Because Lady Chief had already organized her information and directed David to everyone who could be immediately arrested on the first day, the interviewers spent far less time with her up in her suite than expected. A simple week was sufficient. Pacifica, being passive and far away from GLCIS, hadn’t merited a Deep Cover spy. What Lady Chief didn’t get to tell Donald that first day was that GLCIS had also implanted wireless microphones in all the PI safehouses with the usual tradecraft ruse of cosmetics salesman, made so famous by Henry Peterson long ago.
Lady Chief knew all the Light Cover agents because they were the monitors of the recordings, and ALL the transcripts had been routinely copied to her, because, as everywhere, what you could monitor and record was by far the most productive of top class intelligence. David was able to round all of them up by breakfast of the second day. With this he found the name and address of the Medium Cover agent who had identified us all on day one at the safehouse. There were about 10 Medium cover agents in Pacifica and Lady Chief knew five of them who also were flushed by the overnight dragnet. Three heard about the raids and escaped, and there were two whom David bagged after interrogating the light covers.
David also interviewed us about what had happened inside the safehouse before, during, and after the explosion and gunfight. He was very angry that Emily had been issued a gun without any training of how to shoot from concealment and cover, which would have been the last thing taught her by the baby sitters. Angela received a forceful but totally off the record reprimand, because David wanted no evidence anywhere of the lack of judgment by the baby sitters contributing to Emily’s horrible death.
When talking to me, I made the suggestion to David that the GLCIS recording from that day in the safehouse would be very helpful in reconstructing the incident for the District Attorney, and since there was nothing truly secret on it, except for Emily being armed, her single shot at the shotgun thug could be attributed to either I or Angela, and the recording played to the D.A.
This hadn’t occurred to him and this was another marker that, though quite good, PISS had no experience with such a messy affair. I pointed out, from experience, that everybody likes recordings and likes the timing and duration of the gunfight that could be extracted from it. From the explosive start to the door sieving finish the firefight was 13 minutes and 38 seconds long. David was a very good guesser.
David thanked me openly and honestly about the idea and applauded the bravery Elizabeth and I both showed. He WAS still a decent human being and was very open to Elizabeth and I about how he felt toward us both before and after the bombing. He was particularly moved by how much I grieved for Emily after merely a few days of instructing her, and at how Elizabeth had comforted him, though he couldn’t put that into words.
He was also particularly impressed by the fact that the “real spy” Sally had been the only one to make multiple good hits on both inside targets while firing only eight shots, seven of which connected. Angela had popped off somewhere near forty hitting only walls and bullet resistant vests, and the police had shot a total of 48 more to bring down the other two perps. Most of these shots had penetrated the living and dining room walls turning them into Swiss cheese. Match that to the destruction of the picture windows, potted plants, screens, and the dining table; then add the precocious stew, salad, wine, and pie remnants all over the kitchen floor, walls, and appliances. What you get is the great-grandpa of real estate fixer uppers.
After the week of interviews, we began (under our second set of names and without mentioning that fact to David) to search for another Electrocar; a temporary rental living arrangement on the Pacific coast; a new pair of guns, both Ruger five shot snubbys, one each for Elizabeth and I to legally register, and license to carry concealed, with the Portland police; and a private shooting range in Portland to regularly practice with them. We two were, after all, still marked for life as whores and still had potential problems on the street with both police and pimps.
Our straight backed walk, come hither gait, and High Class Tart taste in clothes never leave you once you have them. You can mute them, but you can never eradicate them. And no new spy business has ever followed us. Yet. But the possibility of it will also be with us to our deaths and the extra unused passports and visas wwere still, even many years later, meticulously renewed by us as our spy insurance policy, along with our tradecraft, which also never leaves you and is yours for good.
Our new Electrocar, registered to me, was not nearly as flamboyant as my last one, but was equally satisfying both in style and in aptness to our new lives. Our new rental was a haven of peace with the continuous sound of the Pacific surf to sooth us and set a background rhythm for our thoughts and our ever growing love. Joyously, each of us retained our erotic life until the end. As I said earlier, we needed to speak aloud to each other less and less. This developed to the point that a guest, and we had a few occasionally, would remark that our house was almost as silent as a Cistercian monastery.
Silence is wonderful. You can hear yourself think, feel yourself feel, and pay full attention to the wide ranging and subtle moods of a whore’s sense of smell, also with you to life’s end unless altered by chronic elderly illness. For the record, Elizabeth never lost her’s. Lady Chief gave generously to the olfactory sense of both of us, both with exquisite food, wine, and liquor; and with regular gifts of small jars of potpourri in different olfactory combinations.
Lady Chief also improved much early on because of the last of her major dreams with Elizabeth and I and Someone Else on the other side whose solid and heavy presence anchored Lady Chief while she learned about her future….
The Matriarchal Zone 