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.

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.