Meet Ms. Bond

         Tina Taylor’s eyes widened at the blinking red arrow.  This was it.  The assigned garage for the Spy Level 1 Summer exam.  Her performance here tonight would determine her future with the James Bond (JB) Spy Training Academy in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.  After walking around in circles for the past thirty minutes, her first instinct was to rush in with her (fake) gun blazing.  But the frowning face of Chuck Jones, Head of Field Training, swam in her mind.  Fools rush in, Ms. Taylor, he had squeaked, his pompousness at odds with his pitch.  He would have preferred to shout, but the folds of fat around his neck didn’t allow that freedom.  Shoving the exam instructions back in her purse, she settled for a brisk march instead.

         She strode over with a stride that sent protests from her black fishnet-ed calves, but stopped short at the entrance.  It was the beginning of a steep slope that fell at a sharp angle.  She couldn’t be sure in the dim light but it looked like a misstep could make her duplicate Jack’s tumble, with no Jill following behind to check on her either.  But she had to do this.  Even if her family laughed at JB Academy as an adult space camp, Tina took it seriously.  It was much better than the “farming and babies” future her little sister seemed content with.  You can, oh yes you can, she encouraged her frozen feet, the chant vaguely in tune with the Academy song sung dutifully at the beginning of each class.

         Strangling the purse she was supposed to swing nonchalantly, she turned her petite body sideways and started inching down.  Definitely not as inconspicuously as the manual, but it was a tossup between balance and breaking her neck.  Good thing the heel of the red spiky stilettos that were a mandated part of the Academy’s Femme Fatale costume had broken when she had practiced running around in them in her living room.  Had she still been wearing them, the unreliable heels and her perpetual clumsiness would have guaranteed an undignified fall, leaving Chuck with a possibly mangled spy instead of one that passed with flying colors.  At least the ballet flats she had switched to were the required red, although their practical rubber soles definitely didn’t have the clip-clop that was supposed to signal her presence to the contact. 

         As she reached the bottom without incident, she sighed with relief.  But it was short-lived.  How was she supposed to go North, as per Step 2, when she had always been geographically challenged and was now blind as well in the near-total darkness.  Still, hovering wouldn’t help.  Easing out her worn flashlight from her purse, she flicked it on only to see half its normal glow.  Great, she had forgotten to change the batteries.  Wanting to get somewhere, anywhere, before the glow died completely, she chose a direction at random.  If nothing else, she could at least have a heavy stride.  Purposeful footsteps signaled confidence, didn’t they?  But the tight black skirt acted like a giant rubber band around her thighs as she raised her foot extra high.  Regaining her footing after a few frantic seconds of flailing, she scowled.  It would be just like her to trip on flats right now, and rip her skirt.  That would really help her cover as a Femme Fatale! 

She squinted into the darkness, hoping the contact hadn’t noticed the slight break in her stride.  Believability was one of the key grading criteria in the Level 1 exam, and after the recent mishaps with Chuck, the Summer exam was her last chance to come back in the Fall.  Dear God, let me not bungle up.  As the Academy Director, Peter was patient, but he had his limits.  Another screw-up was definitely not the way to keep her place.

         The profound quiet pressed against her.  The tight white shirt struggling to hold her assets emphasized her overly-deep breaths.  Couldn’t they have made it a little looser? Why hadn’t she chosen Office Worker with pants, or even Professor with a blazer.  Nah, scratch Professor, she amended, the bun wig and granny glasses would have flown off at the first stumble.  Plus, the night air still retained some of the day’s high temperatures and a heavy blazer or pants would have made it worse.  It was a perfect moment for the calming Yoga inhalations her friend and roommate Lisa kept pushing on her, but stopping to sit cross-legged seemed odd on multiple levels, and not just for the possibly watching contact.

