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Gary W Hancock




















Copyright Gary Hancock 2017


















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Secret Squirrel is a cartoon character created by Hanna-Barbera

The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show Produced by Jay Ward Productions


54 years old 2017.


My neighbor’s small dog saved my life today. He came running up to me as I exited my apartment in New Orleans and started that infernal yapping and wanting to be petted. Just as I leaned over to scratch his head, I heard the ricochet of a bullet off the old river brick wall behind me. My reflexes were still up to par as I turned my motion into a full drop and roll. I continued rolling until I was behind the car parked on my side of the street. Sliding my Taurus PT111 out of my purse, I listened for footsteps headed in my direction. That wonderful dog was the only one in view and it was a couple of minutes before I heard a car door slam and a squeal of tires as the gunman left the area.


Playing the scene back in my mind as I lay on the pavement, I realized that there had not been the sound of a shot. “Suppressor” sprang into my head and this meant that this was no street shooting involving a “drive by” or mugger. I had been “Uncovered”.


1979 at a small Jr. College in Mississippi:


I got a strange letter in my mail box on campus today. It didn’t have a stamp or return address, just a single page inviting me to meet with a government scholarship program member at the local post office tomorrow. I could sure use it, for I have been working in the cafeteria and every little job I can get on the weekend to help pay for college. I have to get a degree. Just any type of degree. I was determined not to go back to the farm and live my life as the wife of one of my neighbors. I wanted more.


I carried the letter and when I asked the postmaster if he knew anything about it, he just motioned me to go into his office. He said, “I have been thrown out of my own place today. I am not happy about it either, but was not given a choice.” This made me very wary of what was behind the door and what was the real goal of my invitation. It was starting to sound less and less like a scholarship. I knocked and a voice said “Come in Miss. Miller.”


He motioned to a chair and I sat and looked him straight in the eye and opened my mouth to speak. He beat me to it and said, “Just listen for now and then I will answer all your questions. I am here because of several factors. You are an excellent physical specimen with an athletic body and that is in your favor, but not necessarily critical. The entrance exams you took during the first week of college included a few parts that my organization had included. These were worded to weed out most if not all of the beginning classes. In fact only two at your college were excepted. One did not show up for his interview and there is you. We did a little research on you and found that you speak Farsi.” I explained, “My great grandmother on my mother’s side had fled Persia during WWI and she taught all her children and grandchildren the old language. We used it as a secret code when we were kids and didn’t want anyone else to know what we were saying.” The interviewer told me that was interesting and probably would be helpful later on as most of our people know several languages.


The only question I asked at the end, “If I fail the training, will I still get my college paid?” He laughed and told me that they could do that. I held my hand out and asked, “Where is the paper to sign.”


2017 still on the sidewalk in New Orleans.


Getting to my knees isn’t as easy as it was almost forty years ago, but I moved like my life depended on it and it probably did. A cab was coming down the street and I stepped right in front of it, the driver leaned his head out of the window and yelled, “I already have a fare.” I held up a fifty and he shut up and opened the front passenger door. After he dropped off his fare, I got him to drive down to the ferry and I got out. I leaned in and gave him two hundred and told him to drive up two blocks and circle back to pick me up and another two hundred would be waiting. I got on the ferry and slipped below the main deck and I bought a spare uniform from one of the crew. When I came back on deck I had on the uniform and a baseball style hat pulled down as far as it would go. I went to the end of the ferry and help unhook the lines and stepped ashore just in time to catch my cab returning.


I let him drop me off two blocks from the little health club in which I have a membership under a different name. I haven’t been there in six months, but I keep a locker with all my needs for a quick getaway. When I emerged from the club I went to the nearest motel and did a hair dye, colored contacts, and a brush on tan. This should do till I can get a professional job. Now to try to contact the company.


Summer of 1979.


My parents think I am at a college in New Jersey that offered me a full ride. Well in a way they are right, but if they knew what I was studying they would have put a stop to their underage daughter’s new life. I sent them letters and told them I was learning a foreign language (true), doing physical fitness (true), mastering cognitive thinking (true), drivers ed. (true), but I did leave out the martial arts and firearms. So you see I was getting all of a college degree with a minor in mayhem.


