Today's my birthday!

Today is my birthday and I wanted to do something special for all the people who have followed my adventures. For one day only, I've made my book, The Codename: Carla Casebook, available as a free Kindle download on Amazon.com! The offer will only be available until 3 am Eastern time (12 midnight Pacific), so you have to act soon. Enjoy six of my strangest missions without any cost to you. C'mon, everybody likes free stuff, so check it out:

http://www.amazon.com/Codename-Carla-Casebook-Neal-Patterson-ebook/dp/B00LFMM2X0/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1405604359&sr=1-1&keywords=codename+carla

Now I have to run. My Mom and Aunt Trudy are taking me out for a birthday pedicure and lunch. See ya'!

Big Events and an Old Case Reopens

The Fourth of July weekend was one of the best I've experienced in a long time. For once, I was not away on assignment and could spend time with my family. We had a cookout in the backyard, stuffing ourselves on burgers and ribs. Then we drank too much beer and wine and watched the fireworks. It felt a lot like the Independence Days of my youth, except the composition of my family is quite different now.

My new family includes two people with whom I have no biological connection. I'm speaking of my mother's fiance Bradley Huggins and his daughter Roxanne. Bradley Huggins used to be my old high school principal and he and my mother worked together many years ago. After my dad died, he and my mother started dating. It was a big adjustment for me, trying to think of the guy who used to yell at me for putting on makeup in class as the object of my mother's romantic yearnings. I knew intellectually that he was not replacing my father, but emotionally I felt a little bit of betrayal. Anyway, all that's behind me. After all I've been through over the past four years, I'm only concerned with my mother's happiness and, for some reason, Brad (still can't get used to calling him that) makes her very happy.

I'm even getting used to Roxanne. When I met her almost four years ago, she was a bratty, superficial college student who was more concerned with wearing the latest fashions and having rhinestones on her phone than with any serious academic or career pursuits. I thought she was a real lost cause. Today she's...well, she's still kinda bratty and superficial, but she at least has a good job with a public relations firm in DC. She brought along her boyfriend to our cookout. Dark, smoldering good looks and smooth banter. He wore a crisp polo shirt and madras shorts. I wasn't surprised when Roxanne told me he was a lobbyist. Oh well.

Actually, I think I buried the lead.  Brad and my mom decided to get married this weekend! It's going to be a small affair with a few friends in our backyard. They know someone who is one of those Internet-ordained ministers, so he will be officiating. Best of all, my Aunt Trudy is in from Wisconsin. I thought it might be a little weird for my father's sister to watch his wife marry another man, but she and my mom are like sisters now. We had had almost no contact with Aunt Trudy for quite some time, but after my little adventure in the land of cheese a couple years ago, Aunt Trudy has become a regular fixture in our lives, even if it's often through the virtual world of email and Facebook. So she's been here since July 3rd and is hanging around for the wedding and my birthday on the 17th.

Which reminds me, in honor of my birthday, I've planned a little surprise. I'll let you know more about it next week. Now it's back to work. It's funny how people never quite go away when you are in the intelligence business. Once you think a case is closed, some aspect of it resurfaces in another form or fashion. The name Horatio Zaman has popped up again. I wrote about him in my book. He left us a little present and there's some very smart people in Princeton who are looking it over. Since I was the agent on the original case, The Colonel has asked me to work closely with the research people up there. I might be taking a long drive up I-95 in the near future.

Returning With Great News!

Yes, I'm sorry. I ran out on you without a warning. I should have at least left a note. The truth is, after my experience in New Mexico back in the fall of 2011, things got a little complicated. The Colonel gave me a promotion of sorts. No pay raise; just more responsibilities. I was so eager to prove my worthiness, I lost track of the blog. Or maybe I didn't need the blog as much.

You see, when I started the blog in the summer of 2010, I was expressing my frustration, my confusion, my loneliness, all the crazy stuff that was swirling around in my head. The new job was making me crazy. It was like my eighth grade math class. As the school year went by, I became more and more lost. I didn't understand what the teacher was trying to convey to me, but I was too ashamed to say anything. I assumed that I was the only one who didn't get it, although I'm sure at least half the class probably felt the same way I did. The algebra train was moving too fast for me and I wanted it to slow down so I could catch up, but admitting that would make me look stupid.

Then, somewhere around the spring, things started to click in my head. Those equations started to make sense. I was getting it, and my confidence soared. That is sort of what happened after New Mexico. Not to say that I haven't had some challenges. At times, I've questioned whether I could keep going in this job that's like a funhouse built on quicksand. But, as the old song goes, I'm still here.

