Charles Gates

Old Wine Tales

2010-04-26T17:47:00.002-04:00

Treasa and I have started a new blog. Read about our love of wine (and food) at Old Wine Tales.
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Closing Credits

2010-04-25T21:43:00.003-04:00

There’s been a good reason for my absence here – meaning my physical self isn’t in some state of decomposition. Treasa and I have been moving along very nicely. Given my line of work, it’s inevitable that she’d get caught up in it at some point. Because I know I couldn't come to terms with those consequences, I’ve decided to get out of the game from hence forward. I’ve gone straight. Yes, this means transitioning to the corporate life. I’ve taken a much better paying job at another bank. Nine to five. Cubicles. And managing vacation days.

But it doesn’t, at least shouldn’t, entail rapidly approaching bullets, explosions, and deceit. For this; I’m better off. I’m cognizant that I cannot fully escape my past. There’s a risk that something will bubble up, but I’ll do my best to avoid the splatter. I’ll always be prepared, and I’ll always get results.

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No Spring Break In Tijuana After All

2010-03-19T16:05:00.004-04:00

Good news all the way around regarding Marcel and the litany of ‘What could have happeneds.’ He got an emergency call from his boss, got on the red eye, arrived on the East Coast at 5:00 EST, went straight to the office and has been living the corporate grind, unshowered, ever since.

I did manage to carve out a few minutes of his time for our chat. I’ll be expecting word on whether he’s found me suitable opportunity sometime next week.

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Call Waiting

2010-03-19T13:29:00.002-04:00

If there’s one thing that gets my head, and heart, racing, it’s when someone misses a meeting. Mother always taught me, if you’re not fifteen minutes early, you’re late.

Generally, for face to face meetings, I’ll arrive at the specified location much earlier than that to check for surveillance and to make sure my escape routes are mapped out. For internet meet-ups or phone calls, other than making sure you’re on a secure line, there’s nothing much more to do than sit and wait for your contact to arrive.

Now that my Bulgarian Operation has, for the most part, been wrapped up, I’m looking for another target on which to focus my skill set. I’ve done a good job of establishing my corporate cover. I’ve gained trust, built relationships and delivered results consistent, exceptional results to all of my corporate business partners. Because of this success, I may have the ability to gather more intelligence in other parts of the bank.

With this perspective, I was awaiting a phone call last night from one of Mother’s people who may have a way to interject me into their operation. We had met in person previously, but with Marcel currently residing on the Left Coast, we struggled through time zone differences to set up a contact time: 21:00 EST.

By 21:09 a myriad of what-ifs were running through my mind. What if he couldn’t get away from his corporate responsibilities? What if he couldn’t find a secure line? What if, unlikely as it may be, he forgot? What if he was tied to a metal chair in the basement of a Tijuana flat, bleeding, hoping the power goes out so the electrodes will stop while his captors repeatedly ask who he was meeting and what it was about?

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Thirty Minutes Or It's Free

2010-03-16T21:54:00.001-04:00

Remember maintenance guy ploy? Well, it works for deliveries as well.

Upon returning home from work, I received a message instructing me to make a delivery to a local contact. My parcels weren’t all too exciting. I had two thumb drives containing dossiers on people of interest. But, I still had to figure out a way to bring the information without attracting the slightest amount of suspicion.

I made a sandwich, wrapped it in waxed paper, like what you’d get in deli, and put one of my Coke Zero’s in a paper bag. I put on some ratty jeans, an old t-shirt and a baseball cap. Got in my truck, opened the windows, which was finally possible as it was finally above sixty degrees today in Delaware, and blasted some ungodly rock-pop music from the first painful radio station I found via the scan button.

To anyone who may have casually watched me deliver the paper bag, I would have looked just like they would have expected a delivery person to. If someone actually stopped me, they would have needed to look inside the sandwich to find my data, as I had covered the thumb drives in plastic wrap, hollowed out a small notch on the inside of the roll and covered the drives back up with the bread, which was then further concealed with the makings of a fine sandwich.

Then, without a sandwich to eat for dinner, I settled on boiling some cappellini with some left over meat sauce.

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Staying Dry

2010-03-15T20:33:00.006-04:00

It’s been raining in Delaware for about three or four days. As such, this has been pretty much been a good parallel to what my operative life has been like lately. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing however, as it means that no one has tried to kill me lately.

The life of an operative isn’t as glamorous as Sean Connery led us to believe in James Bond. Rarely, unfortunately, do I spend my time walking the bikini clad boardwalks of Miami, as Michael does in Burn Notice. Down time, in my perspective, is a blessing. My line of work entails persevering through a series of calculated risks. The more down time you have, the fewer chances you take on rolling the dice. This means that I’m essentially procrastinating until it lands on black, when I’ve put my free breathing future on red.

Begrudgingly, I’ve been surviving the daily commute. The grind, as it is, seemingly just as much relates to the coffee dust that gets me through my day as it does to the worker bee lifestyle I’m currently entertaining. I biggest fear is that the lack of action will lull me into a state of complacency. This, of course, can have dire consequences. Coming in at a close second, though, is the apprehension surrounding the potential that I may grow accustomed to this molasses lifestyle and become hesitant to reengage when Mother’s call comes.

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Longer Short Cut

2010-03-07T15:17:00.000-05:00

Treasa and I went to the Philadelphia Boat Show yesterday. Unlike the Baltimore Boat Show, I wasn’t there on behalf of Mother, or any other official business. Instead, we just went up to look at what we’d spend money on if we had a spare hundred grand, which we don’t.

On the way there, though, we encountered multiple sirens from police, fire response personnel and emergency medics. The short cut I wanted to take to the highway was blocked off. Nothing incriminating was in my truck, so I wasn’t concerned if we got stopped, but because we were forced to take an alternate route, I was glad I knew the area well enough not to get lost.

The road we took wasn’t something I was familiar with because I knew the area, but rather a series of side streets I learned because they were an additional way for me to get to work when I need to get to the downtown office. Every so often, I’d take the extra ten minutes to wind my way through these neighborhoods to see if I could recognize a car that I sometimes saw on my typical commute. The chances that someone was taking the same route on the same day as me would be slim. It’s a good way to see if you’ve picked up a tail.

Yesterday, however, I was less concerned with that. Instead, it showed how preparation for one thing can pay off greatly for another.

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TGI Lunchtime On Friday

2010-03-06T21:59:00.001-05:00

Friday was a pretty typical day at the office. A meeting here, some work there, and most importantly, a lunch break. I met Heather Erinovic a contact for lunch at a place downtown. We were in on a previous operation a while back and haven’t seen each other since. Each of us ordered the grilled ahi tuna caesar salad. Nothing to report really.

However, on the way to the restaurant, a panhandler asked me what time it was. “Quarter to twelve,” I responded. Then he asked me if I could spare a dollar. I wonder how successful he is with opening up communication with misdirection.

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Instead Of A Good Dinner

2010-03-03T17:50:00.000-05:00

There are times when your job calls you to take something that you otherwise wouldn’t dream of possessing. Lot’s of times you will be asked to be the middleman, the information/material conduit from one person to the next, because you can be trusted. Today was one of those times where it was made clear to me that ignoring this request wasn’t an option.

After work I meandered through rush hour traffic to avoid catching a tail and picked up some goods that I’ll need to drop off later tonight. Without knowing exactly what was in the sack, I was pretty sure that possessing them puts my health and wellbeing in jeopardy. Of course, with it being a second trip out late at night, the drop is going to stink, but it has to be done.

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Cheeeeeeeese!

2010-03-01T19:23:00.000-05:00

There are certain times where it just makes sense to pay a professional to do a job right. For a great variety of things, I’m the man you call to get results. But intrinsic in my skill set is an understanding of my own limitations. For instance, I’ll solicit the services of an accountant, a lawyer and a plumber, and yesterday, you can add a top notch photographer to the list.

Mother sent Timothy down to meet me. Whereas I can avoid detection, trail a mark, and gain access to areas without leaving a trace, taking pictures good enough for facial recognition software isn’t something I have on my resume.

Timothy and I met downtown and trailed our targets as they ran Sunday morning errands. While they made a trip to the ATM, a hair cut for him, nails for her and lunch at a burger place, Timothy was click-click-clicking away with his multi thousand dollar camera. I kept my truck from drawing attention.

He seemed to be pleased with the lighting and how the depth of the backgrounds complimented the subject matter, or something. His mood turned sour when we followed them back to their home, a working horse farm. At the thought of walking his white suede, leather soled dress shoes through the woods and a field or two to gather intelligence, he threw his hands up and exclaimed something to the effect of, ‘Oh, they’re last season’s style anyway.’

The layout of the property was all in the dossier. The fact that he knew that the couple lived on a horse farm and that we’d follow them there, and that he still chose to wear those shoes made me reason that his pictures must be really good to outweigh his complete absentmindedness.