I got into a physical shape that summer that I have tried to keep the rest of my life . When Fall came around I went back to visit my family and told them that I was going to change from the two year college to the four year one that I had been at this summer. The company had made up some color brochures showing this Eastern seaboard college like you see in the movies. Ivy climbing the walls and everything. I told them that the only odd thing was their strict no visitors during the semester and made a promise to come back every three months to catch them up and to let them see how much I was growing in knowledge. There was a little grumbling but my parents knew they could never afford to send me to such a good school on their own.


2017 on the Interstate to New York.


You can get about anything with cash. The three year old car I was driving I bought on Craig list. I filled it with gas and hit the road . I took interstate fifty nine all the way across Mississippi and Alabama before stopping to get a little sleep. If they were still tracking me, then I had no hope to avoid getting killed. I was trying to get to New York and one of the old contact points I hoped was still active. Drive, burger, sleep repeat. I stopped just outside Newark to get a good night sleep, before trying my hand in the big town.


1980 first time to get my feet wet.


Legally we are not allowed to operate in the continental U.S. so I was with a small group of men just on the other side of the border from El Paso in Juarez. There was Intel that a Russian agent would try to get into the country at the interstate one ten bridge. We were going to try to intercept him on the Mexican side and take him back down to the coast below Brownsville and then over to Gitmo, Cuba. They assured me that this had been done several times before and was considered a good training run for the new recruits.


Everything was going along smoothly until we bagged the agent. He turned out to be a she and that was going to make it harder to ship her to Gitmo. The only thing I had learned from the captured spy was her name, Natasha. It was all I could do not to ask her about “Moose and Squirrel.”


The Navy was only setup for male prisoners and they can be nit picky about such things. I told them that I would accompany her all the way to Cuba just so decorum could be observed. The agency can let them know what is coming and have me some new orders when I get to the naval base. Boy was that a bad statement to make. Not only did I have new orders, they had a Ensign’s uniform ready for me on arrival. I could tell those orders were going to be something more than what a rookie would normally receive.


New York 2017:


I got an Uber ride into New York to the China Town section. I got out on Mort at the bookstore, then I walked a couple of blocks down watching for a tail, before turning into a store with all the signs and banners in Cantonese. I went to the back and made sure no one was watching, I press the wall right under a picture of Chiang Kai-shek and felt a little give and I knew that this was still an active drop. I went into the men’s lavatory hoping no one else was in there. As the door closed behind me, the far wall slid into a pocket and two armed Marines stood there with B17-9 bull pups 9mm close quarters weapons. Even not active, I kept up with the equipment, isn’t the internet great. I gently handed my purse over to them with two fingers and said, “There is a pistol in it.” Flex-cuffs were put on my wrists behind my back. These are better than the metal ones. No key, so a quick knife thrust and you can be freed.


I stepped into the space behind the wall and when it slid close, I was in an elevator heading down. I knew that it only went down about two hundred and fifty feet. The subways of New York deepest station is one hundred and eighty. This gives plenty of room to spread out without hitting one of the tubes. The doors open and I looked into the eyes of a man I had trained oh so many years ago. He smiled and said “Mandy you know we have to follow procedure. You have no official standing and will be treated as hostile till proven not.” At least I did feel safe here if not secure.


1980 Mandy Miller secret agent.


With my navy whites I reported to the base commander, he said ,“Have you ever been in a fighter jet before?” My look of bewilderment answered his question. Don’t worry, the pilot will not do any acrobatics. According to my orders I was to fly to Mayport Naval Station in Jacksonville, Florida and report to CAPT James H. Flatley III on the Saratoga. The put a flight suit on me with the helmet covering my face and loaded me into a F14 Tomcat. I was sitting in the rear seat where the RIO usually was. The pilot just looked at me when he climbed in and shook his head.


To say the flight was exciting would be an understatement of major proportions. We didn’t land on the carrier, but on the normal field. The pilot said that a tail-hook landing was rough and he had been order to deliver me unscathed. He pointed to the control tower and as I left I realized he didn’t even know my name. There was a black town car sitting by the control tower and the man who had given me my first interview stepped out and I got in and received the next leg of my orders.