         It’s all about how you are perceived, class, her annoyingly perky instructor Amy Abrams had sung so often.  One could be forgiven for thinking she was teaching high-society fashionistas rather than serious spies.  High-society, hah, Tina scoffed.  Not for her, she was going to be James Bond, circa 2009.  Without the women, though. And Bond did get to wear more comfortable clothing…

         Forget the shirt! Spies adapt to the circumstances.  But if she couldn’t even breathe…Her internal debate on breathing versus not and flicking her flashlight on and off distracted her enough to not realize she had only covered one half of the vast garage, with a whole different side waiting to be explored.  As she tried to discern the contact’s pudgy physique from the dingy gray walls…
                                                                                            *
         “What do you mean, she’s not at the garage?!” bellowed Peter Wiggins, Director and Founder of the JB Academy.  Veins bulging at the side of his large head, the overhead light highlighting his rapidly receding hairline, and blue suit crumpled from a long day of managing the Level 1 exams, he looked like a real-life version of Mr. Weatherbee, Principal of the Riverdale High School in the Archies.  Just as Archie managed to exasperate Mr. Weatherbee every day of school, Tina kept coming to his notice for all the wrong reasons.  If she wasn’t so earnest, he often grumbled, he would let her go and save the last few hairs on his head.

         Peter tried to focus again on Chuck’s shrill complaints, holding the phone at an increasing distance as his Field trainer grew more agitated.  Peter suspected that Tina’s non-appearance had less to do with Chuck’s irritation than the fact that he was forced to be out in the oven-like summer night.  He had known Chuck since they were both rookies at the now-defunct FBI branch in Cedar Rapids.  When the branch closed, their choices were to either accept reassignment to the nearest office in Omaha or try something else.  Peter had enjoyed teaching at the FBI, and had fielded enough questions to know there was a market for spy training.  He had launched JB Academy as a springboard to apply to the FBI or start a private investigation agency.  Chuck had signed up as Head of Field Training only so he could relax every night with brandy and a cigar instead of starting the paperwork for the latest new entrant to the Most Wanted list.  Unfortunately, Tina’s apparent ineptness was currently in his way.  Peter couldn’t help share some of his colleague’s exhaustion.  Right now, a hot shower and a thick steak sounded like enough reason to abandon the entire Academy, along with all the Tinas that came with it. 

         “Look, Chuck,” he finally interrupted, “she was given a dossier indicating she had to find you as the contact, chat you up, get the bag, and make it back here in an hour.  It’s been two hours, and she isn’t answering her phone.  Did you see anyone who might have been her, but she just didn’t see you?  She chose our Femme Fatale costume of white shirt, black skirt, red shoes.” 
         “No, Pete,” Chuck answered, exasperation evident in his shrill voice.  “All these Level 1 students managed to get through, some not as well as I would have liked, but Ms. Taylor bungled up - as usual, I might add.  Knowing her, I volunteered to play the contact myself.  I have been waiting here for two hours, I just climbed that damn slope again to call you, and I am hot as hell.  I am going home.  If she hasn’t shown up yet, I doubt she will.  Knowing her, she probably lost her way and went to Timbuktu, and locked herself out of her car with her phone inside to boot.”

         For a moment Peter so agreed with Chuck’s assessment of yet another of Tina’s predicaments, he almost laughed.  However, remembering his position as the Director of a fledgling Academy that needed every student’s tuition to survive, he quickly sobered.  “Alright, give it another few minutes and if she still doesn’t show, you can go on home.  I’ll call her again, and send an email too.  We’ll discuss Tina further on Monday.  Have a good weekend.” 

         After Chuck huffed out a good bye and hung up, Peter tried Tina’s number again but it went straight to voicemail.  As he sent her an email and finished packing his briefcase, he eyed the phone.  No, he decided, spies needed to learn to work alone.  If she needed him, the contact details were in her packet.  Switching off the lights in his cabin, he ducked back to his desk to grab his work cell phone.  One of the perks of leaving the FBI was that his weekends were completely his own.  But old instincts told him the upcoming one might be an exception.
                                                                                                          *
         How unprofessional, Tina grumbled.  Still no sign of the contact.  Sure, she had gotten a tiny bit late trying to find the garage, but that was no reason to abandon the entire exercise, was it?  All this preparation and training, not to mention the make up, had been a total waste.  And being underground, she didn’t even have a phone signal to call the Academy to find out if the exercise had been cancelled or changed.  What if the contact showed just as she left?  She would receive an automatic F, and she hadn’t even got to try.  Nope, she was staying.

