Danzig, January 23
A Monday
A dilapidated apartment building, once a sympathetic, pleasant building reduced to a mere heap of brick and glass, barely recognizable as a fancy 19th century condominium for the growing middle class. The address I was given makes no mistake about it, no second guesses. This is the place to be, where I will find my future colleague until the assignment's over. My contractor, financier, overall benefactor and only contact on this assignment was very specific; the man you're looking for lives over there, don't be afraid of his living conditions, it's all smoke and mirrors. I am talking about a criminal, yes, but who isn't considered a criminal in this venture? Never judge a book by its cover and certainly not a lawbook, what's written inside is not important. The cover, that's what matters in my line of work. My contractor told me... No wait, I might as well start from the beginning. Makes it easier for you, the reader, to understand how I got involved in this. A few weeks ago I was having dinner in a small restaurant not far from the main thoroughfare of Danzig, The Strand, near the church, aptly named Saint Tenor's-on-the-Strand, enjoying my meal when my phone rang. There was no denying that it was the first stage of planning and preperations of a new operation. We don't even work with code names; a select group of individuals, male and female, cooperate on a close level. We are assigned a cache somewhere in the city where we'll find supplies to complete our assignment: communication codes, cellphones, credit cards, cash and gold coins for anonymous transactions to buy weapons and ammunition, a drivers license and other necessities. All items inside are clean and impossible to trace to a single source. As a group, we consist of maximum seven or eight individuals, communicate using traditional means such as written letters (encrypted, of course), sign language and presence at location x or y. For example, when I am present at 9.00 pm sharp at Barony Hall, museum entrance to the left of the ticket booth wearing yellow gloves, it means the operation goes ahead as scheduled without interventions. Red gloves means changes (will get in touch about it) and green gloves means we've been compromised, our cover's blown or anything that seriously jeopardizes our assignment.
It's a very situational job and assignments, or rather, parts of a single larger operation that fits in the grand scheme of things, are carried out by several groups. Never does a single cell, like mine, carry out an operation from beginning to the end. The contractors don't work that way and this strategy, modus operandi, makes it possible for individuals higher up the ladder to deny any and all involvement. As a matter of fact when I come to think about it, I believe only a very select group within the intelligence community is aware of these very clandestine operations. Anyways, back to how I got contracted for this assignment. When my phone rang I had to pick up. Not doing so would render my services obsolete, so I was instructed to drop everything I was doing and hoof the way to a small office complex in the center of town, don't waste time, be present. Luckily for me, it was quite close so I could finish dinner, have a cup of coffee and enjoy an after dinner cigar. While I am writing this, I might reveal a little more about our organisation. I must remind you that there's so much unclear to me even I do this work for years ago. We're being kept in the dark on purpose and everything we hear or read is on a strict need-to-know basis. When I am contacted for a new assignment, a contractor phones me and calls for a meeting of all members of the cell to conduct, as they put it, 'special actions', mostly this is about spying on a diplomat, compromising someone important, planting evidence at a future crime scene or infiltrating a left-wing group. Quite mundane and often boring. But when I received word of this new assignment a few weeks ago, I knew it was different. A gut feeling if you will. Intelligence gather is what they call it, clandestine operations part of the secret service bigger objectives - whatever they might be. During a mission or assignment our contractor remains the same individual; they change whenever the assignment changes. I have done pleny of missions and not once did I, by accident, hook up with a contractor I had during a previous mission. Same goes for my colleagues. Once a year there's this one on one chat with some vague official to review your personal achievements, status, health, stuff like that. Personally, I think it's little more than to try to root out potential whistle blowers but it's impossible to find out. Nobody has access to their personal files or the archives - nobody even knows where it's located. Probably somewhere deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Defense... I don't know for sure.
After finishing dinner I looked at my watch and it was time to go. It was only a ten minute walk but, as I was told, I wasn't supposed to waste time. Time to go.
A Monday
A dilapidated apartment building, once a sympathetic, pleasant building reduced to a mere heap of brick and glass, barely recognizable as a fancy 19th century condominium for the growing middle class. The address I was given makes no mistake about it, no second guesses. This is the place to be, where I will find my future colleague until the assignment's over. My contractor, financier, overall benefactor and only contact on this assignment was very specific; the man you're looking for lives over there, don't be afraid of his living conditions, it's all smoke and mirrors. I am talking about a criminal, yes, but who isn't considered a criminal in this venture? Never judge a book by its cover and certainly not a lawbook, what's written inside is not important. The cover, that's what matters in my line of work. My contractor told me... No wait, I might as well start from the beginning. Makes it easier for you, the reader, to understand how I got involved in this. A few weeks ago I was having dinner in a small restaurant not far from the main thoroughfare of Danzig, The Strand, near the church, aptly named Saint Tenor's-on-the-Strand, enjoying my meal when my phone rang. There was no denying that it was the first stage of planning and preperations of a new operation. We don't even work with code names; a select group of individuals, male and female, cooperate on a close level. We are assigned a cache somewhere in the city where we'll find supplies to complete our assignment: communication codes, cellphones, credit cards, cash and gold coins for anonymous transactions to buy weapons and ammunition, a drivers license and other necessities. All items inside are clean and impossible to trace to a single source. As a group, we consist of maximum seven or eight individuals, communicate using traditional means such as written letters (encrypted, of course), sign language and presence at location x or y. For example, when I am present at 9.00 pm sharp at Barony Hall, museum entrance to the left of the ticket booth wearing yellow gloves, it means the operation goes ahead as scheduled without interventions. Red gloves means changes (will get in touch about it) and green gloves means we've been compromised, our cover's blown or anything that seriously jeopardizes our assignment.
It's a very situational job and assignments, or rather, parts of a single larger operation that fits in the grand scheme of things, are carried out by several groups. Never does a single cell, like mine, carry out an operation from beginning to the end. The contractors don't work that way and this strategy, modus operandi, makes it possible for individuals higher up the ladder to deny any and all involvement. As a matter of fact when I come to think about it, I believe only a very select group within the intelligence community is aware of these very clandestine operations. Anyways, back to how I got contracted for this assignment. When my phone rang I had to pick up. Not doing so would render my services obsolete, so I was instructed to drop everything I was doing and hoof the way to a small office complex in the center of town, don't waste time, be present. Luckily for me, it was quite close so I could finish dinner, have a cup of coffee and enjoy an after dinner cigar. While I am writing this, I might reveal a little more about our organisation. I must remind you that there's so much unclear to me even I do this work for years ago. We're being kept in the dark on purpose and everything we hear or read is on a strict need-to-know basis. When I am contacted for a new assignment, a contractor phones me and calls for a meeting of all members of the cell to conduct, as they put it, 'special actions', mostly this is about spying on a diplomat, compromising someone important, planting evidence at a future crime scene or infiltrating a left-wing group. Quite mundane and often boring. But when I received word of this new assignment a few weeks ago, I knew it was different. A gut feeling if you will. Intelligence gather is what they call it, clandestine operations part of the secret service bigger objectives - whatever they might be. During a mission or assignment our contractor remains the same individual; they change whenever the assignment changes. I have done pleny of missions and not once did I, by accident, hook up with a contractor I had during a previous mission. Same goes for my colleagues. Once a year there's this one on one chat with some vague official to review your personal achievements, status, health, stuff like that. Personally, I think it's little more than to try to root out potential whistle blowers but it's impossible to find out. Nobody has access to their personal files or the archives - nobody even knows where it's located. Probably somewhere deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Defense... I don't know for sure.
After finishing dinner I looked at my watch and it was time to go. It was only a ten minute walk but, as I was told, I wasn't supposed to waste time. Time to go.