I flew from Florida to the Rota base in Spain and then a two engine turboprop to the carrier USS Coral Sea off the coast of Iran. I was still in the dark, but the light was soon to blinding. It was the middle of April 1980 and the U.S. was going to try to rescue hostages taken by the Iranian guard. President Carter had order the Navy and the new Delta Force to land inside the country of Iran. I was to be on one of the Helios in case they needed a Farsi speaking woman to deal with the native females. Most of which were forbidden to speak to a man.



Underground in New York 2017.


I was put in a room with a bed and bath and the cuffs were removed. “Get a good nights sleep and some food in you. Tomorrow will be long and stressful.” He was being kind to me and that made me more nervous than if they had use the water board. There was a table with paper and pen and I started getting a list of all the people that would want me dead. Also I tried to organize some thoughts on what must be going on. I knew they were watching me while I wrote and would be researching each word I scribbled. Maybe one of the brainiacs would beat me to the reason for the hit put out on me. I knew several agents from other countries that wanted me dead at various time during my life, but what had made someone take the time and effort it would have taken to find me and why now?


24 April 1980.


I had my face buried in the sand. There were helicopters and aircraft burning all around me and soldiers, with the life slowly flowing out of their bodies, lay in the smoke and fire of a complete failure of a rescue attempt. I could see that there was not going to be a ride out of here for me, so I crawled as far away as I could and then started running. I was wearing the dark long dress with the headscarf and that helped. I had been tanning on the carrier flight deck, much to the delight of the sailors, to get as dark as I could. By the time of the attack, I was as dark as most of the Iranians. I am not a really pretty woman, just kinda ordinary and this should be to my advantage passing myself off as one of the Iranian women we might encounter.


Now as I ran I thought I was going to have to put all of my great grandmother’s knowledge to work. I knew her Persian last name and the town where she was born. This would now be my history. When the dawn broke, I could still see the smoke over the horizon, but it didn’t look like anyone was chasing me. I had the name of two contacts in Tabas but that was over fifty miles away. I sat down on a big rock by the side of the road and just waited for an idea. It arrived in a old bus rambling down the road. I stood up and he stopped. I lowered my gaze and spoke to a woman sitting beside her husband. I spoke in Farsi, “I would like to travel to Tabas please.” In this roundabout way I paid my way onto the bus with no questions asked.


I found one of the agents and he smuggled me out of the country and I was then order back to the U.S. to give my report. They had written me off a dead and were preparing to notify my parents about a flaming car wreck with only ashes remaining of their daughter. The report I gave of the things that had happened in Iran, didn’t quite agree with the military version and with a few raise eyebrows, it was filed away and declared top secret. I was forbidden to talk about it or even let anyone know I had been out of the country. It was almost summer and I was sent home with a report card from the special college with me passing all my subjects with a 3.8 point average. The folks were proud of me and bragged to all the neighbors. I told them that I had made contacts with a large company and thought that I had a job as soon as I graduated next year. They wanted to know the name and I said that I was not suppose to tell anyone, but if they promised to keep it a secret it was “United Fruit”. I told them that they shipped bananas from South America to all the world and it would be a great opportunity to travel if I got the job. I left them happy at the end of summer and headed back to Virginia.


Team interrogation 2017.


For the next three days, I was rotated between four agents that non stopped asked questions. They hooked me up to a polygraph but no one in my business really believes that it can tell if an experience operative is lying. It is use as a distraction while they watch your body language and micro expressions on the face. I didn’t have to worry as I was telling the true as I knew it.


The forth day I was taken to the office of the director of the New York station. He shook my hand and pointed to a seat. His only question was “Have you figured out who and why.” I looked as disgusted with myself as I could. My only answer was, “Most of my time was spent in the middle east. This is a hotbed even today and that must be the place, but I don’t know the incident. Someone has a secret that I know, but don’t realize its importance. As long ago as much of my assignments were, they would have to have been young during that time if they are still active. It smells like a politician to me, but I don’t have a shred of an idea of who it is.”