A bluff of trees, two fields, and two now brown suede, leather soled shoes later, we had the pictures we needed. I brought Timothy back to his car and went home to cook dinner:

Sear seasoned chicken thighs in enameled cast iron dutch oven in butter and oil.
Set remove chicken, set aside and sauté chopped onion and garlic in oil.
Dump last sip of beer into dutch oven to deglaze stuck-on chicken goodness.
Add parsley, thyme, crushed red pepper, and a good dash of personal spice blend.
Add two cans of low fat, low sodium chicken broth and bring to a simmer.
Add chicken back to dutch oven and simmer until just shy of done.
Remove chicken thighs and add box of orzo. Add water if necessary.
Chop was-frozen-now-partially-microwaved spinach and add to ducth oven.
When orzo is almost done, reintroduce chicken thighs.
Top with parmesan cheese and devour.

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In The News

2010-02-25T15:50:00.008-05:00

Apparently, the number of people it takes to assassinate Mahmoud al-Mabhouh is up to twenty six.

The latest accusations by Dubai police raised the size of the alleged assassination team to at least 26 and further expanded the international web of the investigation — now stretching from the United State to Europe and Australia.

The above referenced article mainly discusses the diplomatic outrage concerning the fact that this team apparently used passports from Britain, Ireland, France and Australia. I’ll let the suits and paper pushers figure that out.

What concerns me is the fact that twenty six people were allegedly directly involved. Now, I’ll be the first to admit this type of operation isn’t exactly my cup of tea, but even so, I prefer to work alone, and if forced, in small teams. This isn’t Ocean’s Eleven, or Twelve. That’s just a lot of people to trust when your untortured future is on the line.

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Going My Way?

2010-02-23T20:47:00.000-05:00

What to do when you have to transport a body? Well, there are a few different types of bodies to transport.

First, you have a dead body. They’re easy to conceal in the trunk of a car and don’t make much noise. But, they are quite hard to explain if you’re talking to a customs agent who decides it would be a good idea to take a peak in your trunk.

Second are the alive but hostile bodies. The best part about this type is that they’re alive. When sitting in a car they don’t look dead and when given the proper motivation, or threat of physical violence to either them or someone they care about, they will generally sit still and can even say helpful things like, “No officer, there isn’t a problem here at all.” The worst part about the alive but hostiles is, well, they’re alive. They’re under duress and can be total wildcards. They can be a complete pain in the neck, alert law enforcement and get stressed enough to think that exiting a vehicle while bound at eighty five miles per hour on a busy highway is a good, safe way to attempt an escape.

Lastly are the alive and friendly type. For this kind, you can set up an arranged meeting time and place. Around lunch works well because it is a common time to leave the office. You get to the parking lot, pick up your friend Carson, take him to where he needs to go, acquire what information you need, and avoid information you don’t, like what is in that backpack, make sure you’re not being followed and return to work just in time to make that enthralling conference call you were scared you might miss.

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I Am Not Your Mother

2010-02-18T18:59:00.001-05:00

Okay, I’m really tired and I’m having trouble making accurate sense of my observations.

- The guy at work who turned on a dime as soon as came around the corner while taking my lunch to the microwave was not avoiding me, just probably someone who forgot something at his desk.
- The telephony services van driving through the parking lot, occupied by two males, was probably not a tactical team meant to stalk me, but rather just doing work on the building.
- The guy at the grocery store moving the pallet jack of A&W Root Beer was not trying to impede my movement, he was traversing the soda aisle.

Of course I took all of these potential threats seriously, as you would if your life depended on it. But typically my point in time judgment is a bit more accurate.

Speaking of the grocery store, I’m making pasta carbonara for dinner. I sort of lied in the comments section of that link. I couldn’t wait until the weekend to try the dish. And I don’t know Carla personally, but anyone who lists sharp knives, cast iron, and small dogs for cleaning as topics of interest wins a spot among my blog bookmarks.

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Cheque This Out

2010-02-17T18:58:00.001-05:00

Sometimes a man has just got to make a living.

In this business, you tend to stumble upon business operations that generate lots of money. A few years ago I was able to acquire a pile of cash, in the electronic sense, that I’ve been sitting on ever since.

Patience is the key. If you finish an operation and immediately go out and buy a boat or something, you’re sure to be under an allotment of fiscal microscopes. You need to be able to substantiate what you purchase. What isn’t watched as closely, however, are your everyday expenses.

Using this train of thought, today I set up an auto payment for all of my utility-esque expenses. Cable, internet, trash, water, and power. These are now paid automatically every month from an offshore account, funneled through an ING savings account, originating from my operational find a few years back.

The beauty of it all is that I’ve offset a few hundred dollars of monthly obligations that weigh against my corporate salary. Is it like winning the lottery? No. But winning the lottery draws attention. Attention gets you killed.

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On Demand

2010-02-16T18:18:00.000-05:00

I was scrambling at the end of my work day. I had some data testing to finish up. It was taking me longer than necessary. This exaggerated timeline was purposeful. It allowed me to finalize the data for Mother.

I was finally able to aggregate the Bulgarian data Mother was looking for. I saved it to disc, sent an email to my boss, and headed out the door.

I had to get to Blockbuster. Mother placed a contact there. Between 5 and 5:15, the contact’s co-worker would be out on break. Given her pack a day habit, it was a pretty safe bet they’d be out back.

I pulled up a few minutes after the turn of the hour, and dropped off season 6 of 24 in the return bin, and left without talking to anyone. The third disc of the season, to an outsider, would look like any other burned compact disc. It will even play a forty five minute mix if someone played it. Encrypted, though, was a dossier detailing the ins and outs of the Bulgarian operation. It looked as if someone had mistakenly returned the wrong disc. My contact would swap this out with an actual 24 DVD and forward the information to Mother later on.

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Good Things Come In...

2010-02-13T08:44:00.002-05:00

This is certainly not the sight you want to see as soon as you wake up, and before your first cup of coffee.

Treasa and the dogs stayed over last night. I, being the first to rise, went downstairs, started the coffee and took the dogs outside. At the end of the cul-de-sac were two SUVs and a truck. Given the ice/snow covered roads, I’m more concerned about being attacked by vehicles with four wheel drive than some tinted out performance sedan.

The engines were cold and there wasn’t anyone inside the vehicles. Should I come under attack this morning, I have an extra layer of security; Brogan, the canine door bell.

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All You Can Eat

2010-02-11T17:37:00.000-05:00

Luckily, the power didn’t go out during the most recent snowfall. It was a few flakes over a foot this time. I knew I would be snowed in, so my strategy was preparedness and supply conservation.

Obviously I bought enough beer and bourbon to hold me through a few days of snow induced house arrest, but food would be another issue.

Essentially, food provisions boil down to two types: those you have to heat up, and those you don’t. You can find a box of pasta on sale at the grocery store for about a dollar. But without power, you can’t boil the water to cook it. Same goes for raw meats and frozen food items. Note that for the purposes of this explanation, I’m ignoring the potential of cooking with cast iron in the fireplace.

The second food category consists of items you can eat ‘as is.’ Raw veggies, fruit, nuts, most canned goods, bread, and as was my diet for the last day, deli meats, are all good expamples. During the early part of the storm, while power was on, I ate items from the first category to sustain my stash of those in the second. I was eating food that required power to prepare in case later on, if I had lost power, I still had food to eat that didn’t require electricity to prepare.

Of course, items like deli meats are in category 2 in the winter and category 1 in the summer because they require refrigeration. If power had gone out, I could have kept my ham and swiss from spoiling by placing them inside a large cooler, i.e. my front porch. My only concern then would be whether I had a ham sammy or a ham-and-swiss popsicle.

Luckily, I didn’t have to rely on my preparation this time. The key, though, is that I could have if I needed to.

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Majenta Feeling Taken Shelter In Base Of My Spine

2010-02-09T18:24:00.001-05:00

This corporate gig has kept me working pretty hard recently. The only positives I see from this whole work thing are the pay check and the fact that the café stocks Cherry Coke Zero.

I’ve managed to profile our customer population into groups that may have been impacted by the Bulgarian credit card squeeze. Of the millions upon millions of accounts we have, I could immediately dismiss the ones that don’t owe anything. From there, it was a matter of modeling transaction behavior to determine who is involved in the Bulgarian scheme.

I segmented the population into buckets of accounts based upon the modeled probability that they were impacted. Before sending the file of leads to Mother for review, I discussed the separation logic I used to create the statistical stratification. Because some of the variables I incorporated weren’t the most operationally identifiable, I need to go back in and tweak it a bit.

More snow is expected again tonight. Next time I’m requesting assignment somewhere significantly warmer.

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Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun...

2010-02-06T15:00:00.001-05:00

It’s still snowing.

I sure wish I had that fourth gallon of milk.