         Ten minutes went by, then fifteen.  Twenty minutes later, she was about to give up when she heard the distinctive click-clack of a woman’s heels.

         Tina was puzzled.  The person was too loud to be a furtive contact and she thought she had heard Chuck say that JB had reserved a portion of the garage exclusively for the field exercise portion of their exams.  A moment later, her brow cleared.  Civilian interference was a Level 2 component, but they had still thrown it in for her.  Perhaps they were giving her an extra challenge to make up for her performance so far.  Well, she was up to it.  No matter what anyone said.  Take that, Chuck, with your permanent scowl!

         Now what did Amy say about civilians? Isolate from danger and escort from scene.  Summoning her best serious spy look and patting down the tight skirt that kept climbing up, she followed the woman.  She was surprisingly brisk, and after her late start, Tina had to jog to catch up.  With each silent step, she was increasingly grateful for the stiletto mishap that had prompted the switch to flats.  Catching up at the woman’s car, a dark sedan with covered windows that had blended with the shadowy garage, she tapped her shoulder.

         The woman turned around with a startled screech that echoed across the tomb-like interior.  In a blink, she had a gun at Tina’s head. 

         “Quick, who sent you?”

         Before Tina could answer, there was a gunshot.  Shouts could be heard from the other end, with running footsteps rapidly gaining in their direction.  A bright blue light flashed, while a siren blared an ominous alarm.  The quiet garage was suddenly bursting with chaotic activity.

         Tina’s and the woman’s eyes met in the blue light.  Tina had just enough time for a glimpse of an older brunette in a dark T-shirt, with stretched skin on a long narrow face and deepening wrinkles fanning out from green eyes.  The woman abruptly turned away, wrenched open the door with enough force to slam it into Tina’s knee, and jumped in.

         “Shoot, shoot, shoot…,” she muttered to a large guy similarly dressed in black who was trying to gun the engine, before turning to glare at the still-gaping Tina, causing her to scurry back a few steps.

         Worried the woman would change her mind about the gun, or worse, ask her for help with the engine, Tina limped behind the car, wincing with each step from her throbbing knee.  Some nerve!  She had only been trying to follow training in escorting a civilian out of the scene, and the so-called civilian had pointed a gun at her head as a thank you.  And what was she up to anyway? 

         The shouts were getting closer.  Almost subconsciously, Tina tried the trunk.  By some miracle, it was slightly ajar.  Perhaps the latch hadn’t fully caught when the last person used it.  She had two choices - jump in the trunk, find out what the woman was up to, and behave as a real spy would.  Or hang around to answer sure-to-be awkward questions, particularly since the gunshot sounded real, and probably get kicked out of the Academy on Monday.  She hadn’t admitted it to anyone, not even ever-sympathetic Lisa, but first her dyed-in-the-wool Midwest farmer family, and now Chuck – she was tired of people doubting her.  Hadn’t she told them all she would prove herself if given the chance?  Maybe this was it.  She snuck a glance towards the front.  The blue light was still flashing, and the woman and driver were focused on their getaway.  Taking a fortifying breath, she eased up the lid by a few inches.  As the pounding footsteps grew louder, she cracked it open a little more.  There was no more time to think.  She was doing this.  She owed it to herself if she wanted to follow through on her dream of being in the FBI.  She almost jumped in true James Bond style, but thought better of it and softly eased herself into the dark confines. 

         It was in the nick of time.  The car roared just as Tina settled in on something surprisingly cushy, a pleasant surprise from the uncomfortable metal and smelly mat she had been bracing for.  From the gap between the trunk and the bumper, she made out a few shiny brown shoes that reminded her of Peter’s polished loafers.  They followed them up the garage slope, but gave up when the car gained speed.  She tried to pray, but gave up when she wasn’t sure what to pray for – stay hidden from the woman or avoid being found by those in pursuit.  As she heard the sirens, common sense made a slow comeback.  Lordy-lord, what have I gotten into? 