February 1986


NSA’S Director for the Near East and South Asia, an Israeli diplomat and I, acting as a translator, arrived in Tehran in an Israeli plane carrying forged Irish passports on 25 May 1986. I had been briefed on the exchange of weapons with Iran before I left the U.S. and mostly held my breath the whole time we were in Iran. The deal fell thru and we returned to some very angry senior heads of the intelligent agencies. Oliver North had much better luck with what was called later, “Iran Contra”. This was mainly in South America and my skill set was not called upon. I became familiar with the arms dealer in both cases, Manucher Ghorbanifar. He made millions and millions off the deal.


December of 1990.


I was with a group of Navy Seals in Israel as a translator. They were all business while we were in the field, but they showed a plain and simple looking girl a good time when we were off duty. They called me “Secret Squirrel” like in the old spy cartoon. Little did I know that the nickname of mine would be used in the first strike of Desert Storm. The mission almost didn’t start due to an infiltrator that got into the “safe house” in Tel Aviv. Posing as a caterer for our Christmas Party he managed to shoot one of the Seals in the leg. I killed him with two shots from the forty caliber Glock I carried the whole time I was in the middle east. Red Dog was the team leader and he picked me up and said, “You are our lucky squirrel.”


In January when the B52s started their attack on the mission called “Secret Surprise”, I was on the border of Iran and Iraq in the Qandil mountains. We were spotting for the huge bombers and I heard “Secret Squirrel clear” on the radio and my eyes got as big as saucers. It even made the dead serious warriors chuckle for the first time in combat with me. Somehow the bomber crews had used my name I had just recently got. Those Seals are horrible, but deep inside I loved it. The show we watched from the mountains was epic. The big bombers were taking out missile sites and Sadam’s Republican Guard bases without any resistance. One hundred hours was the total length of the engagement. After it was over a Chinook came down and picked us up. Our commanders told us, “We were never there.” The Seal Team gave me a little pin, I looked up at them and said, “If you every need backup, I am your girl.” It was a miniature trident that will have to be pried from my dead hands before I give it up.


Underground New York 2017.


We have narrowed the list of names down to less than thirty people. Most of the foreign agents that knew my real name were dead long ago. That left my “friends” as the most likely employer of the assassin that shot at me in New Orleans. This was going to be hard to solve. The list had five Presidents and parts of their staff. One of the Presidents was also a past head of the CIA. That was before I became an agent, but as one old timer said to me, “You never quit the CIA”. He had been President during Desert Storm, but I can’t imagine knowing something damaging from that war. I had just watched from the sidelines.


I sat back and watched the news trying to relax and gather my thoughts. The usual anti this and pro that was all the news had to offer. Then all of a sudden a face from my past was staring at me from the idiot box. It was the face of Natasha the Russian spy. I never knew her real name and heard that she had been traded for one of our operatives in the 1980s. I looked closer and realized that it couldn’t be her. The woman on the screen was about thirty five or so and Natasha would be older than me. I was almost eighteen when I escorted her to Gitmo and she was four or five years older than me at that time. So she would be sixty now. That must be her daughter in the news. “Hell” the apple in Russia doesn’t fall far from the tree. I may be the only one alive that has seen Natasha in the flesh.


Turkey 1992.


I was in the country with two other agents, we were on the trail of a Russian agent who was setting up a deal with Turkey to buy several helicopters and over a hundred APCs. The last team sent in had not reported back and so the task went to us. I was in Ankara staying at the JW Marriott Hotel. I had never been to Turkey and no one should have know me by sight. Any Russian delegation would be staying here also. Those Communists love the lifestyle of the rich and famous and they splurge every time they can. We had a room overlooking the large pool and with the small telescope poking through the curtains, I had a front side seat to every visitor to the hotel. I was to stay in my room and not be seen.


We had been there a week before I saw her. Natasha was quite beautiful in her one piece white v-neck swimsuit. That slim figure of hers had every guy and some of the girls at the poolside turning to watch her go by. She of course had on sunglasses and went to one of the cabanas and opened a book after she reclined in the soft chaise lounge. I knew that was probably a false cover for her real job , but she did it well. I took about fifty photos with the telephoto camera and tried to catch who was contacting her. The only people that approached were the pool bums and phony princes that always try to pick up the foreign ladies.