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Milk Aisle Intolerance

2010-02-04T19:17:00.002-05:00

We’re expecting anywhere between twelve and twenty four inches of snow, depending upon who you ask, tomorrow. Because it’s expected to start in the early afternoon, the grocery store was a complete mad house today. None of this is a surprise, because Delawarians are completely incompetent when it comes to snow.

We’re going to be stuck in our houses, maybe, until Sunday, and people are buying stuff like its Y2K all over again. I actually laughed out loud at the empty milk shelves and the women almost coming to tears over them. See blurry cell phone pic. The (pretty attractive) woman behind me in the checkout line said that she saw a woman buying four gallons of milk. Four gallons!?!?

Now, I’ll admit that an increases level of grocery fervor is tolerable, considering that the Super Bowl is this weekend and that the shopping that had been planned for Saturday had to be accelerated, but c’mon!

Treasa and I, of course, predicted the chaos and went to the liquor store yesterday. I don’t even want to know how crazy that place was today.

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House Call

2010-02-03T16:50:00.000-05:00

A few days ago I got tired of the slow drain in my master bathroom sink. So I took apart the drain and cleared the clog, which was a pretty gross blob of gooey grossness. As I was putting it back together, I cracked the sleeve that connects the sink to the pipe. I went to Lowe’s and purchased a replacement Lavatory Pop-Up. But instead of installing it myself, and breaking the same piece twice, I had Treasa call a maintenance man from one of her properties.

He came over today and fixed it for free. And a lot faster than I would have.

Well, I think it cost me a sandwich, but all in all, not a bad deal.

The plumbing job had absolutely nothing to do with an operational procedure; however it did show me how accepting neighbors are of people in uniforms, carrying a few tools, entering your home. If I ever need to pick something up in the future for Mother, taking the truck, putting on some work clothes and carrying a tool box seems like a pretty simple way to remain under the radar.

An original idea? No. Simple and effective? Yes.

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Neighborhood Watch

2010-02-02T18:35:00.003-05:00

Sorry about the lack of updates over the past few days. I haven’t been killed or detained, which you should have figured out by reading the previous sentence.

I made my way home from work today to find three police cars at the front of my neighborhood, lights flashing. There was, what appeared to be, a minor traffic accident. However, this happened on a section of road that was completely straight for a few hundred yards in either direction. The lead car had jumped the curb and struck a small tree next to the sidewalk. The second car had come to a stop only inches behind it. To add another level of complexity, there was a drug dog searching both vehicles. My best guess was that some sort of drug deal had gone bad resulting in the second car forcing the first off of the road.

And I paid a lot of extra money to live in the good part of town.

If someone in the same neighborhood has a less than legal distribution business, it does explain why someone broke into my truck a few days ago. Presumably, they were looking for something, like my GPS, to trade for a score.

Hopefully, this will cause the local police force to increase patrols through this area. Now, you may think that increased police presence would be a hindrance to someone like me. For day to day activities, this is not the case.

A quieter locale reduces the chances of an extraneous factor impeding on any operation I may have planned. Luckily I was able to work from home following my truck break in. But what would have happened if I had to leave abruptly to meet one of Mother’s contacts that morning? Driving a truck with a busted out window would attract police attention in the wrong way. My ability to stay alive depends on skillful planning of operations and their inherent contingencies. It is virtually impossible to strategize a backup plan that fits into my cover story that covers waking up to a pile of glass on my driver’s seat.

Hopefully, there won’t be any other incidents in the future.

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Colonel Mustard, In The Study, With The Maglite

2010-01-29T19:51:00.003-05:00

It’s supposed to be in the low teens tonight. Treasa is over for a roaring fire, my renowned meat sauce, a bottle of cabernet and 24 episodes into the wee hours of tomorrow. Also making the trip are her two German Shorthaired Pointers, Brogan, the male, and Rohan, whose name is pronounced like what you do in a canoe, the female.

In so far as the truck break-in fallout is concerned, I have two potential avenues to track my prey. First, are fingerprints. These, unfortunately, are not an option. I made the decision not to dust for prints. How could I explain myself, a supposed banker, possessing a CSI kit and combing for forensic evidence?

Secondly, is the GPS itself. The thing about a GPS is that in order for it to give you directions to where you need to go, a computer has to know where you are. If a computer knows where the GPS unit is, I can track it. Unfortunately, I can only track it if it’s powered on. It’s hasn’t shown up on the grid yet. This either means that I’ve been targeted and my attacker has disposed of the GPS, or the junkie that took it hasn’t found a buyer yet. Time will tell.

This whole ordeal has me thinking about home security though. If someone had broken into my truck during the holiday season, one could surmise that they were looking for presents left in a vehicle and happened to stumble on my GPS. A vehicle break-in this time of year brings into question my, and Treasa’s, safety in my home.

This highlights the necessity of keeping everyday household items placed around your house that can also be used as weapons in the event of a home invasion. For the sake of this discussion, I’ll leave out firearms. They should always be locked in a safe, and therefore, may not be the best thing to rely on if your life depends on your actions within the next few seconds.

Bedroom: I keep a Maglite flashlight on my bed stand. Not only great for when power goes out, but Maglite’s also make good weapons.

Maglite flashlights have been known to be used as mêlée weapons. On March 30, 2007, the Los Angeles Police Department announced that they would be switching to a smaller, lighter LED flashlight that cannot be used as batons, in response to a highly publicized incident where an officer was accused of using excessive force against a suspect by using a Maglite

Kitchen: Obviously, cutlery is a good choice. However, your attacker will know about that as well. I keep a large pair of scissors in a drawer, they also serve as a good impaling device. Silverware. Cast iron skillets. My favorite ones are made by Lodge.

Dining Room: Candle stick holders will do a nice job when struck with force against a forehead. Also, break the bowl off of a wine glass, and the stem and foot will stab quite well.

Garage: Hammers, screw drivers, saws, nail guns…all this should be pretty obvious. What’s not, however, is a plumb bob. Consider the plumb bob the Lowe’s equivalent of a medieval mace.

Living Room: Fire place set. Maglite by the television.

Office: Letter opener. Any pen or pencil. Scissors. A stapler also can serve as a nice interrogation device should you capture your trespasser.

Others: Dog leashes. If a 13 year old girl in Saudi Arabia can get 90 lashes over a possessing a cell phone, your dog’s leash can serve as a weapon.

By no means is this an exhaustive list. I didn’t list the variety of pocket knives and Leatherman mini tools I own. You can be certain I’ll be looking to strategically place additional items around my house within the next coming days.

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Fine Tuning Banjo

2010-01-29T13:42:00.004-05:00

Treasa's office has an operational scanner. Here’s Banjo Jim’s letter:
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At Least It Wasn't Raining

2010-01-28T19:33:00.005-05:00

Sometimes your days just don’t go as planned. Today, I woke up at my normal time, took a shower, poured a cup of coffee and got ready to drive in to work. Everything was going along just fine until I went to get in my truck. Someone, it seems, decided that my GPS, residing inside my vehicle, would be much better suited belonging to someone else. The only thing between them and my GPS was the locked door and the driver side window. The window proved to be the path of least resistance and, apparently, didn't put up much of a fight.

My neighbor had just detailed his car yesterday and said he had hand prints on his windows, indicating that the perp’ had gone from car to car looking for a nice score. This, for any tax paying citizen, would be a small comfort because it indicated that I had not been targeted directly and had just gotten unlucky.

Well, for me, I’m not ready to jump to that conclusion. It is now hyper-vigilance o’clock from now on.

I filed a police report, which they completed over the phone. Apparently they didn’t need proof that my truck was broken into. They’ll be fine taking my word for it and adding it to their stack of paper. They said that my daily transaction number was ‘077.’ Does this mean that, as of my call at 7:50 AM, I was the seventy seventh person to require police assistance? That’s not exactly comforting.

At least I was insured for this. Zero dollar deductible and no increase in rates for theft or vandalism. The window guy came by mid afternoon, made my truck significantly less drafty, and departed without any out of pocket expense.

The boss-man was okay with me working from home today, considering the circumstances. Surprisingly, I got a lot done. Corporate work, nothing for Mother.

I ate an ungodly amount of seafood stew for dinner. I’m ready for this day to end.

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Stealing A Paycheck

2010-01-26T18:23:00.000-05:00

Today was boring.

Nothing going on at work. Leftover homemade pizza for lunch. And the leftover red sauce that was a primary ingredient in the leftover homemade pizza topped some rigatoni for dinner.

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A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

2010-01-25T19:59:00.004-05:00

As you can imagine, I’m a bit skeptical of packages left on my front porch. I hadn’t ordered anything in awhile. So great, this is either a bomb or someone’s head packaged in dry ice.

The odds of it being a bomb are slim. If you were the target of one of my operations, somehow was left alive, then figured out that I was the one who was responsible, and then tracked me down through my maze of cover stories, you would have to be smart enough to know that I wouldn’t fall for the old ‘bomb in the box by the front door’ trick.

Ok, so whose head is it?

