode it to the 4th floor and got out after a few minutes it lowered itself back to the ground floor. I also think it used a rope and not redundant steel cables to lift the car. When you arrived at any floor the car gently bounced for a few seconds.

We were advised the evening meal serving started at 5pm local time in Building-F (for Food). They had a small cafeteria on the embassy campus with a limited buffet but we were also welcome to eat at nearby restaurants or have food delivered. I was totally unsure about the cost of anything here or how this entire embassy worked. Nothing had been explained yet and I was reluctant to ask.

Daniel and I were reluctant to speak in Texas Spanish out of fear that we'd sound like a couple of American halfwits. We both wanted to listen to embassy staff talk first.

I immediately noticed the place was poorly lit. Back when this place was built the owners probably carried candle holders or lanterns to light the way. And with all the mahogany on the walls, floors, and ceiling the place looked dark even if every light was turned on.

Moving in.

Our first activity was to wander around the entire apartment and check things out. It was a small 2-bedroom, 2-bath apartment with some furniture but not much lighting. The place was slightly larger than the little house we rented in Maryland.

Step two was to see who claimed dibs on the bigger bedroom. As we walked around the living room he went left and I went right. I went in the smaller bedroom and he walked into the larger, stepped back to the bedroom door and shouted "DIBS!" From the small bedroom I laughed loudly because I sort of expected him to pull that stunt. We toured the entire apartment and I noticed the hardwood floors creaked, the door hinges squeaked, most of the door locks didn't latch, and the apartment smelled musty and old. The windows were all lose fitting single-pane windows in wood frames. Each room had a steam radiator below every window.

The bathroom floors were covered in small white ceramic tiles and the plumbing fixtures appeared to all be early-1800s. The toilets had tanks mounted up high on the wall with a ceramic handle on a pull chain to flush. Both bathrooms had claw foot iron tubs with a white porcelain coating that was rusted through to iron around the drains. The faucets all had ceramic handles, hot and cold water had their own knobs. The water heater for the bathroom was a small brass box on a shelf up high on the wall with an exhaust tube that disappeared into the wall. The small bathroom had a very short bathtub with a shower nozzle on a hose but no shower curtain. The larger bathroom had a steel loop with two plastic curtains that surrounded the entire tub and it had a nozzle on a long hose. The bathrooms were spotlessly clean but rusted, but they got me wondering how old this building was when indoor plumbing was installed. It appeared the gas water heater in the small bathroom also supplied the small kitchen sink.

The beds had tubular brass head and foot boards but it was clear the mattresses were old squeaky steel springs. The beds were tightly made like in an Army barracks. We were told the building had daily maid service that did the beds, swept the floors, emptied the wastebaskets, and cleaned up the kitchen. New bath towels and bed sheets came weekly. We agreed Daniel would take the larger room and I would take the smaller bedroom but mine had the better view out the windows.

Each room had a single lamp fixture in the middle of the ceiling, I saw old copper gas tubing remnants on the one in the living room.

Coming into our apartment from the hallway you entered via an old mahogany door with a brass knob, through a two foot thick wall and into a common room with a large red rug. In one corner was a tiny kitchenette, an old glass CRT-TV with rabbit ears sat on a wheeled cart that faced a small worn sofa and a worn arm chair. The central room had bookshelves behind glass cabinet doors, and a rotary dial telephone sat on a small stand beside an antique arm chair and when I pushed down on the seat cushion I felt steel springs nearly ready to poke through the fabric. Seated on the arm chair I looked across the room at the kitchenette. It had a tiny sink with white porcelain handles marked HOT and COLD on opposite sides, a small modern refrigerator, a newer microwave oven, and several cabinets. It was about the size you'd see in an older motel back in the U.S. on the Lincoln Highway. The faucet dripped onto a round rusted spot in the bottom of the sink. It looked like it's been dripping water since the Titanic sunk (when this structure was already 110 years old!).

The main room (about 18'x14') had windows that looked out over the campus to the west. There were four doors that also squeaked and didn't lock. I noticed the absence of smoke detectors and fire sprinklers. Daniel opened one of the windows, the other was stuck. The bedrooms both had large screened windows that opened. The large bedroom was roughly 12x12, the other was about 8x10. Both had a single door closet, a tall but skinny dresser with mirror on top and clear glass knobs. His bedroom window looked out over the pool; mine looked out on the trees and the patio at the front door. He'd have lots of apartment dwellers looking into his room, mine had privacy even with the curtains open. The smaller bedroom used the bathroom with two doors.

The entire apartment smelled like an antique store, Dan said the rug was the source of the odor. I lifted one corner and saw the original label. All I could read on the badly worn label said: 'Afshar 1882. Hand made in Persia.' Daniel commented the rug was probably worth more than all the money he would earn in his entire life, I agreed.

The door in the small bathroom that entered the living room (near the kitchenette) would not latch shut so I decided I was going to dismantle the door and make it latch shut again. These old doors used those old fashioned keys, I think they were called skeleton keys but some (closer to the elevator) had modern key locks added like a dead bolt. I got on my knees to visualize how far off the latch was to the striker plate hole in the door frame and saw it was super close, so maybe one thin piece of cardboard under the lower hinge would raise it enough to latch again. I'm sure at over 200 years old the building was done settling. I'd love to check this building with a four foot level and maybe a laser level too.