         As the car lurched and screeched, she realized from the rattle that it had gone off the main roads.  When it went over a particularly large bump, the trunk lid banged hard on the finger she was using to prop it open, and she pulled back with a loud Ouch!  Over the gunning of the motor and crunch of the road, the driver and the woman didn’t seem to hear.  But she had a bigger problem - the trunk was now firmly shut.  Without any light, she didn’t know long she tried to push it up, increasingly panicked as neither staying trapped nor being discovered sounded remotely appealing.  Her efforts used up the limited oxygen faster.  As the air grew thinner and the effects of skipping meals from exam anxiety caught up, she lost the battle.  She passed out.

                                                                                                              *
         A persistent ring broke into Peter’s dreams of sandy beaches and cold beer late Saturday morning.  Groping for the phone, he again held it away as the caller shrilled in his ear, painfully accompanied by loud static.

         “Tina hasn’t come home all…” *crackle*

         “Wha…”

         “I said, Tina, Tina Taylor, hasn’t come home all night!”

         “Ahh…hmm…who is this?”

         “This is…” *crackle* “…Jones, her…” *crackle*

         He really needed to do something about Chuck’s voice.  His stoic deputy sounded more like a hysterical girl by the minute.

         “Chuck…,” he began.

         “Chuck??  This is Lisa, Tina’s roommate!  I found your number on her desk.  She said she had an exam!  Where is she??”

         “Calm down, Lisa.  I have your number on my phone.  I’ll make a few calls and update you as soon as I can.”

         Checking his phone and laptop, Peter soon realized Tina hadn’t left any messages.  Chuck hadn’t received anything either.  She might be clumsy but Peter knew she cared.  Where was she?  As he soaped up in a cold shower, he decided to go to the garage and check it out for himself.
                                                                                                            *
         Tina woke up with wood at her back, and a man’s hands on her blouse.  In the struggle to sit up and push him away, one of the buttons on her too-tight blouse popped.  Horrified at the peepshow from her lacey bra and mightily annoyed that he had caused the situation in the first place, she smacked him hard on his head, causing him to tumble away, rubbing at it with a groan.  Breathing hard, she clasped her blouse together and sent him her fiercest glare as he slowly looked up.

         “I knew I should have frisked you earlier.  Somehow figured you wouldn’t stay down too long.”

         “That’s just a dumb excuse.  Do I look like I have a weapon on me?  I can barely breathe in this stupid thing.”

         “Good point.  Joanna wanted it so I did…and why are you dressed like that anyway?” he asked, with an assessing look down her long legs.  “Not that I mind,” he continued, with a quick wiggle of a thick blond eyebrow.  “Just curious.”

         “I am on an assignment.  With the FBI,” she added, in a burst of inspiration.  “They will have a search party out for me, and are aware of where I was last.  If you send me back now, I may be able to talk to my chief to be lenient with you and your partner.”

         “Thank you,” he paused.  “That would be kind of you.  But let’s say,” he raised his eyebrows, “I didn’t feel like doing that.  How would you contact them then?  Like say you wanted to give them your whereabouts to come rescue you, since you could be just about anywhere.  Of course, I am assuming even the FBI can’t track its people every moment.  Do correct me if I am wrong.”

         “FBI technology,” she snapped, unsettled by his confident smirk.  “It’s confidential.”

         “I see.  So tell me Tina, was it the FBI’s plan that you jump in the trunk, or did you think of it on your own?  Good thing I found you when I went to get our bedrolls last night, you wouldn’t have lasted much longer.”

                   “Agents have to work independently,” she replied, straightening her back to show a confidence she didn’t feel.  “It’s part of our training so...wait”, she skittered to a stop, “how did you know my name??”

         He smiled.

         “As a FBI agent, you would know to carry your identification on you, not stuff it in a purse.  Even better, you would have been trained to pop the catch so you wouldn’t be a sitting duck.  So, Ms. Trainee at JB, shall we start again?”

         “Alex, did she sing yet?” Joanna’s nasal voice preceded her as she stomped into the room, the pointy heels making the same click-clack that had alerted Tina the previous night.

         Tina watched as the amusement on his face instantly melted into a bland respectful look.

         “Nothing so far, Joanna.  But I asked our guy to look her up.  She’s FBI.  He told me she’s been on high priority since last night.”

         Tina waited for him to laugh, to tell Joanna that their stowaway was just a silly spy student.  But he stayed dead serious as Joanna’s long face grew more horse-like.

