ZOE
“Y
oushould see theCSAsafe house inZurich,”Ledgersays. “Ithas a wine cellar.Thereisn’t actually wine in it, but it’s there.”
“Ohyeah?”Isay. “We’vegot a rooftop garden at theCIA’ssafe house inParis.Well, it’s mostly roof access with a couple of potted plants, but a garden nonetheless.”
“Howis that ‘safe’?”
Weare still comparing safe houses when we get to the fudbal field to stake outMila’sdead drop.Whichis worlds better than discussing the one bed back at our hotel room.
“Oursafe house inSydneymight as well be a vacation home,”Ledgersays. “Iteven has an ocean view.”
“Itwouldn’t stand up to theCIA’sinTokyo.Thatplace has a jetted tub big enough for two.”
Weare sitting in our car that’s in the parking lot of a restaurant next to the fudbal field.Thelot is mostly bordered by trees, but there’s a gap in the trees that givesus a view of the side of the field’s restrooms with the doors.
Evenif the hotel manager hadn’t told us that the festival started today, we’d know it, even though we aren’t even near theWaterfront.Thestreets are so much busier, and there’s a celebratory vibe running through the city itself.Yesterday, there weren’t many people at the fudbal field, but today, they barely all fit on the sidelines.
“She’sgoing in,”Isay, and we watch asMilawalks into the restroom holding her niece’s hand, a bag slung over one shoulder.Twoother people go in after her and then come back out beforeMilaand her niece exit.Whenshe walks back through the door, she glances around, trying to act like she’s not being suspicious and failing miserably, but she never even looks in our direction.Shedoes give a subtle thumbs-up, though, even though it’s obvious she doesn’t know which direction to aim it for us to see.
Oneof the hardest parts of intelligence gathering is the waiting.Especiallywhen what you need is so close.Butif any of the parents ofMila’snephew’s teammates saw us talking withMilaon the sidelines yesterday, and then saw us go into the restrooms right after she went in, it would look mighty suspect.Sowe wait.
Fifteenminutes go by, and we are both itching to get out of the car and go retrieve the list when a guy who had walked into the men’s restroom comes out carrying a big garbage bag tied at the top.Hesets it against the wall of the building and heads for the women’s restroom.
LedgerandIboth hurry out of the car and race over to catch the man before he goes into the women’s restroom and also removes the garbage bag containing our list.Aswe near him,Ledgercalls out, “Wait!”Theman stops in his tracks and turns to look at us.
“Willyou give us a minute before emptying the garbage in the women’s restroom?”Iask him. “IthinkIthrew away my retainer in that garbage.”Myretainer?I’man intelligence operative highly trained in the art of deception and very practiced in coming up with lies on the fly, andIsay thatIlost my retainer?
Maybeit was because whenIwas in ninth grade, my friendNatyandIraced after the school janitor when she’d taken out her retainer to eat lunch, then left it on her lunch tray when she dumped its contents in the trash.ButI’mnot a teenager and this is a restroom, not a lunchroom.
Theman says something to us inSerbianthatI’mpretty sure means “Ihave no idea what in the world you are saying,” which, in this instance,I’mgrateful for.
Ledgerpulls out his phone,I’msure to bring up a translation app so he can explain to the man that he can take the garbage from the men’s side, but we need to search the garbage on the women’s side first.Idon’t waste any time going inside the women’s restroom to find that list while the two of them chat outside of it.
Theplace has a vague prison cell feel to it with its cinderblock walls, cracked cement floors, a single fluorescent bulb, and a questionable-looking puddle of water near one corner.Thestall partitions have seen better days, too.
Themostly-full garbage bin is three feet tall and stands next to one of two cracked sinks.KnowingthatMilawould be leaving the list in the garbage, we thankfullybrought disposable gloves.Iput mine on and start moving the top few used tissues and paper towels aside, looking for a paper that might have a list.Iassume she would’ve crumpled it up.
Ninetyseconds later,Ledgerwalks in, holding a garbage liner, and looks around. “I’vebeen in prison cells cozier than this.”
Ismile.
“Theman outside says he’s got other things to do.Ifwe want to search the garbage, we’ll need to take it out when we’re done.”Thenhe starts helping me search. “Findany lost retainers yet?”
Ithrow him a look, and he says, “What?Youmight not be the only one who accidentally threw theirs away.”
Wesearch for a minute, but the bin isn’t too wide, so we can’t search deep down very easily.Wepour the bin’s contents onto the floor, sorting through everything quickly because we’ve seen how often this restroom is used.
Weare both crouched on the floor, grabbing pieces of trash and moving them aside as we confirm each item is not the list, when an older woman walks in with a young child.Iam opening my mouth to explain what we are doing and whyLedgeris in the women’s restroom with me.Lostcontact lens?Researchproject?Publichealth study?Environmentalaudit?Somethingway better than my retainer story.Butthe woman already has her hands on the kid’s shoulders, steering him in a wide arc around us, looking like she very much doesnotwant to know the details.Sowe just keep working.
We’vefound plenty of used paper towels,some empty plastic bottles, wrappers from snacks, soda cans, wet wipes, a dozen bandages, which feels like a lot butI’mguessing is par for a restroom at a sports field, a couple of receipts, three dirty diapers, and four empty coffee cups.Butzero lists.Zerowriting of any kind that isn’t on a printed package.
Thewoman comes out of the stall with the child, looks toward the sinks, then must decide that going around us to get to them is a more questionable action than walking out with dirty hands, and they scurry to the door.
“Milacame in,”Isay. “Shegave us the thumbs-up when she left.Ithasto be here.”LedgerandIlook at each other without saying a word for a long moment.Then, almost simultaneously, both of our eyes go to the diapers.
“No,”Ledgersays. “Itcan’t be in one of those.”