We both started unpacking our stuff and noticed the absence of conveniently placed power outlets in every room! There was a 6x4ft oak dining table in the main room and each bedroom had a small built-in writing desk barely enough for a laptop computer and mouse. Lighting was scarce and ineffective throughout. I was used to bright open spaces but this old mansion was poorly lit. I decided I was going to buy myself a couple lamps as soon as possible. Then I searched around for wall outlets and counted one outlet in each room, but the living room had two, the bathrooms had none but at least it had a light over the mirror. Spain was wired for 220v AC residential power. Luckily, I purchased outlet strips with 220 to 117 volt convertors built-in.

I loved these old buildings that pre-dated electricity (and plumbing), so when power was first installed the only thing they could imagine using power were table lamps, so they installed the outlets half way up the wall where the tables stood. Back in 1903 it made sense, and having electricity was a status symbol so nobody hid power cords! Back then the earliest monthly utility bills were referred to as the Light Bill.

Daniel and I slowly unpacked and got settled in our rooms. I tested my mattress and it sagged badly in the middle and felt bouncy. Back in the US I slept on a very nice memory foam mattress. This one is guaranteed to cause pain in my hips. I decided right then I was going to buy a sheet of plywood to go between the box spring and the mattress.

While we unpacked Dan and I were shouting back and forth about stuff. I wondered how the apartment would be at night with traffic noise and street lights shining in the windows. I also wondered how many other people lived on the fourth floor with us. We have not yet seen a single other resident in the men's dormitory and the pool sat unused too. I told Dan it might be really cold, Barcelona is as far north as Cleveland Ohio.

The street behind the Embassy was like a very narrow concrete canyon with tall walls on either side, very narrow sidewalks, and a line of cars parked bumper to bumper down one side. The cars were from apartment dwellers across the street. The embassy property was almost surrounded by newer apartment towers, some were ten stories tall. Everywhere you went outside there was possibly someone looking down from above.

I hung my clothes in the closet, and loaded three drawers in the dresser plugged-in my alarm clock with a voltage adapter but the outlet wasn't near the bed. Then I set-up my laptop and got connected to their wifi. I set some books on the top of the dresser to make it look like home, and put my bathroom stuff in the bathroom and figured out if you lifted up on the handle to the living room door it would latch shut, but there still was no lock, and I'm sure the maid would bust it open anyway. By then I'd unpacked my trunks and stacked them in the corner of the bedroom. I got out a legal notepad and started a shopping list, item #1 was two desk lamps and light bulbs. I'd probably need extension cords and a 220v outlet strip too, so I added them to the list. Then I got out my USB charger and plugged it into the first outlet strip. It had six 117v US style outlets for my electronics. I always packed a flashlight and headband LED light too, with rechargeable batteries and a charger. Someone we talked to in the airport said my American style alarm clock would not keep accurate time powered by a power convertor since the clock needs accurate 60 cycle power to keep accurate time. I added a native 220v alarm clock to my list.

I also tried the FM radio in my cell. Most countries had AM and FM radio but sometimes their FM didn't match the same frequencies as our American radios. I found one station playing something like Island music (nearly reggae, dance beat, lively, acoustic, etc.) and played it softly in my room.

Out in the living room I made sure the little under-counter size refrigerator was running, and put tap water in the aluminum ice cube tray and slid it into the tiny freezer compartment. That told me to never buy frozen stuff at the store-there was no room. Everything would need to be fresh or canned. We'd probably fill it with condiments, wine, and leftovers.

In a small display case near the elevator was a paper with the restaurant menu for the week. David noticed it also listed serving hours for each meal and a reminder to dress properly and bring your embassy employee badge or Euros. I still had US currency in my wallet.

At 5pm we went downstairs using the staircase (across from the elevator) which ended at the lobby, David commented going down the stairs, "...this building has no fire extinguishers or emergency exits either." My reply was to remind him to take a chill pill, "The Titanic had fire extinguishers and emergency exits and it lasted less than one cruise, this place has stood for over 210 years without all that safety crap and I've not seen a single no-smoking sign either." We turned toward the front door and walked outside onto a broad dramatic marble staircase. Down about fifteen short steps onto a stone patio with padded lawn furniture, several stone sculptures, and a large fountain that wasn't running and seemed to be missing a few hundred gallons of water and several fat Koi swimming about. The entrance to the old mansion looked rather Roman. The front entrance reminded me of the homes of the wealthy in Pompeii. I half expected to see a life size replica of the statue of David.

On the silent walk across the campus I quietly told Daniel if we're still here next 4th of July we should make life size cardboard statues of the Clampetts (Jed, Granny, Elly May, and Jethro) with their hands up waving and smiling, and stand them by the front doors of both dorm buildings. He chuckled and glanced at me with a smirk. So I told him it wasn't meant as an insult, just a little piece of America on our special holiday. Dan said he'd bet ten bucks that show never played on TV in Spain, and the locals would think we were mocking them. So I kept my mouth shut.