The next day she came out with a 8×10 valise and took up a chair that had its back to my window. The first paper she pulled out of the folder and held it in her hands like she was looking at it, was a picture of a well known cartoon moose. I gave a loud intake of breath that had the other two guys rushing to the window. The next was the over coated and hat covered cartoon squirrel. I knew that the moose I had made fun of her with, but where had she gotten the “Secret Squirrel” tag of mine. We just as well leave, because our cover was blown sky-high. The other agents we were looking for were never found. Later we found out what had been so important for her to have been there.


Cones of Silence” 2017.


I didn’t talk to anyone except to ask to speak to the director. I was escorted to a large office with him and a couple of aides. I looked at him and raised an eyebrow toward the other two and he sent them on a mission to find us some lunch. I waited till the door was closed and locked. He held a finger over his lips and turn on a white noise machine and we sat in two chairs with our heads practically touching. Then and only then did I start talking about what I had seen on the TV and what it meant. When I finished he turned on his computer, this guy really takes security seriously. He tried to pull up the code word Natasha and there were no references on any agent foreign or domestic with that name. No pictures or descriptions. I then realized why I was targeted. I was the only one who knew what she looked like. The director said, “Well “Squirrel” you are reinstated effective now.”


January 25, 1993 CIA Headquarter Virginia.


I was called for a meeting with the CIA and was waiting in line to be cleared through the front gates. All of a sudden I heard the unforgettable sound of a AK-47 on full auto. It was coming from three cars to the rear. I bailed out of the car and bullets whizzed pass. I felt a tugging on my arm and just kept on moving. Finally the shooting stopped and I sat down on the grass. One of the guards was immediately at my side and told me to sit still the EMTs were on the way. I hadn’t known I was shot. I found out that two agents in line behind me were dead and several move hurt like me. The shooter got away.


June 15, 1997 Pakistan.


There were FBI and CIA together in the Chevy Suburban outside a Chinese Restaurant in Punjab waiting for Aimal Kasi to appear for a meeting that had been setup to capture him. He was the shooter that had put a hole in my arm. I insisted that I be included and for once they listen and granted my request. I wish the FBI hadn’t been involved, because if they had not been here , I would have made sure he didn’t stand trial. Well Kasi received the death penalty, carried out by lethal injection at the Virginia State Penitentiary in Jarratt on November 14, 2002. That still didn’t resolve the anger flowing in my veins, but it would have to do. We never knew who had paid him to shoot.



Where is Natasha 2017.


The last time I suspected Natasha of espionage was her unproven involvement with Aldrich Ames. He was a CIA case officer, who spoke Russian and specialized in the Russian intelligence services. He had mostly worked in New York and Mexico. His initial overseas assignment was in Ankara, Turkey, the same place I saw her at the pool. There were just too many connections between the two and I had given a report on this in January of 1994. Once they knew what to look for, he was arrested in April of that year. Yeah, me and that female fatale had butted heads several times but had only met that once in 1980.


I thought the fastest and maybe the only way to find the bitch was to catch her daughter. With “Little Natasha” all over the news, I was going to have to pull out all my tricks to get a one-on-one. She was back in Moscow, but that would be better. The press there should not be on her twenty four hours a day. I left for the U.S.S.R.


After September 11.


They gave me free rein with three other agents and turned me a loose on the whole middle east. I still had the phone number for that Seal Team and would not hesitate to use it if necessary. They loved their Squirrel. I got to see the execution of Sadam by hanging, I had on a traditional black outfit and wasn’t even noticed by the locals. The demise of each of these helped some, but there seemed to be someone new that would appeared and killed the innocent. It was a losing battle, this revenge.


Moscow 2017.


Getting into a country has never been much of a problem for me. I seem to be so ordinary looking that no one looks twice. If I have a good set of papers and a believable story, in I go. One of the resident agents had been following the woman, who I thought was Natasha daughter ever since she got back into the country. She was at her family home outside of Moscow. I might get lucky and find her mother right away.