Wait, a return address from Banjo Jim? Anyone who knows Banjo Jim, and isn’t dead because of it, is a friend of mine. He lives down state, below the canal, where things tend to lag a few decades behind the rest of us. He’s a man of peculiar wit, possesses an encyclopedic memory of crossword answers, and as a result of his time spent in the Navy, besides receiving a tidy monthly pension, has a pretty substantial network in the import/export business. Every so often a shipment of something useful gets diverted to me.

Today it’s a pair of black tactical gear bags, a letter, and a black t-shirt. Yes, a t-shirt. A black, size large, Fruit of the Loom t-shirt. I know I mentioned his ‘peculiar wit,’ however I want to go back and reemphasize the ‘peculiar.’

My scanner has decided to take the night off, so I had to take a digital picture of the actual letter.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Don't Showboat, Just Get Your Job Done

2010-01-24T09:27:00.003-05:00

Well, turns out Mother’s original intel wasn’t totally accurate. I wasn’t in Baltimore to track down a potential boat buyer, I was there to locate a boat dealer.

I can’t imagine the logistical nightmare shows like this create. There were probably a few hundred boats inside the Baltimore Convention Center. Maneuvering trailers around the building in order to precisely place each boat in its location must be choreographed perfectly. And I do mean perfectly. These boats were mere inches away from each other. I’m sure this task was obscenely stressful, not just because of the time sensitive deadline, but because many of these boats were several multiples of my yearly corporate salary.

Organized chaos is a great opportunity for someone looking to get something done under the radar. The Director of Logistics, or whatever their actual/official title is, would have been under a great deal of pressure. Issues would only be brought to their attention if they were of the utmost importance. So if someone sees something that doesn’t seem right, chances are no inquiries will be made.

Mother’s new and improved information said that one of the boat dealers was transporting something illegal between conventions. We didn’t know what; drugs, arms, bootleg DVDs of Grey’s Anatomy. We had no idea. The what was someone else’s problem. The where was my task. And that’s why I brought the tracking devices.

The actual mission was easy. It’s not hard to find a boat dealer at a boat show. They advertise the bejeezus out of themselves. Determining what boat(s) were being used for transporting illegal goods was a bit more challenging. Each boat was in pristine condition. They were cleaned from top to bottom, so there was no visible evidence, that I could find, without CSI-esque gear, showing that a particular compartment was being used. Therefore, I picked two boats that had a good amount of storage room, planted the devices and hoped for the best.

Unrelated, if anyone is looking to buy a boat, I recommend contacting Dirk Van Rees of Taylor Marine Centers. He was genuinely friendly and extremely knowledgeable about the products he was selling. In particular, we talked about a 23 foot Grady White walk around cuddy cabin.

On that note, I’m going to go buy a lottery ticket.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Thank You, Come Again

2010-01-22T19:33:00.000-05:00

After work I went over to a small strip mall to meet someone on Mother’s behalf. This was the kind of place that was busy enough so that two people arriving at the same time wouldn’t be the only thing to watch, but not so congested that you had a hard time keeping track of who was coming in and out.

The strip mall had two ways in and out, one on each end of the parking lot. I entered from the west side. As I was pulling into my isolated parking spot, I observed a loading truck pull up on the east end, partially obstructing the exit. That way out now pinched the flow of traffic to one lane. It could still be used for a quick escape unless some innocent was entering as I tried to speed away. Or, of course, it could be by design.

Either way, the meet had to take place now. With the parking lot sparsely populated, sitting in a parked car for the truck to depart, if in fact the truck was there for legitimate reasons, was not an option. It would draw too much attention.

When I saw someone matching the rough description of the person I was waiting for walk into the convenience store, I followed. To even a fairly well trained eye, as well as the security cameras, our contact looked polite and casual. After my contact grabbed a bottle of Pepsi (blech) from the refrigerator, he held the door open for me so I could select a Coke Zero. Holding the door open gave the window just enough time to collect some condensation to further obstruct what our aligned bodies could not. Two electronic monitors were now inside my jacket. They were equipped with both a GPS and a satellite enabled recorder. We walked to the counter without any additional interaction, paid, and went our separate ways.

With the east end still partially blocked, and no sign of an ambush coming from the west, I exited where I entered and made my way back home.

What were the two devices for, you ask? Well, Mother’s intelligence places someone of interest at the Baltimore Boat Show tomorrow. Should they purchase a boat, it’s my job to make sure one of these devices is concealed inside. Why two? Well, in case they buy two boats.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

TV Fix

2010-01-21T20:58:00.002-05:00

The Burn Notice season premier is on tonight. If I can't urge you to watch it, she will.

Show info.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Top Of The List

2010-01-21T20:41:00.004-05:00

As you know, because I mentioned it, everything you do within corporate walls is being monitored. They may not necessarily be actively monitored, but there’s a good chance if you do something quirky it’ll ring a few bells in corporate security or wind up on some monthly report. These are good ways to draw attention, and attention is not good.

But, one of the attributes that makes many banks strong also opens up holes in their information defenses. The banking industry has been consolidating recently. Often the newly acquired institutions are more likely to be Velcro’d on to the mother ship then they are to be assimilated. There are many reasons for this, but one of the biggest is the technology cost, in both dollars and human capital, required to reconfigure the entire IT infrastructure each time another chip is added to the stack.

This means that analysts, like yours truly, are forced to navigate through a myriad of differing types of servers and databases to get to the information we need to make business decisions. While this is cumbersome when completing day to day tasks, it makes it easier for someone to run database queries and hide their covert data gathering agendas. One of easiest ways to do this is to have your code reference a macro located on your desktop. When your code finishes, erase the macro and it becomes very, very hard for someone to go back into your query and figure out what it did. They’ll see the macro referenced, but have no idea what its function is. This is akin to reading a novel’s sequel without reading the predecessor. Sure you can generally follow what’s going on, but you’re definitely not getting as much out of the story as you could be.

This morning Mother sent me a partial business name: ‘Pinnacle.’ This company had become involved the Bulgarian extortion scheme. All I knew was that the company’s name started with Pinnacle and it was located in Florida.

Here’s the short version:

Step 1: From database A, pull all records where the first eight characters of the business name were ‘Pinnacle,’ along with some firmographic information. This brought back hundreds of businesses.
Step 2: From database B, pull all business names located in Florida. This brought back thousands upon thousands of businesses.
Step 3: Move the datasets created in Step 1 and 2 into temp space, giving them different names, so they would be automatically deleted when I signed off.
Step 4: Determine which companies are located on both of the datasets. This brought back a handful of companies, six to be exact.
Step 5: Convert this dataset to a comma delimited text file and download it the Recycle Bin on my desktop.
Step 6: Copy the dataset, but rename it when I upload it back to database A.
Step 7: Append a junk dataset, one copied from a coworker’s directory, containing a few thousand records, to the end of it.
Step 8: Download this back to my desktop in the form of a comma delimited text file, renamed to something else of course.
Step 9: From database C, pull all companies that completed a cash advance on their credit cards within the past 12 months.
Step 10: Determine which of these companies matched with the six companies I identified in Step 4. Luckily, there was only one match. Memorize the account number.
Step 11: From database D, pull credit bureau data from the credit card application, but create the search parameters wide enough so that I would capture the one account as well as a lot of other extraneous noise.
Step 12: Move this dataset, in comma delimited text file format, to temp space. Do I even need to say ‘and rename the dataset’ at this point?
Step 13: Import the dataset from temp space into an access database. Sort data by account number, and locate Pinnacle Travel Enterprises by manually scrolling down until the account number is found.
Step 14: Send email on personal BlackBerry to Mother giving, among other things, the name, social security number, home and cell phone numbers, online banking logon ID, and mailing address of the primary card holder.
Step 15: When cleaning up your electronic paper trail, do not just delete your datasets, save over them first with something benign. Then delete them. I'll save my macros for when I really need them.
Step 16: Dial into next conference call and act like nothing happened.

See, pretty easy.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

"Allez, Homard!"

2010-01-20T18:31:00.002-05:00

Damn, your life becomes boring when you have a corporate job. The two most exciting things that happened today were the tilapia fish tacos I made for dinner.

I did find an easy way to pass information in the office though, not that it’s too hard to begin with.

There are a considerable number of co-workers who use the community fridge in the break room. They drop their meal off in the morning when they arrive and then pick it up when they eat lunch. So, it would be quite easy for someone to drop something off in the morning and have another person pick it up from the community fridge later in the day. It’s not like there’s a sign in/out sheet for everyone’s lunch bag.

There is some risk however. Word ‘round the water cooler is that there have been a few ham sammy thefts lately. It’s not fool proof, but it’s viable.

Any-who, on to the 4th season of 24 tonight.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Please Press "0" To Speak To The Next Mobster

2010-01-19T20:09:00.003-05:00

I’ve been able to make a few observations about the Bulgarian banking operations. It seems as if they’re collecting a form of street tax from small business owners, but doing it through the financial system as a means of disconnecting the cash flows directly from the victims’ accounts to theirs as well as reducing the short term impact on those they’re robbing.