We walked on a paved footpath toward the women's dormitory. It had the fanciest entrance of all. It almost looked like a classic old art museum on the outside. The spotless cobblestone driveway looped around and passed a few feet from the bottom step. All that was missing from this scene was a horse drawn carriage and driver in a tuxedo. We walked up the wide marble steps in the front door, straight back across their lobby and out the back door into a covered walkway and connected it to Building-F and we got in line with the others ready for dinner.

While we waited I quietly told Dan one thing that might topple this entire complex would be a 7.0 earthquake, but I wasn't sure if Spain got earthquakes on the east side. Look how old Barcelona is and it's still mostly standing. Carthage was in ruins so there must be a major fault line around here somewhere.

We stood with the crowd of smiling happy talkative people, mostly speaking French. We smiled and nodded yes when people acknowledged our presence, new faces on campus. I guess everyone understood "Hi" and a smile. Dan said dogs and cats understand Hi and a wave, they just never reply.

The restaurant dining room entrance had two large doors with clear glass panels, they unlocked them when the buffet was ready. There was another small in-ground pool and patio beside Building-F and the entire patio between the entrance and the pool were rather impressive, it also looked Roman to my untrained eyes. This pool was half as wide as the one by our building, but this one would be suitable for short laps, like a work-out pool. I think the bottom was the same depth all the way across, about five feet.

This entire embassy complex screamed wealth but today it's probably not appreciated as much. I always try to slow down and notice beauty around me. This place is drowning in classic old beauty. I wonder who built these mansions and how they earned their wealth. In Barcelona 200 years ago it might have had something to do with olives or transoceanic shipping with one of the new fangled iron hulled steamships. They had propellers instead of sails, and people couldn't understand how an iron hulled ship could float! And they still carried sails in case the steam system failed.

Daniel said the embassy reminded him of the photographs he saw of the grand hotels owned by the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company in Burma (1865-1940) as wealthy investors from the UK inspected their investments and the valuable cargo they carried to the sea on their vast number of steam powered paddle wheel cargo ships, until they were destroyed in WW2.

I already forgot what was on the menu but something smelled wonderful and beyond the tall glass doors the place looked busy with white uniformed food staff pushing carts loaded with shiny brass serving trays. Not a familiar face to be seen anywhere, except Daniel.

At exactly 5:06pm a smiling older lady walked over and unlocked the doors and opened them wide and everyone claimed a chair at a table. We went to a table that nobody else claimed. Then we walked over to the buffet and got in line (again). Daniel reminded me to clip-on my embassy staff badge so we didn't have to pay cash. While the line slowly moved forward I counted fifteen white linen covered tables. Dinner service looked formal but the other employees all dressed in business casual. The staff all wore white and spoke Spanish with strange European accents that made it harder to understand. It's like the difference between a Canadian speaking French and someone from Paris speaking. Just before we made it to the stand to take a tray and silverware I noticed on the far side of the dining room sat a smaller bar with six stools and hanging lights above it but it looked empty. Maybe it was for special parties.

The dining room was large, maybe 80x80ft with tall ceilings and ornate pillars and hanging chandeliers. Each table had an oil lamp burning that also doubled as a heater for some kind of sauces that weren't set out tonight. The floors here were also a dark hardwood that creaked and looked seriously worn. On one wall were two swinging doorways that went to the kitchen, I'd love to tour that sometime just to see if it was as old as the rest of this campus. I imagined this large room used to be a ballroom 100 years ago. I could also visualize it hosting some live performances, like Frank Sinatra (in 1936) singing with a small jazz band lit by the one and only spotlight across the room. The room filled with crowded tables and everyone smoking something. If walls could talk I bet these had stories to tell.

The buffet was over twenty feet long and even had desserts set out. While we stood in line I also counted heads and noted 48 diners. The cafeteria remained open until 6:30 when the buffet closed. There was also a daily special we could order, they had one plate loaded with the special sitting out to look at. I got dinner off the buffet: grilled thick pork chops, sauteed carrots and peas, a small tossed salad with croutons, and a small bowl of soft serve ice cream with two scoops of sprinkles. Daniel got baked fish with sauteed new potatoes, asparagus, and ice cream with melted caramel drizzle.

During dinner we discussed swiping stuff so we could eat in our apartment. After dinner we pocketed our flatware but not the salt and pepper shakers. The napkins were linen but they also had a paper towel roll holder on each table, so I swiped the entire roll to take back to our apartment.

With dinner we both ordered a bottle of wine and glasses, so we only poured a tiny amount and decided to bring the glasses and bottles back to the apartment. He got a Spanish Cabernet and I got a French Pino.

It was dark outside after dinner and we never saw a bill, not even for two bottles of wine. I looked around to see if anyone else was leaving a tip but nobody did. The only table service was the kid with the water pitcher and he quickly replaced dropped forks. We carried our bottles and glasses back to the dormitory building and took the elevator to the fourth floor. Luckily, we're close friends because otherwise it might be a little awkward to ride the tiny elevator with a stranger. When you got in the 'lift' and the door shut you pressed an old mechanical button marked 4 and with a bounce the car started to move. We clearly saw each floor slowly go by. The door on each floor was painted a different color to make the ride look nicer. The elevator also had up/down buttons in case the lift stopped short. I guessed pressing and holding the down button was how you made it to the basement if you were fixing the steam boiler or whatever else they may have down in the Wombat areas.