The daughter was home alone and I looked the outside of the house over with a fine eye for any traps or alarms. Surprising I could not find any. I picked the lock on the kitchen door and eased into the house. She was upstairs in the bedroom taking a nap. I sat in a chair and waited for her to wake. I was hoping that her mother would call or come home, but no such luck. Finally she woke and saw me, you can tell a professional by the way they always look around the room before moving. She saw me and only a slight intake of breath gave her away. I asked her if she knew who I was. A little smile crossed her face as she said, “Secret Squirrel I presume.”


That took me by a little surprise as someone like Natasha should have plenty of enemies and for her to pick me out first was telling. She would have had to know about the shooting in New Orleans and was waiting for me to show up. I shot her between the eyes. If she was that well briefed, I wasn’t going to get any true information from her.


30 December 2009.


It had been over ten years since I had been in Pakistan and they had requested me to travel to their country for a briefing that could not be done over communication lines. I had a team that included three FBI, ten CIA agents and me. We were gathered in a gym on a base in Khost province along with several military officers. We were waiting for a local with information on Osama bin Laden location. It was the most promising lead we had gotten. I was at the rear of the building answering the call of nature when the world fell on top of me. As I lay there my mind was jumping all over the place trying to figure out what had happened. One of the CIA guys told me to play dead. That was easy for me as I felt like I was fading away slowly.


Later in the hospital in Germany, I found out the story. We had been the victims of a suicide bomber. He had just walked in and set off his vest. The actual death count was not released. I only knew the people that were in my group and seven were dead. Make that eight as I was later put on that list. The Squirrel was officially deceased. I didn’t argue with them as they had me splinted and bandaged from nose to toe. I would not look anything like myself when they got the surgery completed. My face, which had never turned the captain of the football team’s head, was going to be even more plain when they got finished. I spent most of my time sleeping and it seems that it was only a day or two when I awoke in Washington.


All the doctors in the world could not put me back together well enough to pass a physical for active duty and I was retired. I moved back to Mississippi, but the country side did not appeal to me anymore, so after living in a couple of towns, I settled in the little brick house in New Orleans. I liked the food and music.


On the road to New Orleans 2017.


I told the director what had happened and he said. “I’m not reprimanding you for shooting the woman, but why. You do not have a reputation for killing without some kind of reason, even if it is for revenge”. I sighed and replied, “I wasn’t going to chase her mother all over the world. Now I know she will come for me and I wanted the advantage, so I am going home.” But first I made a side trip to Little Creek, Virginia. I walked into the Executive office of a Navy Captain and presented my orders. I need to talk to Seal Team member Gunny Clark. He picked up his phone and made a call. Within five minutes a six foot two hundred pound black man in tiny short and t-shirt knocked on the door and entered. He stepped to the desk and not saluting he did a perfect back braced attention. The Captain said, “This lady needs to talk to you.” He had not even looked at me when he entered the room. He turned and one eyebrow raised as he saw that tiny little pin on my collar. I would not have believed it, but his attention got even straighter and ram-rod stiff. I smiled and said, “I need to find Red Dog. Tell him Squirrel needs him.”


He whipped out his cell phone and scrolled down the contacts and pressed a button. He spoke into the phone and said, “Squirrel needs to talk to you.” He handed me the phone and stepped back. I spoke an address into the instrument and handed it back to the Seal. He asked into the phone, “Anything else you need from me.” He smiled and closed the cell and stepped to me, picked me up and hugged me till I squealed. The Captain had no idea what was going on, but he just looked and didn’t ask. What he didn’t know he couldn’t be held accountable.


Close to the French Market 2017.


I had all the approaches to my Decatur St apartment covered. There was a sniper on each of the building facing the front. The Old US Mint, Hotel De La Monnaie, and the Frenchmen Hotel were spaced perfectly to give them a one hundred eighty view of the door. I didn’t think it would deter my main rival, but her henchmen could be neutralized. It would just be the two of us.