The crooks are targeting their victims either by brute force, or or by crafting business relationships that they can leverage. Once they have someone to squeeze, they pull cash out of the business. However, instead of directly extracting cash from the bottom line, it looks like they’re forcing the business owners to take cash advances out on their credit cards. Ironically enough, this helps the business owner because they don’t have to fight a large initial cash outflow. Instead, their obligation to the financial institution is the small monthly minimum payment. This keeps the business operational for as long as possible, though saddled with immense debt, so when the credit card balances are paid down, the Bulgarians force the owners to advance more cash.

The economy is both helping the Bulgarians in this regard. From the bank’s perspective, it’s almost impossible to tell which businesses are impacted by the Bulgarians versus which businesses are just increasing debt levels as a result of macro economic conditions. This gives the Bulgarians some additional operational cover. However, to their detriment, banks are protecting themselves from losses by cutting available, unused credit lines. This severely diminishes the amount of cash they can pull from business owners. The Bulgarians are effectively extorting less cash, but they’re doing it without as much risk of getting caught.

Mother’s concern is that if the cash trickles to a point where Bulgarian public officials aren’t being greased enough to continue cooperation, there will be retribution against the business owners.

While I don’t think this is the only angle the Bulgarians are playing, at least I’ve found some activity to investigate.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Key Information

2010-01-18T17:17:00.000-05:00

The Spy Museum was a lot of fun. Unfortunately, photography was not permitted around the exhibits. Granted there was like an infinity minus one percent chance that I would have gotten away with taking a few pictures, but out of respect for those that came before me, I figured I’d follow the rules for once.

We met two of Treasa’s friends, Ben and Niki Stoley, for dinner at in China town. This is not a place where they let you leave hungry.

Getting out of DC was a bit of a hassle considering we hit the road at the same time the Capitals game finished. This would have made it easier to spot a tail, yet there was none to be found.

Most importantly, Treasa and I are officially together now.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Cooperstown

2010-01-17T08:15:00.002-05:00

Treasa’s pretty great. We’re going here today. I haven’t told her what I do. That’s for both of our safeties. However, after dog sitting, preferring to sit facing the entrance at restaurants and an uncanny ability to remember where she’s left her keys and/or cell phone, she’s made a few innocent jokes about how I’m like a new and improved James Bond.

Did I mention she’s smart too?

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Queue Up Opportunities

2010-01-15T19:22:00.002-05:00

The Sam Adams was more appealing than the treadmill. To further dismantle the New Year’s resolution, I decided to go out and get a pizza as well. It really wasn’t pizza that I was craving, rather something to goes well with Sriracha. Given my recent spicy food kick, this should come as no surprise.

I placed my order at the pizza parlor and went a few doors down to the pool hall to grab a beer and shoot a rack while I waited. The bartender told me that games of pool are free from 3 PM – 7 PM on weekdays. The place must be hurting for business, and as a result, the bartender would be looking for other ways to earn a few bucks.

This could be advantageous. Bars are great places to pass information. It’s just as common for someone to stay for a drink as it is for someone to stay for a few hours and make a night out of it. This means you can either get in early and scout it out, or arrive, make your drop and depart without drawing unwanted attention.

A bartender in need can create another layer of separation between you and your contact. For a few bucks, you can drop off an item for someone else to pick up later. You and your contact never need to be seen together. And as long as it’s not a gun or drugs, it’s pretty easy to get someone to watch over your package and then deliver it for you.

I don’t say any of this to the bartender though. I just make a mental note, pay for my beer, chase the cue around the table for awhile then leave to pick up my anti-exercise dinner.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Shoulders, Toes, Head and Knees

2010-01-15T13:20:00.001-05:00

I’m working from home today. This doesn’t mean merely monitoring my emails while watching TV in case I’m asked a question. Rather, I’ve been quite busy – analytical follow-ups from a senior leadership roundtable, ongoing segmentation analysis and an ad hoc data pull to profile a highly performing portfolio segment. Unfortunately, all of this work hasn’t left time to identify and locate the Bulgarian corruption influence. While the delay is necessary to keep my corporate cover story, Mother will not be pleased.

I finally took a shower during my lunch break. I have a ‘shower routine.’ Mine’s not as bad as this guy’s, though. First, it’s shampoo, then body wash, and lastly, a facial scrub. Today, for some reason, I body washed first. This obviously isn’t a huge deal, but it proved to me that I’m not thinking clearly. Routines and checklists save lives. If I let the simple things go awry, what else am I susceptible to?

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

All Of Them, Please

2010-01-14T20:05:00.000-05:00

Today was uneventful, which is good because that means no one took a shot at me. Let’s see, there were a few conference calls, marginal progress tracking down the Bulgarian money, and a fresh hair cut, which was free due to one of those ‘buy 9 and get the 10th free’ type deals.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

What Time Do We Checkout?

2010-01-13T20:40:00.002-05:00

Hotels are interesting in my business. On one hand, the anonymity offered can be of great use. It’s fairly easy to reserve a room under an alias and move about a city without leaving a paper trail. It’s very easy to enter a hotel and meet someone, whether it is in their room or at the hotel bar, without raising the slightest suspicion. But because of the transient nature of these establishments, picking up a tail can be extremely difficult.

Such was my concern when I accompanied Treasa to a Country Yard hotel this evening. She was looking book an allotment of rooms for an upcoming event and wanted to see the amenities. We had an appointment with the sales manager at 6 PM. I left work right at 5 PM and sat in the parking lot scouting traffic and staff movements for just under an hour. At roughly 17:47 I called Treasa and told her that I had arrived. She would be pulling in shortly.

By this time I was pretty sure I didn’t have anyone following me, but given the fact that I hadn’t set of the meeting ahead of time and placed an ally on the inside, my alertness was on overdrive.

As I sat in the lobby and waited for Treasa, I was continuously monitoring staff and patrons for any sign that they recognized me. I’m not sure how anyone would know I would be at the Country Yard this evening, but if they did, there’s a chance my photo would be circulated ahead of time. Either a glance lasting a second too long or the opposite, blatant recognition avoidance, can be tell tale signs that someone could be on to me.

I took advantage of the complimentary coffee while I waited. A scalding cup of joe is quite good at disorientating an assailant when flung in their face.

Treasa arrived and we met with the sales manager. The meeting went well. She received the information she needed. Twenty minutes later, we left the hotel. I took a few extra turns on the way home to make sure I wasn’t followed.

A grilled jalapeno and pepper jack cheese burger, a la the Burger From Hell, for dinner, a few more episodes of 24, and hopefully an early night to bed.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

In The News

2010-01-12T20:26:00.008-05:00

Bomb Blast Kills Physicist in Iran

The target -- seen as a longtime regime insider who had veered toward supporting the opposition -- immediately raised suspicion among colleagues and students that the attack was politically motivated. Prof. Mohammadi's membership in Iran's broadly defined nuclear-science brain trust also raised questions about whether the attack was related to the country's controversial nuclear program. State media identified Mr. Mohammadi as a nuclear physicist. But he was best known for his work in mathematical physics and theoretical, high-energy physics,
according to one colleague, who was also a former student.

Expert: CIA missed glaring red flags on double-agent bomber

So how did a Jordanian doctor play double agent, outsmart his CIA handlers, and end up killing seven Americans and a Jordanian military officer at a remote base in Afghanistan? "This is the biggest deception ever of intelligence agencies, whether CIA or Jordanian intelligence," said Hassan Hanieh, a former Islamic extremist who now studies jihadist movements. "From the beginning, he was deceiving them." Sources familiar with intelligence operations in Jordan say al Qaeda takes at least a year to screen new recruits. The terrorist organization checks out their family backgrounds, gets input from fellow jihadists who know them -- and never trusts anyone who has been arrested, as al-Balawi had been.

These things happen. By definition, you won’t know when a covert operation is going down where you live. We all need to do a better job of memorizing license plates, locating firearms, maintaining cover stories and knowing where canned goods are in grocery stores.

EDIT According to this story, CIA not behind death of Iranian scientist: U.S. official. Publicly or directly, of course.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Didn't Shake Me, Didn't Even Stir Me One Bit

2010-01-11T18:47:00.001-05:00

I had to stop at the grocery store on the way home. I was out of Coke Zero. Come about 1 PM, sometime a man’s just has to get his caffeine fix to make it through another meeting. In order pinch pennies where I can, I’ll buy cases of it at a time and bring it in to work instead of frequenting the vending machines.

As I was making my way through a busy aisle, a man suddenly stopped and started to count the items in his cart. He was waaaay over the limit for the express line, so I had no idea what he was doing. When you’re in a tight area with a lot of unknown subjects moving about and suddenly your mobility is hindered, you prepare for an ambush or you ready yourself to die.