In the middle of the elevator car ceiling was a small light fixture that barely put out any light. I couldn't even see if my laces were tied. This place was starting to frustrate me with how dark everything was.

The elevator car came to an abrupt stop at a door and the #4 button popped out with a CLICK! He reached for the brass knob and opened the door outward. We both stepped out into the hallway and the elevator door swung shut and latched. We walked down the long hardwood hallway past other apartment doors, ours was the third one on the right, the last one. I opened the door and felt a rush of cool musty air hit me in the face as we stepped inside. I took both wine bottles and set them in the refrigerator. I rinsed and cleaned the glasses with regular hand soap and dried them with a small hand towel and set them on the counter to dry. Daniel turned on the TV and switched through all 13 channels, mostly all they had was typical cable ghetto crap. He left it on Euro-Space Weather Now which was in French with Spanish captions. I pulled the roll of paper towels from my shirt and set them on the counter then set out the flatware we swiped too.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I expected to see the restaurant manager knock at our door and demand everything should be returned tomorrow at breakfast.

Daniel played music on his cell while he got out a deck of cards and changed into gym shorts and a tank top that I recognized from Quantico. He dealt hands of blackjack while I poured two glasses of wine. In less than 40 minutes I was tired and getting buzzed I laughed at almost everything he said. In the common room was a light fixture in the ceiling above the dining table. It put out enough light to barely see which cards were red. I had to lean my hand toward the light to even see what the face cards were. Maybe I should start wearing my camping headband flashlight everywhere in protest.

This old building did not have toggle-type wall switches. Instead, each plate had two round black buttons. You pushed in the upper button to turn on the ceiling light, pushing the lower button turned it off and made the top button pop-out. After cards I connected to wifi in the building. We got network login cards handed to us in the security office when we arrived. Using wifi we were not able to access government files but we had general access to the internet. I got logged into my American email service and sent a message to my parents and Jen that I was unpacked in Barcelona and just had dinner. I think we were about nine hours ahead of Texas I think. Jen emailed me back immediately and asked me to take pictures of everything for her. She's really into old stuff; I think she'd instantly fall in love with this facility.

Daniel and I called it a day at 9:55pm and went to our rooms. It seems the rooms in this building came with laundry/maid service so the beds were tightly made but the mattresses were old and they squeaked. I had so many questions about this place and nobody to ask. Hopefully we'll get new employee orientation soon.

Over the next two weeks all our questions were answered. We learned where the locals went to buy household stuff, there was a store about two miles away that was sort of like a smaller version of IKEA. We found two liquor stores, two pizza delivery places, and what we would be doing at the embassy while we waited for our first fugitive case. We also met some of the other residents in our building. Some of them were elderly locals that did grounds keeping and housekeeping, some were cooks or kitchen staff, and several worked in the Embassy trying to solve emergencies for visiting Americans, one old man was a campus Wombat. They told me the Ambassador's apartment occupied the entire second floor. There were a total of 12 apartments on our floor, ours was the largest and the only one with two bedrooms, two bathrooms.

(Author's note: The term Wombat is often used to identify someone that works unseen in a large building or campus to ensure utility systems function properly.)

The number-1 dilemma that brought Americans to the embassy was a lost or destroyed passport (swimming in the pool with passport in pocket). Number-2 was they got arrested for doing stupid shit in public while intoxicated. Once in a while someone caught a pickpocket lifting a wallet and beat them in public, which is against the law here, which is why there are so many pickpockets in Barcelona. I tell people to tell everyone at home: stay away from Barcelona, they promote petty theft. That is the symptom of a failing government. I actually think the law came from the EU and not Madrid. Dan and I always carried knives in public, just in case.

This week we were issued weapons. I've never seen one like this before, it was a German made automatic pistol. It was a 9mm with a 36 round magazine and two small handgrips with a targeting laser, and a silencer (kind of like a micro-Uzi). The barrel was about four inches long and the silencer was threaded on the end of the barrel. The ammo was jacketed hollow-point 9mm with a high grain count for faster muzzle velocity. They walked us down to the pistol range under the security building. We were also issued holsters that kept them snugly against our flanks below our arm pits. It was advised to wear a sport coat over it. The weapon was surprisingly lightweight and thin. Daniel called it a ladies machine gun, but the trainers were not amused by his comment. Dan mumbled to me the only thing missing were thin lacy pink holster straps or a Covergirl logo on the silencer.

The thread-on silencer was so small we doubted it silenced much. But the first time we tried the indoor range below the security building the lasers were surprisingly accurate. At 20 meters the laser dot was only off by 1cm. We were authorized to carry it fully concealed anywhere in Spain and France, it was only to be used for self defense.