And that brings me to my good news! I've been writing down my experiences over the years during those slow periods between cases. I've shared some of my work in this blog. Some of my more important cases, like the one in Vermont and the other in New Mexico, are simply too involved to cover here and really deserve their own books. And then there's the cases that are somewhere in between. For those stories, I decided to put them together in a collection I call The Codename: Carla Casebook. It's available now as a book with a real cover and pages with words and everything. Or you can do the electronic thing as well. I've included a few of my early experiences before the blog started, my second run-in with those creatures from Las Vegas, a brief return to the Navy, and my most personally challenging case to date. I hope you'll get a copy and catch up with some of my exploits both old and new. I'll also try to post more to the blog.

Again I really apologize for disappearing, but that's what us agents do sometimes. You can't trust us as far as you can throw us.

Country Hoppin'!

The title sounds like a line dance, but it's what I've been up to for the last couple months. Let's see if I can get everyone caught up.

After Geoffrey's death, I took my boss's suggestion and spent a couple weeks in New York with my college roommate Becky (or Becca as she is now known to all her snooty New York friends and colleagues). Since Becky was usually busy with her job as a fashion writer, I spent most of my time alone doing touristy things, like going to museums and shopping. The one outing Becky and I did do together was when she took me along to Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week.  Fashion was never my thing, but I'm always open to seeing parts of the universe I'm not normally familiar with. To make sure I looked my best, Becky first took me to Bergdorf-Goodman for a quick makeover, then we headed uptown to Lincoln Center. Nothing really exciting happened, except that I met a fairly disagreeable woman there by the name of Vastiana Boatswain. Becky informed me that she was some sort of self-made businesswoman from Seattle. She certainly seemed like a self-made bitch.

Anyway, none of this would have been of any consequence except that, once I got back to work, I discovered that her bodyguard is in our database as a person of interest. I brought this to the attention of my boss, The Colonel, and he thought that maybe I should pursue the lead. This was fine with me since I was going pretty batty hanging around with my mom. No offense to my mother, but I needed a distraction from my thoughts of Geoffrey. At one point, I thought I could exorcise the pain by writing a story about our little adventure in Ocean City, MD last summer, but the writing only enhanced my pain and I abandoned it. Hopefully, I'll be able to share that story, but not right now.

So with a new assignment, I was shipped off to Seattle with a new identity. This time I am Carla Verdugo, a temp working for Ms. Boatswain's labyrinthine corporate empire. The agency got me set up in a nice, little rented house near Holly Park and, when I'm not  grabbing lunch at the Pike Place Market or shopping around Westlake Park, I've been a happy little office drone. Actually, I've managed to befriend Ms. Boatswain's assistant, Hector, so I can get closer to Ms. Boatswain and her imposing bodyguard. It took me several weeks, but I've managed to finagle a plum assignment.

So now I'm dashing this post off before I have to get on Ms. Boatswain's private jet for a business trip to Albuquerque, New Mexico. Along with the woman herself, I'll be traveling with Hector and the bodyguard. My job is to function as a purchaser of Native American art, but I'm sure this is just a cover for something much bigger. I just need to find out what it is. Wish me luck!

Goodbye Geoffrey

I just got back from Geoffrey's funeral. For security reasons, I can't go into details about his death, but I can say that he went out in a dramatic way and he saved hundreds of lives. It all started Labor Day morning when he received an urgent call from Ryan Mayhew. I didn't want him to go, but I knew he had to. This could be the moment we finally shut this nut down. A few hours later, as I was drinking my coffee at the kitchen table, Chester Schifflet came banging on the front door. This did not make sense.

He pretended to be looking for Geof and made some lame story about needing help with a busted radiator. His jittery behavior betrayed him, but I tried to play it cool. Maybe too cool, because as soon as I turned my back, he threw a duffle bag over me and dragged me to his car. After a few hours of torture, he got zero out of me, but I eventually saw my moment and subdued him. I have a few burns and bruises, but I'm still intact. Chester is in a secure location.

Sad to say, Geoffrey wasn't so lucky. I hope to be able to tell his story one day, because his efforts were truly extraordinary, just as I always knew he would be when the moment came. I just prayed it never would. No body was found, but I was able to identify some body parts. These were cremated, as per his will.

The funeral was held in Geoffrey's home town of Richmond, Virginia. I drove his beloved Trans Am down there. I always thought the car was a gaudy, clunky joke, but on the drive down, I felt like I was letting go of an old friend. Well, maybe not a friend, but a tangible memory. A physical remainder of Geoffrey's carefree spirit.

The funeral was very nice, as was his family. They did not know exactly what he did (no relatives of any field agents do), but they knew it was potentially dangerous. Apparently, Geoffrey sought out danger his whole life, whether it was street racing as a teen or becoming a Navy SEAL, he always fed on danger and risk. His parents and sister seemed resigned to the fact that he might end up dead before his time.

His younger brother Tim was the exception. As he was driving me home to Bethesda after the funeral, he unloaded on me. It started when I chose to use the word "selfless" in describing Geoffrey's actions.