Instinctively I grabbed a can of tuna fish off of the shelf. This, or any other canned item, can either be used as a bludgeoning device or as something to hurl at your attacker’s brow in close quarters. With the blocker ahead of me, I backed up against the right side of the aisle and checked back down to my left. This was previously my 6 o’clock. I did this for two reasons. The first, the attack would probably come from behind me. Secondly, the stupid old blocker caused enough congestion so that if the assailant was coming from that direction, they’d be impeded for long enough for me to recognize the attack.

There was no threat. As it was, I needed some tuna anyway. I exchanged the one I had in my hand for another brand that was on sale, proceeded to check out, and made my way back home.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Be-Claus I Can

2010-01-11T16:25:00.004-05:00

Santa’s early origins are linked to Saint Nicholas of Myra, who liked to give gifts to the poor, and in one case, for the express purpose of preventing three young girls from a life time of prostitution. He also draws quite a few parallels to the Germanic figure Odin, who was known to lead hunting parties across the sky. Dutch traditions have Santa with a beard, hat, spear, and a “cloth bag held by the servants to capture naughty children.” It’s no wonder that parents want to keep this information a secret from their children.

And thus, the tradition of Secret Santa is born.

The commercialization of symbolic religious conglomerates aside, it can be quite useful to have your office do the whole Secret Santa routine. How many other times in a professional setting is it acceptable to bring a concealed object into your office, not to tell anyone what’s inside, and to give it to another person without a question asked? It’s like senior management is saying, “Hey, all you covert banking operatives, we’re going to make it exceptionally easy to pass information and materials back and forth.”

I realize that you may think I’m about two weeks late with this idea. “Christmas was last month, man! Don’t you undercover operatives get calendars?” Yes, for your information, I do have a calendar. And also, more importantly, the fact that I was able to pass information to May Langston today using a Christmas bag and wrapping paper during normal business hours without raising any suspicion seventeen days after Christmas proves how valuable this technique can be.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

"I wouldn't say I've been missing it, Bob."

2010-01-11T10:45:00.003-05:00

Insert a “case of the Mundays” joke here. No. I don’t really want to. I’m too clever for that. But if one more person asks me to put a cover sheet on a…too late.

Mondays can be good if you use them effectively. Most, or at least a sizable portion of the office staff, likes to chit chat around about what they did over the weekend. Ask a probing question here and there, and you can pick up some valuable information.

“It was cold at the stadium yesterday, much more so than for previous games.” Translation: I have NFL season tickets, so feel free to break into my home half the weekends during the fall.

“I took my new rottweiler puppy to obedience classes. Boy does he need them!” Translation: Do not break into this house to acquire supplies.

So today I learned that a co-worker of mine is going overseas for three weeks to visit his parents. Three things immediately struck me: (A) Perhaps I should ask a few specific questions to see if the contents of your apartment could benefit me, (B) Dude…it’s only the second week of the year and that’s a whole lot of personal time to burn through, and (C) When you’re out, who’s going to get all of your work done? Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Lunch Specials

2010-01-09T16:40:00.000-05:00

I slept in this morning. It felt good. I wouldn’t have thought that sitting at a desk all day for a week would make me so tired. Or, perhaps, it could have been the bourbon.

I met Treasa for lunch. We took a small table near the middle of the restaurant. She selected the seat facing the door. This made me a little uncomfortable so I forced myself to conclude that any threats would have to come from the kitchen.

After lunch, we stopped for a Guinness. I’ll spend tonight researching Bulgarian backgrounds, watching the end of the second season of 24, and watching some football.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

My Home is My Cubicle

2010-01-08T08:44:00.000-05:00

The state of Delaware declared a weather emergency last night in anticipation of the snow we got today. Drum roll…grand total: about 1.5 inches of fluffy white stuff. That’s about 38.1 millimeters, give or take. The emergency can’t be related to the actual snow, but rather the inability of Delawarians to drive in it, as previously noted.

Fearing for the safety of the minions, the corporate execs urged us to work from home today. So, as I write this, I’m unshowered, unshaven and about to phone into a four hour conference call.

At least the coffee is free here. Well, except for the fact that I had to buy it last week, but ya know what I mean.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Are We There Yet?

2010-01-07T19:21:00.000-05:00

Today ended up being fairly uneventful. It did start with a bit of a scare though. When I arrived at work, I noticed a Verizon maintenance van backed into the corner spot in the corner of the parking lot, providing a full view of the area. Two men were inside. The driver was talking on his cell phone. When I see a van, I immediately think surveillance. Name brand company vehicles aren’t typically used, but you don’t stay alive by dismissing possible threats.

Pretending to fend off the cold morning, I hastened my pace and headed towards the office entrance. I always carry a pen. Usually it’s for jotting down information, but this morning I was ready to impale a retina or four if the situation dictated it. Once inside, I knew I was out of the van’s sightline so I relaxed a little. I swiped my badge on the card reader, and as I entered the revolving door, a buzzer went off and the door reversed its turn, pushing me back into the lobby.

Apparently the “Oh shit” I mumbled under by breath was audible to the brunette behind me. She laughed and said that this happens all the time. Another swipe of my badge, and I entered the office without a problem.

I was able to confirm from multiple people that security door gives everyone problems from time to time. I wasn’t able to determine anything about the maintenance van though. It’ll be something to keep an eye on.

The rest of the day dragged on unbearably. I knew it was bad when I laughed to myself thinking that I was “bored as a two-by-four.” At least tomorrow’s Friday.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Quit Buggin' Me

2010-01-06T19:55:00.000-05:00

Compartmentalization: (A) the process by which individuals involved in a plan only know about, and complete, a distinct part of the whole. This means that, if a person was captured and interrogated under duress, only their part of the operation would be compromised. If a chain is as strong as its weakest link, by doing it this way, that weakest link is not only replaceable, but expendable, should they mess up. (B) part of Mother’s plan that scheduled me to meet Duncan DuCaine at the corporate cafeteria.

Typically, I wouldn’t want to know the name of the person I’m working with. And I definitely wouldn’t volunteer mine. However, since we’re co-workers, if we were to run into each other at a later date, a certain amount of familiarity is to be expected. Considering the hundred or so people that may remember us talking, mutual denial is not a possibility.

I don’t know if Duncan works for Mother. He could be working parallel, or he could just be pissed off at his current boss and looking to earn a few extra bucks. Either way, he was able to smuggle in a few bugs that I’ll need to gather intell.

We make small talk on the way back to my office. He’s discussing the advantages of mechanical switch keyboards vs. what I’m working with. Mildly interesting, yet irrelevant to the task at hand. As Duncan pulls the metal case containing the bugs out of his pocket and opens it for me to inspect, we hear a third voice. Not good.

Every office has one, I would imagine. The guy asking you to go grab a cup of coffee with him four times a day. The guy asking you how your weekend was at 12:18 PM on Wednesday. The guy who needs to ask you what time a meeting is even though both of you just received the same email half an hour ago. He’s harmless – pretty much the nicest guy in the world. But damn it! Why do you pick now to see what I’m doing for lunch today?

Both Duncan and I ignore the metal case and its contents. As I stand up to detract attention from my desk, Duncan tells him he should go try today’s deli special. I take the case and slip it into my pocket. Poker faces, smiles, laughs, and disaster averted.

I don’t know Duncan, but he was able to bring surveillance equipment into a corporate office and remain calm in the face of a threat. He could be Mother’s. He might not be. Either way, he’s probably someone I want on my side.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Can You Hear Me Now?

2010-01-05T09:19:00.000-05:00

Everything you do for a corporation is monitored. Every email you send, every internet page you open, and while there may not be an audio recording, every phone call you make. In this regard, corporate life is very similar to remaining undercover – you have to assume that everything you do is being watched. Therefore, communicating with people outside the company without leaving a trace can be difficult.

This being said, it took me under a day to find a way around this.

At least in the banking industry, just about everyone has a BlackBerry. They’re great tools for scheduling, email management and accessibility. They have become ubiquitous. You will find people sending emails while talking to you, sitting in meetings and while using the restroom. And everyone is using the same model phone.

So, I went and got myself a BlackBerry. Even from two feet away, you can’t tell if I’m using my personal phone or a company issued one. Now I can contact the people I need, without being monitored, and it looks like I’m conducting routine business.

While this is advantageous for me, I have to assume that my targets are doing this as well.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Nine to Five

2010-01-04T19:16:00.001-05:00

As of today, I’m a covert banking operative. I’ve been inserted into the corporate office of a large bank. My job is to follow the money and identify key players. Mother has reason to believe that associates of the Bulgarian diplomat I identified about a week ago are involved in some not-so-legal dealings.

My full case background should be coming within the next few days, but here are the highlights:

- Bulgaria ‘s 2009 Corruption Index Score is 71st out of 180.
- Bulgaria’s perception of corruption value is lower than where it was a few years ago.
- A BBC news story discussing the EU’s concern can be found here.