I asked about riding a bicycle in the area and they said only during daylight hours, never at night. Daniel asked about bars and restaurants and they gave us a printed sheet with safe destinations within two miles of the embassy. They said we should not walk to any stores at night because kidnappings in the area were on the increase. We asked about jogging and they suggested using the trail that runs around the property just inside the wall. I was unaware it was there, but when I checked I saw the path used by security, the guys with the patrol dog (a Doberman pinscher) to check the perimeter all day and night.

The security office had a thick steel door that opened to the sidewalk. That was the only way we were allowed to leave the embassy, so we had to sign out and carry a tracker all the time. I asked why and they said there was a Muslim uprising 11 months ago and the city was still officially considered not safe for Americans. We got a short lesson how to behave in public to not upset the locals (aka: how to not be a stupid American tourist in Spain). They told us the key to safety-success was to never look like you were: wealthy, vulnerable, or lost. The best way was to only travel during the day and dress like the locals. Keep your cell phone in your front pocket (never in your hand), don't carry a purse or backpack, avoid eye contact or conversation with strangers, and if someone touches you in any way you've probably just been robbed. Pickpockets often made eye contact with their victim just before being robbed. Know where you are going before you go, only take the yellow taxis, and never give money to beggars or tell people what time it is when they ask.

They cited examples of the common theft operations in Barcelona. A child pretending to be crying walks up to you in a busy public area and says she lost her mommy, can I help? Then when you get out your cell a group of peddlers with balloons and cotton candy bags walk up and surround you. One of them flashes a knife and demands your valuables and passport, then in a second they disappear into the crowd, while local police watch but do nothing. The security people believe the cops get a cut of the loot in exchange ignoring their crimes.

For security the entire embassy was surrounded by a seven foot reinforced concrete wall. On top of that were steel posts that went up to fifteen feet above the sidewalk. The top part looked similar to the fence on the US Border, it was nearly impossible to climb and was made of hardened steel. The embassy had 24 hour armed guards, one on constant foot patrol with the dog, the other manned the driveway gates and the pedestrian entrance. The perimeter wall had sensors along the entire length. The dog patrol walked the inside perimeter on the jogging trail, but never try to pet the dog or get near it, the dog was trained to bite everyone including embassy workers.

Incoming vehicles had to enter into the Sally Port, which was a secure concrete and steel cage, open to the sky. Once inside the port they could state their business and confirm their reason for arriving. Most were taxi drivers with drunk American tourists that needed a replacement passport. Even embassy employees had to pass security checks before being allowed to park behind the embassy.

The tracking device was a tiny electronic thing that you wore anywhere in your clothes, they recommended in your socks or your underwear waistband in back. It transmitted a weak signal 24/7 while it was turned on and could be used to locate you anywhere in Europe. It resembled a tiny MP3 player.

The entire embassy was a group of very old mansions (and smaller homes) with luscious-manicured green lawns and trees, small in-ground pools, gardens, fountains, statues, shaded patios with umbrellas and furniture, exotic highly sculpted trees, but it looked like nobody that lived here owned a car or even a scooter. If you wanted to go to the store you took a taxi or went with other embassy workers in a small charter bus each Saturday morning. They suggested getting things delivered and handed us a list of reliable places to order delivery items. My first need was some kind of desk lamp and bathroom stuff I forgot to pack. I got the impression I was the first person to ever complain about the darkness.

The entire city block was the embassy except the north end had a medical clinic and a very swank restaurant (Cafeteria CrueBlanca); they suggested they were about the safest places to visit in Barcelona. The embassy contracted with the medical clinic for all embassy staff, it was our urgent care but they were only open 16 hours a day, six days a week, 6am to 8pm. One problem was they only spoke Spanish in the clinic.

By the end of the second week Daniel and I were old pros at living in the Embassy but I started to suspect the perimeter wall was mostly to keep us in. They told me in the 95 year history of this place it had never been attacked. The worst it saw was occasionally some graffiti on the perimeter wall, but they had a service that removed it eventually. In some places the wall looked like anyone with a small car could crash through the rock and mortar wall and storm the compound. The embassy also looked like it was originally just the big house that holds the offices, then they purchased the neighboring property when it was available, then purchased two more properties to make it what it is today. Some of the original stone and mortar walls were removed between the properties but you can still see the wall scars. One of the embassy workers told me the entire area was once olive groves and cotton fields as far as you cold see.

My first purchases were entered online and delivered the next day. I ordered four gooseneck table lamps and light bulbs. I also got: a wine cork puller and a case of red wine, a rolling stool, a robe, 2 bars of plain soap, Lysol spray cans (2), and a stack of legal notepads and pencils. One day while Daniel was gone I sprayed half a can of Lysol on the living room rug then opened the windows and left the apartment. When I came back, as an experiment I move the furniture and rolled up the rug and using the stolen roll of paper towels I hand cleaned the floor under the rug which had a thick layer of dust and crud. Doing those things dramatically reduced the odor in our apartment.