“Selfless, eh?" he barked at me. "No disrespect, but I don’t see it that way. It’s exactly what he wanted. To go down in a blaze of glory. Never mind how we felt. I know my parents put on a good show today, but this is killing them. No parents want to see their kids go before they do. It’s one thing if it’s God’s will or something, like a disease or a flood. But to throw yourself into harm’s way…damn show-off.”

I couldn't argue with him. Perhaps he is right. Maybe all of us in this business are a little selfish, seeking thrills we would never experience in ordinary, civilian life. Is it fair to our friends and family? Maybe not. Somebody has to do the dirty work, though, and thankfully there are those who crave the risk. Whatever. I'm too exhausted to think about it.

So I'm back living with my mom again. Poor woman doesn't know what to make of me, especially since she thinks I work for an investment firm setting up branch offices around the country. Surely, I could settle down by now. I have to wear long sleeved blouses for awhile until the wounds heal. That's a bitch with the heat and humidity. In fact, this endless rain we're having in Maryland reflects my whole mood this week. It's like some dark spectre has descended on the whole state.

Worst part is, I'm on administrative leave, so I can even track down the elusive Mr. Mayhew. My boss, affectionately known as The Colonel, shut me down during a debriefing on Tuesday. There I was, practically a year after my last big failure, having to answer for another botched undercover mission. Last time, I was responsible for the death of one of our targets. This time, I was responsible for the death of one of our own. Okay, I wasn't really responsible, but it felt that way nonetheless. The Colonel was surprisingly sympathetic, but he was not going to budge on the imposed R and R. He suggested I contact my old college roommate, Rebecca. She's working in New York now and he thought I should go visit her. It's unbelievably creepy how he knows more about my personal life than I do.

I told him I'd think about it. Might not be a bad idea. Connect with someone from the past. Someone who knew me before the Navy. Before Iraq. Before this cloak and dagger crap. Seems like a million miles away now.

Always Saturday

In typical Maryland fashion, the promise of spring was drowned in days of rain and now we are rushing headlong into the stifling heat and humidity of a premature summer. Those glorious days of dry, cool weather that we characteristically associate with April and May were crammed into one week early in the month. Okay, I should stop bitching. At least it isn't snowing.

I'm afraid I've been in a horrible funk for the last few weeks. My job has lost its novelty and now I feel like I'm just serving drinks and killing time. The jokes from the regulars are as stale as the beer stains on my T-shirt, and there's nothing to stimulate me mentally. I've become lazy and feeble minded. The other day, I stepped on a scale that was on display in a store. I couldn't believe I had put on 11 pounds! Even when I was wallowing in Las Vegas, I worked out five days a week. For the last month or so, I haven't even practiced my yoga, which at least keeps me limber and toned. Geoffrey tried to console me by saying it suited my cover, but I can't stay on top of my game if I'm overweight and sluggish. It could get me killed.

So I've been trying to rally myself, but it's a struggle. I can't ignore how unhappy I am in this interminable assignment. The longer days and sunnier weather makes me yearn for times when I was truly happy, even if the emotions are just a trick of memory. You know those times, when everything just seems so perfect your heart aches. Songs can make me feel that way sometimes. The first time I remember it happening was when I was seven or eight. I was playing at a friends house. She had an older brother who was listening to an alternative rock station. They were playing Always Saturday by Guadalcanal Diary. I was too young to fully appreciate the lyrics, but there was something about the music and the singer's voice that filled me with a weird feeling I can only describe as melancholic happiness. I wanted to live in that song forever, holding on to the feeling, but of course it ended and the outside world of Barbies and Strawberry Shortcake on the TV encroached.

God, where did that come from? I guess I'm just sick of the people I have to associate with right now. Chester's girlfriend Amber miscarried her baby. I was at Chester's house when it happened and had to help her through it. Not an experience I care to revisit.

She hadn't told Chester about the pregnancy yet, so this was all a big surprise to him. The next day, Amber visited me at the bar. She had some bruises on her face. I finally got her to confess that Chester had knocked her around a little after I left. Not really sure what was going on in that twisted head of his. Apparently, he was mad that she hadn't told him about the pregnancy and even more mad at Amber for losing the baby. Either he thought she did it on purpose or she wasn't strong enough to bear his child, I don't know. I was about to go over to Chester's house and kill the little bastard, but Geoffrey talked me down. We still needed the creep, no matter what I thought of him. I had to be a good soldier and let it go.

