Bravo Two Rainbow Istanbul
by Hank McClancy
Based on a true story. All names have been changed (otherwise I'd have to kill you.)
Fog swirled in the narrow streets. In a dark corner, Agent Johnson shivered, huddling tighter into his girdle as he breathed in the sickly, pungent atmosphere of a small town in the evil empire. A crackle in his earpiece reminded him of his duties to Western democracy.
The grating voice of Commander Fisher brought Johnson stiffly to attention.
‘Sir?’ Agent Johnson’s voice, manly and clear rang out sharply across the streets, more used to oppression and fear. Johnson inwardly cursed, and reminded himself that 1000 slitty eyed communists could be watching his every move.
‘Ok, Johnson. Your mission is to infiltrate the mosque. Intelligence reports suggest that some vital object or information is concealed there.’
‘The man believed to be running things in the mosque is known as Garko- be VERY wary of him Johnson- he’s got more tricks up his sleeve than a Vietcong, and has less ethics than a Bangkok prostitute. Garko’s also a known war criminal- nasty sort. We have it on good authority that he was responsible for several massacres in Nicaragua.’
‘How come we haven’t taken care of him before for that, Sir?’ queried Johnson.
‘He was working for the CIA at the time. Now remember- that’s classified information. OK, Johnson, and remember- this mission is highly sensitive. Any alarms could jeopardise Operation W.O.G. completely.’
‘Is that it, Sir?’
Johnson strained into the earpiece. Was it a fault in the cutting edge technology that deceived him, or did crusty, hard boiled Commander Fisher, star of the interrogation basement, have a catch in his voice? ‘Just… good luck Johnson. Dammit boy, if I don’t see you back in that girdle safe and sound, the only things that will be celebrating Ramadan over there is atomic rubble.’
‘Do my best, Sir,’ Johnson replied cheerily. ‘Over and out.’
Climbing rapidly up and along the perimeter wall of the mosque, Johnson surveyed the area. Keeping in the shadows, he noted the guards, some standing quietly in the shadows, others smoking. Johnson looked at the mosque itself. There, in the tallest minaret, was the profile of naked woman.
‘Funny sort of a muezzin,’ Johnson thought to himself with characteristically dry American wit. Flicking on the night vision goggles that he kept for these sorts of occasions, Johnson studied the mysterious profile.
‘Fisher?’ Johnson spoke into the tiny mike.
‘Do you have a report on the mosque, Johnson?’ asked Fisher.
‘Seems to be heavy security sir, but nothing I can’t handle. There is one thing though. There’s a naked bird holed up in one of the towers. Can’t tell whether she’s a prisoner there, but a bit odd, I thought.’
‘Interesting Johnson. Can you give me any more information?’
‘34-26-34, blonde, tall.’
‘ Mission objectives have changed Johnson. I want you to make contact with this girl, find out a bit more.’
‘More information, sir?’
‘You know, Johnson. What kind of films she likes, what bands she’s into, is she a good cook? Give me something to go on when I, um, interrogate her. Use force if necessary.’
Keeping in the shadows, Agent Johnson made his way to the outside of the mosque. He paused for a moment, letting his taut senses relax for just a moment. That moment proved to be disastrous. Too late, Johnson caught the tang of spicy foreign food on the air. Like a hunted animal, Johnson whirled around, to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun.
‘Yow’d better coom with me,’ ordered the owner of the gun. ‘Garko weel be mowst interested with yowr leetle intrusion, Oigent Johnson.’
Prodded along at gunpoint, Agent Johnson was determined not to show fear to his captor. ‘You speak English very well, albeit with an unusual accent. For a curry eater that is.’
‘Oi down’t now what you’re talking abowt,’ the figure replied. ‘Broomies invented the balti yow know.’
Johnson found himself being led inside the mosque through a maze of passageways. Eventually, the came to a great hall, richly decorated with carpets and sumptuous wall hangings. Seated at the far end, was a suited figure, seated ostentatiously on a throne. Johnson was brought before the figure, and felt a thrill of horror. This was clearly Garko. Garko gave a malevolent smirk at the sight of Agent Johnson. ‘Many thanks for bringing our friend, Johnson, here, Cole.’