Since we arrived we did very little for the embassy, other than handle a few American tourists that lost their passports to pickpockets and were furious that a new passport could not be issued within a matter of minutes. Getting a temporary passport usually took a few days to have printed somewhere in the city and delivered to the embassy. That got some east-coast American tourists upset, we handled them ourselves. Daniel decided to get nose to nose with a couple of them to get them to back off and behave like they were guests in a foreign country, not standing in line in Times Square trying to hail a cab. One gentleman from Connecticut we told to leave and come back when he was sober and able to behave properly. That really got him angry, and then we grabbed his arms and 'escorted' him to the sidewalk and shut the steel door. He came back the next day with an apology and better behavior, but we could tell he was still pissed about being held responsible for his behavior. That shit may work in NYC but it don't work in Spain. They've been verbally abusing people for so long they don't realize they're doing it.

We weren't really embassy staff, we were State Department agents residing at the Embassy temporarily. We had no idea how long we'd be here, and after all that time learning to fly nobody has since uttered the word Airplane to either of us. I think when there's a pair of FCAs at the embassy then security steps back and only patrols the perimeter, but when we leave they cover the entire facility. That is one of the reasons why we have to sign in and out with Security so they know when to change their area of responsibility. If we were gone they would handle the drunks demanding instant passports in the office, plus their staff takes on another employee.

Our first assignment came four weeks after we arrived. The fugitive was wanted by Interpol for financial crimes in Germany and Sicily. Theft of ninety thousand (Euros) in cash from banks and a district cash processor that handled deposits from retail stores and restaurants. It was believed the thief converted cash into scrap gold pieces and fled to Tunisia in the city of Tunis, which sat on the Mediterranean Sea, across the channel from Sicily. He was believed to have acted alone in the thefts but received some help to escape into Tunisia. These were not hold-up type robberies he was a bank employee with vault access and pocketed cash, over time.

The man we were going to nab was an African native born in Somalia but educated in Egypt, a college graduate with degrees in accountancy and business management. He was born Muslim but probably seldom attended mosque. He was 5'9", obese (140kg), brown skinned, short black hair, clean shaven, well dressed, and usually wore a white Islamic cap to appear like someone who kept the Koran. His legal name is Abel Sinunu and he was 49 years old, divorced, with a grown daughter living in Cairo. We saw some recent images of him from Facebook at a family party obtained by the INR. They provided us with photos of him with full facial hair and an extra 30 pounds of fat. We sort of expected to find him hiding out and looking scruffy sort of like Saddam Hussein when he was captured. We were also given recent known cell numbers and latest tracking hits, unless he gave away his cell and someone else was using it with the same numbers.

We were going to Tunis on a commercial flight but we had to fly to Rome first then to Tunis. We were to meet a CIA friendly local outside the airport in Tunis.

We packed a small carry-on with one change of clothes each and bathroom stuff. We decided to leave our pea shooters at home. But we carried two pairs of steel hand cuffs. With US State Department passports and ID badges we took a taxi across Barcelona to the airport and flew on Royal Dutch Airlines to Rome for a connecting flight to Tunis. The flight was less than one hour and went smoothly.

The airport sign called it 'Aeroport Tunis-Carthage,' the inside looked very Islamic. It was a small but modern airport with most signage in Arabic with some bits in English. I didn't expect to be able to buy a frosty-cold beer anywhere inside the terminal. We saw a beautiful mosque built inside the terminal and gold leaf was a common feature of wall decorations. They had the same tourist shops as any airport in the USA, and we got through immigration quickly with our special passports. We did not declare our true intentions when asked. Daniel told him we were negotiating bulk orders of olives for Spain, but since Spain is a world exporter of olives when he said it sounded absurd, I had to look away to keep from laughing or shouting, "BULLSHIT!"

Our plan, when we found Abel was to take him immediately to the airport and fly him to Rome and surrender him to Interpol in Rome and get a receipt for his live capture. There was a ten thousand Euro reward for his live capture and surrender in Rome. If he started to fight or struggle on the flight it would be up to us to manage him. Daniel carried a roll of stretchy bandage material and a spit-net to fit over his head, just in case. On the flight Daniel showed me something we should consider using on these missions, it was a one inch wide, double sided velcro strap to substitute for stainless steel handcuffs, which really show up well on airport x-ray and got unwanted attention from luggage x-ray screeners. Some countries are not very welcoming to foreign law enforcement.

Taking a prisoner on an international flight can be tricky, some airlines would simply say no and order us to remove the handcuffs at some point before take-off, but supposedly the Tunisia parliament ratified the treaty that created Interpol. All the northern African countries signed the treaty but a couple of them were also known to block extradition on occasion, especially if the prisoner was popular in their country. The best way to avoid being extradited to Rome was to operate a very popular restaurant in Algeria or Tunisia, especially one popular with police and elected state officials.

We also had a long discussion about how much faster and cheaper we could hand Abel over to Interpol if we rented a jet instead of flying the three of us on commercial flights. The embassy said 'not yet' to our request to rent a jet for this mission.

