Silliness?

On A Train From Barcelona To Paris To Stuttgart

They never explained why we were taking a train from Barcelona, Spain, to Stuttgart, Germany, but I surrendered to a belief that they, the CIA, knew best. 

It would take over 17 hours, and the most challenging part of the journey was not having a phone or tablet to read the news and text a few people I miss a lot. 

I started getting punchy and silly, thinking that Tango was now old enough to have a tablet and internet privileges.

Trains are different in Europe. The long journey had a few stops, and one of my handlers was kind enough to use his tablet to read the news, do a crossword puzzle, and guess the Wordle in three tries. DECOY: I will never tell my starting word.

I wondered if the Russians had staked out the flight I was supposed to be on.

The two handlers were excellent but professionally non-talkative because they were working. Their job for the day's journey was to get me to Stuttgart in one piece and then on a flight to Boston. Every once in a while, one man would get up and take a walk to asses the passengers. They took turns. 

There were snacks, scenery, and a few glasses of wine, but my crew abstained due to their religious beliefs. They had a wild time chugging Sprites. The embassy handed me $500.00 of pocket money, which I signed off as repayable. I bought the church mice some Sprites and Cookies. I had some wine and some bread thing with cheese in it. I'll have to ask my love Eve about it.

I still wonder why I was pulled out of the hotel and conference. I never got to say goodbye to Anatoly, who was growing on me. I will never forget that crazy Russian, imitating a Mexican, saying, "Meester Manolo, We will go to Streeep Club and have Margarrrrrritas or that I should pay for "my own whore in Barcaelona." I'm getting a little sentimental about a guy who was probably tasked with ventilating me. 

There is much to think about, and I look forward to getting the scoop from Wally when I return.

My eyes are closed while we train toward Paris, and I think of a song my Grandfather used to sing by Dean Martin called The Belle from Barcelona. The song was from the fifties. GrandDad would wear a Matador's hat, and while carving a Sunday bird, he would roll the R's off his tongue and sing.

Hey muchacha
She showed a lot of muchacha
She kissed me, and ooo-cha-cha
I knew I was there to stay
Oh chiquita you are muchilina
Oh, chiquita you are so bonita
Eyes exciting very amoroso
Lips inviting very delicioso
O-O-Le that belle from Barcelona way.

My Grandfather was pretty funny and a cop like me.

My Grandmother was never amused because Gramps once had a Belle in Barcelona, but the family never spoke about it. That's the Allston way.

I started getting silly again, wondering if Maria, Mercedes, or whatever her name was might be related to me.

Hotel In The Gothic Quarter - Barcelona, Spain

Belyakov turned a special shade of purple when he learned that Manolo/Allston had slipped out of the hotel. 

He had the FSB guys strong-arm the Hotel Manager and play the video from the lobby cameras. 

When they got to the part where Allston went out, just as the FSB detail was coming in, one of the goons started laughing out loud. 

It was a great video that could get millions of hits on TikTok and was funny. 

You could see the SUV pull up outside. Then, the doors burst open like a clown car, and the four FSB agents stumbled out.

The following frames were the "money shot." The Four Goons negotiate the revolving door in two segments, practically nut to butt, trying to get in fast. Allston steps out the glass door on the side of the revolving section at the same time. Unnoticed.

Belyakov played it at least ten times and then looked at the FSB contingent in the Manager's Office. He said in Russian to the men, "This is to save your careers." He said to the Manager, "Please delete these two minutes." 

The manager started to protest, saying, "This is unheard of," when Belyakov said, "There is no crime here," pulling his pistol out and holding it to the manager's head.

The Hotel Manager was now a very Procol Harem Whiter Shade Of Pale.

The Russian, fond of American idioms, said in English, "I am making you an offer you cannot refuse." 

The manager thought it best to see his family again, so he pulled the disc out of the recorder and handed it to Belyakov.

Belyakov looked at his men and said in Russian, "This never happened, and you will never speak about it."

Belyakov's last words to his men as they stepped out of the tiny office were, "I will handle Manolo."

Somewhere On The Coast In Massachusetts

Eve, Tango, and Natalie Leuze were having a time running the dogs on the beach, passing a bottle of crisp white back and forth.

Natalie had never been more famous, and the movie version of her life story would be released in a week or two. Here at Eve and Allston's was the only place she could escape the paparazzi and just be herself.

Eve encouraged Natalie to stay as long as she wanted but told Nat that Thomas could come home anytime.

The two were now best friends for more than a few reasons. They grew up in the same area of the country; Natalie, despite her fame and long life in Hollywood, was still "Country," and so was Evelyn Crowder. Eve ended up not being star-struck by Natalie Freaking Leuze about ten minutes after they figured out how well they got along with each other.

Their relationship survived Natalie's more than a crush on Eve's boyfriend.

Even Tango and Natalie's dog, Ricky Riccardo, got along.

As the sun set, they returned to the trailer for more wine, some Scrabble, and nachos.