When I had found all the information had been erased on my favorite Russian spy, I knew that there was another mole inside the CIA. We used their database to store all our files and this is the only way it could have been deleted. I realized that what ever I sent back to the company would be forwarded to her. The best way to catch a spy is to give her all the information and know that she has it. I had not told anyone in New York that I was going to New Orleans until I had the guys in place. I waited till they called me and let me know she had penetrated my apartment and then I told them to take out her team.


If there is one thing an old Seal Team can do, it is pest elimination. My two way ear wig beeped three times and I knew she was alone in a foreign country. It was time for me to give her a proper welcome to the U.S.A., so I got out of my car and walked to the front door. She could always blow us both up, but I don’t think she is the suicide type. She is like me and thinks she can get out of any situation alive. Now was the time to find out which of us is kill proof.


I eased the door open left handed and with the automatic in my hand dove and rolled to the right. I came up against the end table and with the lower part of my body blocked by old solid oak, I peeked around the end. She was sitting in my favorite chair and like her daughter was caught by pure surprise. I said, “Drop the gun and put your hands up.” She held the gun in her lap and didn’t point it at me. These people that watch TV with the cops not shooting people that don’t shoot first, are not living in the real world. The only reason she was still alive was that I might get the mole’s name out of her before I blew her away. I waited and kept my finger on the trigger and wasn’t worried about the gun. Before she could swing it around to point at me, she would be shot at least two times and dying.


When she realized I was not going to kill her, she started talking, but did not put the gun down. “I have a team of ten agents surrounding this building and it is you that is going to die even if you kill me.” I looked her straight in the eye and said, “Seal Team ten is outside. There are no agents alive.” The look that crossed her face was one of total surprise. There is one thing that all the operatives in the other countries know is the phrase “Seal Team”. “It is I that have the snipers in place to guarantee you are not able to cause any more deaths. Do you wish to bargain for your life with information I seek.” I have to give it to her she was fast for an old lady. The gun in her lap seemed to jump up into firing position and she even managed to get off one bullet. I felt it hit my exposed shoulder as I double tapped her face. If she had been a better shot and hit me in the face, it would have been me lying and bleeding on my beautiful Oriental rug I had brought back from deep inside Iraq.


The gunshots brought the guys inside the house. They rolled her up in the rug and carried her to a pair of SUVs outside my door. Then we went across the river to an old naval runway that hadn’t been used in years. One again a Chinook landed and we all climbed in with the rug tossed on the floor. Half way across the Gulf going to Florida, it accidentally fell out. It had a couple hundred pounds of weapons and ammo inside the roll and it was securely tied. Russia would never know if she was dead or alive.


Somewhere in Florida 2017.


Her body is somewhere off the coast in about a hundred feet of ocean water. I read the New Orleans Tribune about the big gang shootout in the French Quarters and knew who the members of that gang must be. I on the other hand was once again in bandages with another hole in my body. I had lost count of the pieces of metal that have ripped into my flesh. Red Dog came up to me and said, “I don’t think it is safe for you anywhere away from us. Three of the team live within a mile of me. We have never been able to adjust to the house and wife thing and don’t think we ever will. But a friendly little Squirrel might just fit into our community.” I built a house next to them on the Sugar Loaf Key.






My neighbor's small dog saved my life today. He came running up to me as I exited my apartment in New Orleans and started that infernal yapping and wanting to be petted. Just as I leaned over to scratch his head, I heard the ricochet of a bullet off the old river brick wall behind me. My reflexes were still up to par as I turned my motion into a full drop and roll. I continued rolling until I was behind the car parked on my side of the street. Sliding my Taurus PT111 out of my purse, I listened for footsteps headed in my direction. That wonderful dog was the only one in view and it was a couple of minutes before I heard a car door slam and a squeal of tires as the gunman left the area. Playing the scene back in my mind as I lay on the pavement, I realized that there had not been the sound of a shot. "Suppressor" sprang into my head and this meant that this was no street shooting involving a "drive by" or mugger. I had been "Uncovered".

  • ISBN: 9781370574896
  • Author: Gary Hancock
  • Published: 2017-07-20 04:20:29
  • Words: 6986
UnCovered UnCovered