As we rode the taxi from the airport to a hotel I always looked for indicators of the local economy: dead cars, trash on the streets, broken and obstructed sidewalks, scooters, broken windows, burnt out buildings, etc. Tunis had almost no trash on the ground, much cleaner than New York City, but the sidewalks were in sad shape, I saw some graffiti (but not as much as New York or Lagos), no broken windows, and very few billboards. All in all it was in decent shape but definitely a poorer society. Most of the signage was in Arabic, and then French was 2nd, and lastly came English. Street names and signs were in French. Like most of these former French colonies street name signs were always in French and mounted up high on building walls nearest the corner. You really had to look for them. Dan suggested the broken sidewalks were caused by frequent earthquakes, not mis-use or neglect.

Part of Tunis contained the ancient Roman ruins of Carthage. The 2000 year old ruins sat along the coast and looked similar to ancient Rome, but we had no business there today. Based on our government intel we were going to a hotel near where Abel was tracked recently during the day as if he had a retail job. We knew he had a business background and our files indicated he was heavy and probably not able to run. But he might be able to fist fight briefly; he was supposedly a cigar smoker and a foodie.

An hour in traffic and we stopped along a very busy and wide city street. The hotel building looked similar to the others in the area, it was a concrete four story building, painted solid white with a hand-painted sign above the front door in Arabic. From the narrow cracked sidewalk it was three steps up and into the hotel lobby, we had reservations for a room overlooking the street, with two queen beds and a private bathroom. We brought one small case with one change of clothes each, bathroom stuff, a computer, and two pairs of handcuffs. The luggage strap could be removed and used as an additional restraint (or leash) for our prisoner if needed. And we packed a bottle of wine and a cork puller too.

We entered our room on the third floor; I immediately checked the bathroom while he closely checked for bedbugs. Both inspections passed. Like most hotels that housed tourists this place was very clean and proudly displayed a sign in the lobby that alcohol was prohibited since they followed standard Islamic law. I think the law actually states that Muslims are prohibited but visitors may consume privately. You can buy wine in most grocery stores in Tunisia. Dan said those no-alcohol signs were just virtue signaling and not enforced, but they looked nice and made the local modesty police happy.

I got out the computer and started cell network tracking which was a satellite-based application that required a small antenna set up on the bed and aimed skyward. The antenna was three flat panels that when closed looked like a small book but unfolded and connected to the computer with a thin cable. Within 60 seconds I was connected to a satellite and another minute later the app was up and running. It showed the location of our target was nearly across the street from the hotel. Daniel walked to the window and moved the curtain aside a little and looked at the retail shops across the street. It was hard to tell much at first because all the signs were in Arabic and most of the logos visible in windows I never heard of before.

The street traffic was heavy, lots of cars and trucks, city transit busses, scooters, and there were no lane lines on the pavement, but it looked like the street was four lanes wide but with all the parked vehicles picking-up and dropping off they were lucky to get one lane of traffic moving in both directions. Many times people double and triple parked for quick errands which narrowed the street sometimes to one lane for four lanes of traffic. It was a bloody mess and looked chaotic to my American eyeballs.

Across the street the three story white concrete building (probably also a death trap in a severe earthquake) had retail shops on the ground floor. The online street map said the shops were: cell sales-service, herbal remedy shop, incense shop, a tea and sandwich shop, a gold jewelry dealer that specialized in buying scrap gold, and imported tea dealer, and a shop that sold exotic African birds and pet supplies. Our tracking screen said Abel was across the street in one of those shops but we couldn't tell exactly where. What it actually showed was his cell was across the street, we hoped it was in his pocket.

We decided to split up and hit opposite ends of the block and try not to get run over crossing the street. Daniel went in the gold dealer across the street and looked at gold ounce bars and found the dealer spoke English and he asked about what happens if he purchased one and later found out it was fake, the dealer pointed to a sign that said 'All sales are final.' So he casually looked in the display cases at the necklaces and wondered how much was just gold plated or maybe brass. They had no other customers, which was also a warning sign. When another man walked in the door the salesman focused on him which gave Daniel a chance to move around and glance in the back room to see if he could see Abel in back. After twenty minutes of looking in display cases and listening to everyone talk he waved and left the store and went to the next shop.

I started in the cell phone dealer picked up their paper with all the different service packages they offered, one side of the sheet was in French and English. They had two other customers so I had time to slowly pace around and listen to all the voices and figured out the manager was in the back room but she was a lady (I heard her answer the phone) so I left.

The next store was the herbal remedy shop that made natural-herbal and medicinal teas to cure most ills, like constipation and an inability to get an erection. They had a pot of green Chinese tea simmering on the hot plate so I purchased a small cup to sample in the store, but unlike Japan tea service it was simply poured in a small paper cup and set on the counter. I sipped it while I looked at the sign on the counter with all the herbs they had in stock and another with all the ills they treated naturally. Their paper had a photo of a man called 'The Doctor' that directed their business and prescribed traditional desert treatments based on hundreds of years of research and tradition. Of course in the photo he wore a white lab coat.

All the tea shop workers were properly veiled women and I never heard a man's voice so I left the store after finishing my weak green tea. I was not impressed. Judging by the slow business day I assumed the locals didn't spend many Dinars there either.

The next store was the incense shop. Of course the biggest sellers were sticks of incense made of frankincense, and the next was lavender. They even had a special price on genuine Indian sticks, some guaranteed to treat ills and please the friendly spirits, chase out evil spirits, and improve your breathing.