‘Down’t mention eet Master,’ replied Cole, the man who had captured Johnson.
‘You are surprised that we know your name, are you not, Agent Johnson? And yet we know much about your pathetic Western so called intelligence! Na hahahaahahahahahah.’ Garko trailed off into evil laughter.
‘What is it you want with me then, Garko?’ snarled Johnson.
Garko stopped laughing. ‘I want to know the purpose of your mission here tonight Johnson. Tell me, and your death will be mercifully quick and painless.’
‘You don’t frighten me, Garko’ retorted Johnson. ‘Do your worst.’
‘You are brave now, Agent Johnson,’ hissed Garko. ‘But you reckon without my stereotypical Oriental cruelty.’
‘Oriental? Where exactly is this set then?’ asked Johnson.
‘Silence, fool!’ Garko snapped. ‘Always the quip, always the one liner, with you Western spies. We will see if you remain so resilient under the subtle tortures of feng shui. By placing a combination of electrical appliances around the subjects sleeping area, we can normally extract everything we need, within a matter of hours. That is- if they are still sane. If that fails, we have an unusual selection of orange wallpapers that can be utilised. But we have never needed them yet.’
Agent Johnson blanched, cursing himself for passing his cyanide off as an ecstasy tablet last week. It had seemed so funny at the time.
‘Na hahahahahahahaa,’ laughed Garko again. ‘But before that…’ Garko clapped his hands. ‘Bring on the dancing girls!’
Johnson’s mind was racing, as a sultry looking figure clothed in shimmering veils sashayed into the hall. The figure bowed low. ‘Good evening. I am Beck-ahh, and tonight, I will perform the dance of the seven veils for you!’
Moving into the centre of the room, Beck-ahh began to move in an intricate dance, slowly at first, then increasing the tempo. As she whirled around, Beck-ahh removed the first of her insubstantial veils. Johnson knew that he must think quickly if he was to escape. And yet he was mesmerised by Beck-ahh’s movement. The floating veils seemed incorporeal, and yet defined Beck-ahh’s inviting body. Johnson could not take his eyes from Beck-ahh’s minx-like smile. How he longed to jack in this NSA work and settle down with a family. Suddenly, Johnson realised that Beck-ahh was the same woman he had seen in the minaret tower. Who was this mysterious Beck-ahh? And what was she doing in the middle of Garko’s mosque?
The rhythm of Beck-ahh’s dancing had reached a climax. Only one veil remained, concealing Beck-ahh’s luscious naked figure. Beck-ahh whirled up to Garko. Flicking aside the remaining veil, Beck-ahh revealed a deadly knife, which she plunged into Garko’s chest. Beck-ahh, virtually naked, ran over to Johnson.
‘Quickly,’ Beck-ahh panted. ‘We’ve got to get out of here. Luckily, I know a secret passage.’
10 minutes later, Agent Johnson and the mysterious Beck-ahh were lying on a beach, sipping unlikely looking cocktails.
‘Well, this is nice!’ chirped Beck-ahh. ‘What’s your cocktail called?’
‘I think it’s a ‘Sex on the Beach’ growled Agent Johnson coyly. ‘Lets get a few things straight. You’re not really an Arabian dancer are you?’
‘No, silly’, Beck-ahh giggled, flicking her blonde hair. ‘I’m a news presenter- my real name’s Becky! I was doing an undercover investigation on secret missile installations! It’s really important to lots of children! But you looked like you needed a bit of a hand! Did you find out anything?’
Agent Johnson stared across the expanse of sand, and at Becky’s fantastic figure. How he wanted to reach out and touch the glowing warmth, the soft curves..
‘I think… there are a few elements that I would like to probe further,’ Agent Johnon mused.
Becky smiled in hapy incomprehension. ‘Today a hot air balloon will be flying over a primary school in Warrington!’
‘I mean’, Agent Johnson tried to elucidate, ‘that secret passage of yours. I’d really like to explore that.’
‘Schoolchildren in Northumberland today got a shock when a gaggle of Geese! Landed in their playground!’
‘I’ve got a massive hard on.’
‘Do you think chocolates and crisps should be banned from school breaktimes? Text us your opinions and win a TV!!!’