“Tackling corruption and organized crime was supposed to be a pre-condition for Bulgaria's membership of the EU. But just over a year after it joined, three streams of EU funding have been suspended because of apparent fraud, and the EU's investigating agency has 45 cases of alleged Bulgarian malpractice on its books” (C. Miller, BBC News, 18Mar08).

When the police crack down on an illegal activity the perpetrators will need to work harder to maintain that source of income. If the EU is forcing Bulgarian law enforcement to investigate corruption in Bulgaria, the money making crimes will have to shift somewhere else. It’s like playing Whac-A-Mole…which, given the links to corruption and the mafia, is quite a nice play on words if I do say so myself.

Where do you live?

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Good as Gold

2010-01-03T16:25:00.000-05:00

This morning I stopped by a friend’s place. Anthony owns a jewelry store. He has a deep network that can find any stone you’re looking for. In addition, he does most of the metal work himself, making each piece truly unique. This makes him quite a good jeweler to know. What makes him a valuable contact is his web of associates. Businesses that operate with a good amount of cash and move items all around the country are quite beneficial in my line of work. Today, though, is just to get two watches fixed.

Well, I may have also scouted out a few items for someone in particular.

Tonight, Shepherd's Pie for dinner and early to bed. My assignment starts tomorrow.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Man's Best Friend

2010-01-02T13:36:00.000-05:00

Treasa and I met at her friend’s house around 4 PM. She left me on the porch as she went in. The dogs obviously recognized her and immediately sat and awaited their leashes. We took them for a short walk and let them reiterate that the corner of the garden was in fact their territory. The stroll gave me a chance to earn enough trust for Treasa to invite me into her friend’s house.

While Treasa ensured that the dogs hadn’t left of made a mess in the house, I took a minute to take mental note of all exits. Treasa’s friends had hired a dog walker, yet we couldn’t determine if they had stopped by yet. The payment was still on the dining room table. It’s possible that they wouldn’t take the check until the three day assignment was completed, but unlikely.

We decided to stay a bit longer and give the dogs some attention. They appreciated the companionship and took to me quickly. The best way to get a woman to like you is to get her dog to like you. Though these weren’t Treasa’s pets, wagging tails were definitely a step in the right direction.

When it was time to go, we still hadn’t figured out if the dog walker had been there previously. It was a few minutes after 5 PM, so it was conceivable that her scheduled arrival was later in the evening.

I walked over to the leashes that we had hung behind the front door. After explaining to the dogs that they weren’t getting another walk, I twisted the leashes so that the clasps were all facing in the same direction. That way, I explained, that even if the walker didn’t inspect the check, between the order of the leashes and the direction of the clasps, we’d be able to tell if the dogs had been taken for a walk.

She smiled and said that dogs would really enjoy having us check on them tomorrow morning.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Heads or Tails?

2009-12-31T14:55:00.000-05:00

Burn Notice marathon the same day I rent a season’s worth of 24 episodes? This is a problem I enjoy having.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

A New Resolution

2009-12-31T14:50:00.000-05:00

Here’s the thing about Delaware. It’s far enough north so people think they can drive in the snow…but far enough south so they really can’t. What scares me more are the fearless SUV’ers with four wheel drive. Four wheel drive helps you get going. It doesn’t help you stop. It’s hard enough to stay alive in this business. I really don’t need Chevy S-10’s on thirty four inch tires fish-tailing all over the road.

I always pick a place in a parking lot that’s far away from other vehicles. This serves two purposes. First, I hate door dings. Also note that I never park downhill from a shopping cart return corral. Secondly, choosing a parking spot without anyone else near you eliminates the cover necessary for someone to place an incendiary device on your vehicle. It’s not preventative, but it’s precautionary. In addition, on a day like this, when leaving your vehicle, take note of the footprints in the snow. When you return, if you see the snow disturbed within reach of your starter, find another way to get home.

Using these safety measures, I entered Blockbuster. There’s nothing better to do on a day like this than to watch the first season of 24. Walking through the aisles, I make my selection, turn the corner and bump into Treasa Joyce.

Coincidence? No. I followed her here.

It’s not stalking, it’s surveillance.

She noticed my clean shaven appearance.

“I clean up well.”

I asked a few open ended questions and learned that she’s dog sitting tomorrow for a few friends that are out of town. After I pointed out that it’s possible, if not preferable, for two people, instead of one, to walk two golden retrievers, I have myself a date.

New Year’s dinner is still a solo event though:
Seared ahi tuna salad over bed of baby spinach.
Bacon wrapped filet mignon, topped with crab imperial and a lobster tail.
Grilled asparagus with balsamic vinaigrette.
Twice baked potato with smoked cheddar bacon cheese.
One bottle of 2006 Greg Norman petite sirah.
One bottle of extra dry champagne – at this point in the evening, quality won’t be paramount.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Each One is Unique

2009-12-31T09:33:00.000-05:00

I was ill prepared for the snow this morning. One to two inches. I didn’t expect it. I should have known that snow was forecasted. In addition, there are footprints running through the far edge of my back yard. Could be nothing. Both of these facts leave me unsettled.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

The Wrong Facade

2009-12-30T09:46:00.000-05:00

Yesterday’s wind was wreaking havoc with my security cameras. Monitoring outside was like watching an earthquake. The black and white screens did not prepare me for Treasa Joyce.

Treasa, the real estate broker, had radiant red hair and stunning blue eyes.

I, unfortunately, had my moustache. Here’s a situation where I wanted to be remembered by her most favorably. Not for official business, but more so for off the clock exploits.

Given my Mc-Creepster appearance, our meeting was painfully proper. She left me a packet containing information on a variety of properties and left.

I retreated upstairs to shave and shower. I didn’t miss a spot this time.

Taking a circuitous route, I settled in at Buffalo Wild Wings for a platter of their traditional mango habanero wings.

Nothing to report, no progress made.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Good First Impressions

2009-12-29T13:31:00.000-05:00

I am expecting a visitor today. I’ve arranged for a real estate broker to stop by and drop off some information regarding properties in the area. The only thing better than a good safe house is a good safe house you were able to acquire at below market value prices.

I haven’t shaved since before I drove north to see Mother. My scruff is beginning to itch. While I know it’s going to hurt, it’s time to shave.

I’ve decided to keep a moustache. Not because it think it’ll look good, but because small changes to your appearance can have drastic effects to someone else’s memory. The real estate broker hasn’t won my business yet. Should I decide not to use their services, I’d rather have their single memory of me as far from accurate as possible.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

NJ Turnpike: "What exit are you from?"

2009-12-27T15:38:00.000-05:00

The truck is packed and loaded. Based on intelligence, I still have time to pick up a coffee from the corner deli before I head back down the Jersey Turnpike. Traffic on the Sunday following Christmas is bad. After Exit 8 the lanes converge from five to three resulting in a parking lot where a highway once stood. This isn’t good.

I need a visual on an unknown foreign diplomat and I can’t see past the eighteen wheeler three vehicles ahead. When the GPS says you’re almost a five miles behind your target but forward progress is impossible, you start to go a little crazy. At this point, I think I’m singing better than the guy on my Ipod.

When traffic breaks, it’s time to focus on some mental math. It’s about 90 miles from here to the Delaware Memorial Bridge. Assuming no rest stops, at an average estimated speed of 70 mph the diplomat will reach the bridge in about an hour twenty minutes. After the bridge, the roads diverge and there are too many exits to monitor alone.

So I want give myself a 15 mile safety net. I can only let the diplomat get 75 miles before I catch up. So I have to go 80 miles in the same amount of time it takes the diplomat to go 75 miles at 70 mph. If I go 74.67 mph, I should reach the diplomat in about 63 minutes.

63 minutes driving about 10 mph over the speed limit on the Sunday after Christmas with out of state plates in a state that has quite the hefty deficit. Nice. At this point, I’m thinking that coffee wasn’t worth the risk of meeting a sworn representative of the New Jersey State Troopers.

Visual contact achieved.

Diplomatic plates, after the prefix “D”, have a two digit code that signifies what nation the diplomat represents. This provides some anonymity. My target’s plate starts with “DQM.” Bulgaria. I snap a few pictures of the license plates and a profile shot of the driver as discretely as possible.

Before I can begin to figure how Bulgaria fits into everything, the non-descript dark colored American made SUV seven vehicles back is now only four. ‘As possible’ must not have been good enough. It is occupied by two thirty something white males.

I use an RV in the adjacent lane to create a block in traffic and proceed the last nine miles to the bridge. Keeping with my cover, I used EZ Pass to pay my exit toll. The SUV picks a cash lane. I take the exit for Rt. 13 N into Wilmington. The tarp covered luggage in the bed allows me to enter parts of town where a clean SUV driven by two white guys would attract some attention.