Incense got me wondering briefly, back in the middle ages in Europe spices and incense were super valuable. I got to wondering if some of them were mixed with an herb that got people stoned and that was why incense like Frankincense was so valuable and in-demand since the time when the pyramids were built. Perhaps some pepper corns were sprayed with some form of THC oil on the Spice Islands of Indonesia. Some spices back then cost more than gold.

Whenever I moved from shop to shop I looked for Daniel on the sidewalk but never saw him. But the incense shop had a man's voice in the back room so I stalled and read every sign and pamphlet hoping the voice in the back room would appear from behind the curtain. Suddenly a man walked out but he was short and slender, maybe 105 pounds, maybe 5'5" with curly black hair. So that cleared this store and I left for the sandwich shop next door. When I walked in their door I saw Daniel seated at a table sipping from a large mug of coffee with half a sandwich on a plate with a few olives on toothpicks beside his sandwich.

He never made eye contact so I ignored him and got in line at the counter. Where I stood I saw there was a back room and could see part of someone who looked like he was slicing meat. When he finished the large piece of meat he stepped back and I saw the guy was rather large and at a glance he definitely resembled our target. When it was my turn I ordered a cup of green herbal tea and sat at a table near Daniel but we never spoke. I grabbed a seat that gave me a view of the entire food prep area.

One elderly man came in and he seemed upset about something and was talking loudly and gesturing in the air so I whispered, "Is that him in back?" He slightly nodded yes, so I asked him to let me know when he was ready. He whispered, 'I was born ready.' I chuckled and finished my tea, he's been saying that born ready crap since high school. It's really old and he's rarely ready when I am, he just thinks he is.

We actually practiced this scenario at training in Quantico, storming behind a retail counter in a food shop. I looked carefully at where and how employees were moving and decided their walkway was wide open, but the back door to the kitchen was also wide open, I saw sunlight streaming in the back kitchen. I think they had a screen door for the flies and birds.

I saw the large man wearing white kitchen clothes step out front with a large tray of cold cuts of different types and slid them into the display case. The arrival of new meats got attention from customers standing in line. I whispered "Grab the bracelets, let's get this dude."

We both stood and moved to opposite ends of the L-shaped counter and moved around employees toward Abel just after he stepped into the back kitchen. We approached from two directions to meet in the middle at the doorway to the back kitchen. We disturbed the counter workers and had to shove some of them into the display cases, suddenly Abel turned around and stepped in the doorway as we arrived and shoved him hard into the wall, in seconds the cuffs were on and we walked him out from behind the counters. I had to shove one of the service girls forcefully out of the way (when she tried to stop us) and rushed Abel across the dining area and quickly out the front door, across the sidewalk, across the heavy traffic and into the hotel. We slowly got him up the stairs to the third floor and into our room and got him seated in a chair beside the windows. We changed his cuffs to hold him to the chair and I taped his ankles to the chair legs. I read Abel was not English speaking but when we showed him the Interpol arrest warrant his English suddenly started working a little. It was easy to see he was totally caught off guard and slowly getting angrier.

I packed our stuff and put away the computer gear and called our office for them to arrange transport back to the Tunis airport and a flight for three to Rome. The bad news was it was three hours until the next flight to Rome so we hung out and offered him water and turned on the TV and waited for transport to arrive. Abel was very sweaty the entire time, even with the AC blowing on him all the time. I think he was freaked out about going to prison. I guess he had enemies in Rome.

Since he was an Interpol wanted I think he'd end up in Brussels within 48 hours of his arrival in Rome. Maybe he had even more enemies there than Rome. He wasn't telling us squat, which was fine with me.

We arrived at the airport and repeatedly showed our passports and the arrest warrant for Abel, we had him handcuffed to our wrists and he had mellowed out but he was also not speaking except to ask for water or to use the toilet.

That afternoon we boarded our AirTunis flight to Rome, one hour non-stop in a propeller-type passenger plane and we always exited the plane last. We were met near security screening by police and took Abel to an airport security office holding cell and got a receipt for him and called our office to make sure he was being handed over to the correct people. They called the Interpol number and gave them the badge number, name, and office of the cop and they said yes, he was fine to surrender Abel to. We got the receipt and bought tickets back to Barcelona.

We landed in Barcelona at 7:15pm and took a taxi to the embassy. We pushed the bell button and were welcomed in but they still had to inspect our case. We asked them for another pair of handcuffs because two pairs were not enough. We also asked for a small spray can of pepper. After that we walked across the campus to our building, in the side door, across the lobby, into the tiny elevator and up to the fourth floor, down the hallway and into our room.

When the door opened we were hit in the face by a cool blast of air that smelled musty but not as bad, sort of like a basement smell. I set the case on the dining table and went directly to the bathroom. Daniel disappeared in his room. I heard him in the tub, so I got in the other tub and soaked for a while with the lights off.

One week later we got reward checks for five thousand Euros each.

Contact the author by email: borischenaz at mailfence (as of June 2023 this is my only email adrs)

Due to censorship at many ebook dealers this ebook was self-censored by the author.