I was so tempted to call The Colonel and ask him to reassign me, but that would shoot my career right down the toilet. I haven't earned the right to pick and choose my cases yet. Maybe I never will. As it is, Geoffrey and I have worked our way into the inner circle of this strange cult of Ryan Mayhew. They have multiple terrorist plots in the works. Everyone is assigned specific tasks related to each plot. No one knows too much about each plan and no one knows which plan Mayhew will ultimately command us to carry out. He says this is for security purposes. He's paranoid as hell, but given the fact that Geoffrey and I have already infiltrated his little clan, he has good reason to be. So far, Mayhew has had me researching the price and availability of various chemicals and mechanical parts online. Lucky me, I'm now an accomplice to a crime.

Anyway, with all this going on, I had to make a change. My dreary apartment, which suited me just fine when the winter weather was equally dreary, seemed hopelessly cramped and depressing now that the sun shines for 14 hours a day. I needed a little space and someone to prop me up, so I moved in with Geoffrey. Yes, his trailer is pretty small, but there is a little land around it, so I can sit outside on my nights off and watch the stars. I even planted a little flower garden along the side of the trailer that faces the sun most of the day. It feels sort of like a home, and I have a man next to me in bed every night.

Every day doesn't feel like Saturday yet, but maybe Friday afternoon.

The Best of Times and Worst of Times

This morning I find myself in one of those strange moods where I just feel out of sync. Jittery, restless, full of anxiety but not sure exactly why. It's as if all the chemicals in my body got jumbled up overnight and created whole new compounds that do not sit well with my organs. I don't want to stay in my apartment, but I don't want to go out. At least I can understand the not wanting to go out part.

It started a couple of days ago. I was working at the bar and decided to take a break by sneaking into the alley. That's where the cooks and some of the other waitresses usually hang out when they want a smoke. I don't smoke myself, but I don't mind hanging out with the smokers if only to get away from the din of the bar. Anyway, I went into the alley, but no one else was out there. The rain had finally subsided, leaving only a chilly damp breeze in its wake. I just stood there, enjoying the cool, fresh air when I heard some shuffling behind one of the dumpsters down the alley. Natural curiosity caused me to take a few steps closer to the dumpster, thinking I might spot a cat or a rat. Once I got a few feet from the can, however, a person stumbled into view and started to run away. I only had an instant to see his face, but I could have sworn it was one of those creatures I ran into in Vegas so many months ago. It froze me to the core, flashing back on an event that seemed like a lifetime ago. I ran into the bar and went back to serving drinks, hoping to block the whole event from my mind.

It almost worked too. After sneaking a few shots of bourbon, I was feeling pretty numb by the time I went home. The next morning, I was beginning to chalk it up to a trick of the light. Probably just some bum with dark eyes and a funny complexion, I reasoned. Then, while eating my Special K, I spotted a white panel van parked in the lot. This was too eerie, too sinisterly similar to last summer. Rather than risk what happened last time though,I chose to ignore it rather than confront them head on. That's what my boss, The Colonel, told me to do. This just isn't in my nature, though.

I was grateful to see Geoffrey last night at the bar. I hate to sound all girly and soft, but he's really become a rock for me. He's always calm and ready with a joke. It's not false bravado either. He's just genetically impervious to stress. Also, I think he's really enjoying this character of Hank that he's playing. He was already sporting the 70s hairdo and the cheesy moustache, but when he picked me up for a date last week, he pulled up in a 1977 black Trans Am like the one in Smokey and the Bandit! I think he spent too much time watching TV as a kid and he's developed Burt Reynolds disease. Anyway, it's kind of cute, except when he starts talking about turbo-charging and horsepower. Here's a picture I took of Geoffrey's Trans Am outside his mobile home:

It's a cramped little place he lives in down in Centreville, but he keeps it maticulously clean. Lucky had a much bigger trailer in Vegas, but he was a bit of a slob. I actually wouldn't mind moving in with Geoffrey and get out of this little dump I have now, but I wonder if it would be taking our cover too far. I already feel like I'm falling for him, and I suspect he has feelings for me too. I just don't know if it's wise to get too attached. What happens after this assignment is over? Will my attachment to him cloud my judgment at a critical moment? As my boss always says, romance does not mix well with our profession.

Speaking of the job, there's where the sweet meets the bitter. I love being with Geoffrey, but these racist, anti-government hardheads that we have to play eat away at my soul a little bit. We've been spending a lot of time with this kid Chester, playing into all his paranoia and alienation angst. Geoffrey is quite good at it, but I don't say much. It makes me squeamish. I'm afraid I might blow our cover because of my reticence, but since Chester's girlfriend is also pretty quiet, I don't think Chester pays much attention to me anyway.

We know Chester is friends with Ryan Mayhew, our real target. and it looks like we might actually get to finally meet the guy. Chester inherited this nice house on Kent Island after his parents were killed in a car accident a few years ago, and he's inviting a bunch of people over on Sunday for some grillin' and chillin'. We hope this will be our opportunity to find out what exactly this Mayhew person is up to.

Wish us luck! I'll let you know how it goes.