Satisfied the combination of the space created at the toll and the city detour sufficiently evaded my tail, I head home and contact Mother to let her know I made it back safely.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

"Sharing a Drink They Call Loneliness"

2009-12-26T23:52:00.000-05:00

There are two types of people in the world. People you trust and people that can get you killed. I used this afternoon to catch up with someone of the former category.

James Piston and I were assigned to a team a few years back monitoring the interface between organized crime and tax paying society. Our target was Salvo, an Italian restaurateur who paid his staff in cash and tended to purchase from companies with indirect ties to certain syndicates. Despite claiming that the red clam sauce was homemade, the restaurant was staying mostly legal. But based on the sourcing of various goods, however, it was possible that Salvo might be ‘urged’ to buy exclusively from mafia sponsored companies at above market costs then be forced to siphon remaining profits back. If we could understand how this dynamic worked, Mother could open a restaurant of her own and broil meatballs of organized crime.

James and I had drink and caught up.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Nothing's as mean as giving a little child something useful for Christmas. ~Kin Hubbard

2009-12-25T14:30:00.000-05:00

What did you get for Christmas? I got survival nutrition, performance clothing, various cultural manuals, a knife sharpener and an extremely large piece of dead cow for dinner.

I gave Mother an unopened envelope.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Home to Mother

2009-12-24T11:13:00.000-05:00

The holiday season, whether it be Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanza, Saturnalia etc, can be a difficult time keep your cover. While most look forward to the opportunity, or succumb to the obligation, to spend time with family. Those in my line of work tend to rarely have that option.

Many don’t have family. Some do not want to bring their loved ones in too close to their business. Others, like many of you, can think of much more enjoyable uses of their time—like ensuring your closet’s are in chromatic order.

I use this time to go see Mother in New York. This provides a good cover. When you tell people you don’t want or can’t see your family for the holidays, many tend to ask the follow-up question: “why?” The answer you provide will be memorable. In this business you don’t want to be remembered unless it’s by design. So, I’m off to see Mother for a few days.

Mother is not exactly what may have first come to your mind. Sure, there will be cookies and a hot meal (I requested steak), but it’s hardly that simple. Mother is not a person. Mother is control and command.

Military Operations Training on Humans for Essential Results.

This acronym comes in handy when communication is monitored.

“Yes Mother, I’m picking up ‘groceries’ as we speak.”

“Mother, ‘chores’ are complete. I’ll call it a day.”

“Mother, I could really use some money.”

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Happy Hunting

2009-12-20T19:25:00.000-05:00

Through conversations with my next door neighbor, Doug Bronton, I come to learn he’s an avid hunter. This is beneficial for two reasons.

First, I know he has firearms in his residence. If I can’t get to my cache, I now have another option. Also, if I need to find a long term solution to a problem, so to speak, I can point the heat in his direction by using Doug’s gun to complete the mission. Depending on how our relationship goes, I’ll remain open to doing what I need to do while he has an alibi. The police will question him about his involvement in the incident because his gun was involved. Eventually his story will check out and, eh, no harm no foul. This diversion will give me enough time to create distance between the investigation and myself.

Or, Mr. Bronton is a potential fall guy.

Secondly, Doug game me some venison tenderloin two days ago. It’s been marinating in Italian dressing ever since. Here goes:

Cut venison thinly across the grain.
Julienne a medium yellow onion and sauté in butter and a splash of olive oil.
Add Kosher salt and freshly cracked pepper to onions.
Cook 3-4 minutes until they start to soften.
Season venison as desired.
Lay venison across top of onions.
Turn venison over without moving onions, so venison remains on top of skillet.
When finished, spoon onions and a piece of venison onto garlic bread.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Beginning of the Storm

2009-12-18T23:22:00.000-05:00

There’s a storm rolling in tonight on the East Coast. People tend to freak out when a few inches of snow are expected. They bull rush the grocery store to stock up on non-perishable items lest they get snowed in for a week’s worth of On-Demand. I avoid this scene like the plague.

Public places demand vigilance and attention to detail. I commit multiple rows of license plates to memory to check for a tail. I memorize what hand people use to lock their car or pick up a can of soup so I know what side is dominant in case they come at me with a weapon. Too many cars, too many people, too many chances to make a mistake. Even awesomeness is cognizant of its limits.

I steer clear of the mega-food-brouhaha and head out to Gary’s Tree and Limb Service. I have a package to pickup.

Gary clears fallen trees, splits the wood and sells someone’s nuisance as another’s treasure. His office is a converted trailer sitting amongst piles of mulch, sand, gravel and mixed hardwood—all for sale.

I enter through the front. To my right is Gary, smoking behind some reclaimed Salvation Army office desk. To my right is an extremely large black man. He’s too clean cut to be working on the machinery; he’s employed for other purposes.

“How much to fill the back of my truck with split oak?”

“Hundred. Go ‘round back, away from the road. The wood there is more seasoned.”

The five twenties I hand him ignore the register completely and instead delve straight into his vest pocket. It’s not like I work for the IRS. Without another word, I leave and make my way back towards a pile of wood. A month ago these logs probably crashed through someone’s shed during a storm.

After filling my truck bed, I walk over to the vending machine near the back maintenance shed. I make my selection, but instead of just grabbing my soda from the bottom tray, I reach up and retrieve an envelope taped to the inside wall.

It’s begun.

I get in my truck and head back. My thoughts are both focused and excited as I know I’m back in the game. Closer to revenge. Excited to the point of...mother fucker! I’m out of bourbon.

If I’m going to be snowed in for a day, I can brave the chaos of a pre-snow storm liquor store to make it tolerable.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Working Undercover

2009-12-17T14:18:00.000-05:00

There’s a fine line to working undercover. Attract too much attention and you’re sure to get noticed. This seems obvious. If it doesn’t, I hope you’re not in the next batch of recruits.

Given the nature of the business, certain tasks are going to attract the attention of local law enforcement. It’s only at this time that everyone remembers the previously overlooked person that stuck to the shadows and never made eye contact. Attracting no attention can only keep you covered for so long.

When the police go to canvass your neighborhood, you can’t have Ol’ Grandma Carrie saying, “That young fellow in Apt 4B, he never came out much. He just gave me the shivers.”

Your best defense is, first and foremost, not to need a defense. You shouldn’t even be on the police’s radar. They shouldn’t be looking for you. They should be pointed in the opposite direction. Ol’ Grandma Carrie should think you’re nice, remember you fondly, yet know nothing about you. When it goes down, she would have no reason to think you’re involved. In fact, despite her ignorance, she should swear that you weren’t.

In order to create this protection, there’s a rub. You need to be visible to be invisible.
You must allow the Carries of the world and all of her extended family in just so far that they trust you. This involves feeding them information. The key, however, is that the information must be verifiable.

So, yea. You need a good cover story.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

You can call me "Charlie"

2009-12-16T21:04:00.000-05:00

Do you know the first thing they teach you in law school? Don’t ask a question you don’t know the answer to. The first thing they taught me for what I do: Don’t get caught.

But they also say that your mission goes before you, your men and your morale. That last “e” is optional.

Sometimes you’re placed in a situation where you have to make a hard choice. Survive or fail. I choose the former, and I never accept the latter.

My name is Charles Gates. You can call me Charlie. And I get results.

.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...

Charles Gates

Old Wine Tales

Closing Credits

No Spring Break In Tijuana After All

Call Waiting

Thirty Minutes Or It's Free

Staying Dry

Longer Short Cut

TGI Lunchtime On Friday

Instead Of A Good Dinner

Cheeeeeeeese!

In The News

Going My Way?

I Am Not Your Mother

Cheque This Out

On Demand

Good Things Come In...

All You Can Eat

Majenta Feeling Taken Shelter In Base Of My Spine

Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun...

Milk Aisle Intolerance

House Call

Neighborhood Watch

Colonel Mustard, In The Study, With The Maglite

Fine Tuning Banjo

At Least It Wasn't Raining

Stealing A Paycheck

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

Don't Showboat, Just Get Your Job Done

Thank You, Come Again

TV Fix

Top Of The List

"Allez, Homard!"

Please Press "0" To Speak To The Next Mobster

Key Information

Cooperstown

Queue Up Opportunities

Shoulders, Toes, Head and Knees

All Of Them, Please

What Time Do We Checkout?

In The News

Didn't Shake Me, Didn't Even Stir Me One Bit

Be-Claus I Can

"I wouldn't say I've been *missing* it, Bob."

Lunch Specials

My Home is My Cubicle

Are We There Yet?

Quit Buggin' Me

Can You Hear Me Now?

Nine to Five

Good as Gold

Man's Best Friend

Heads or Tails?

A New Resolution

Each One is Unique

The Wrong Facade

Good First Impressions

NJ Turnpike: "What exit are you from?"

"Sharing a Drink They Call Loneliness"

Nothing's as mean as giving a little child something useful for Christmas. ~Kin Hubbard

Home to Mother

Happy Hunting

Beginning of the Storm

Working Undercover

You can call me "Charlie"

"I wouldn't say I've been missing it, Bob."