         “Shit.  Tony hasn’t called yet about the delivery, I am stuck in Hicksville in the middle of cornfields, and now I have the bloody FBI on my case.”

         Alex stayed silent.  Taking her cue, Tina kept her eyes on Joanna’s boots.  Impractical for the middle of summer, she critiqued.  But then her crushed shirt and clingy skirt wouldn’t win any awards either.

          “Wait, we could use her,” Joanna began.  “We get her back to the FBI if they guarantee safe passage.  Otherwise, she’s history.”

          Alex had just opened his mouth when he was interrupted by a loud knock and a cheery Howdy! that echoed across the abandoned farmhouse.

         “Can’t get any privacy even in the middle of Hicksville.  Bloody farmers.  That’s the third one this morning.  Ooh, they all wonder, who could it be?!  I should go and check it out just so I have no competition for my corn!”

         “They are just trying to be friendly,” butted in Tina, before she could stop herself.  “We always went out with fruit from our farm when someone moved in.”

         Joanna threw her a disgusted look.  “Contact FBI from the prepaid,” she barked at Alex.  “And tie her up before you come down.  Put a gag on too.”

         As Joanna left, Tina swelled her chest to scream.  Even if whoever was at the door didn’t save her, they would know something was wrong.  Before she got out a peep, Alex had clamped a hand across her mouth. 

         “Not a sound, got it?”

          As she struggled and tried to bite his palm, he urgently whispered, “She’s nervous.  If she uses her gun and leaves you here, it will be days before anyone finds you.  Run instead.  And do it quick!”

         “Alex!” yelled Joanna from downstairs.  “Do you need help?”

         “Got it under control,” Alex shouted back. “Coming down now!”
         
         Removing his hand, their eyes held for a breath as he smoothed a thumb over the red marks he had left on both sides of her mouth.          
         
         “Sorry,” he murmured.  “Run!”
         
         As he quickly strode to the door, she was still processing his change.  Friend or foe?  Or could it be a trap? 

         “Wait…” she whispered. 

         He turned around with a crooked smile, his step slowing for just an instant.

         “Hurry!” he whispered back, pointing to something she didn’t catch, before he locked the door with an extra-noisy bang.
         
         She lurched to her feet, her outstretched hand hitting the purse he had gone through.  Shaking her sleeping legs into rapid motion, she turned in a circle.  In front of her was the locked door through which Joanna could come back any minute.  The rough-hewn floor had splinters sticking out, topped by a few poles holding up the ramshackle structure.  The room was dim, with the sun lighting up the thin wooden walls from outside rather than streaming in from an opening.  The musty smell of an unused space mixed with vague food odors from crumpled paper bags.  Lack of ventilation was slowly turning the room into a sauna and forcing beads of sweat down her spine.  Catching the flash of white between the bedrolls in the corner, she realized they were stuffed with sheets, an unusual luxury, to make them even more comfortable than the hard floor she had been unceremoniously dumped on.  As her panicked eyes raced past one item after another, she forced herself to take a deep breath.  Unless Alex had been playing a cruel joke, there had to be a way out.  But where?

         Turning again, she saw what she had missed the first time.  So that's what he was pointing to.  In the dimmest corner, a pair of boarded up shutters had blended with the walls.  Careful to stay on tiptoe to minimize tell-tale creaks from the uneven floorboards, she rushed over.  Testing the planks of wood over the window, she was relieved at the shoddy job of nailing them down.  The planks were rotting, with pointy splinters slowly separating.  She focused on pulling to ignore the chafing from their roughness.  First one, then the other.  Throwing open the window, she blinked in the sudden bright light.  Looking down, she gulped.

         It was a straight drop down three or four levels.  Trust her luck to be in one of the few larger farmhouses in Iowa.  Her family homestead had gotten a second level put in just last year, and it had been reason enough to give their two farmhands a day off.  Running through high school and spy training over the past six months had put her in great shape, but flying still wasn’t one of her abilities.  Since superheroes were never around when they were actually needed, she would have to climb down.

         She looked again at the sheets.  Could she fasten a rope by tying one end to a pole, and shimmy down?  It was worth a try.  If she fell short, the bedrolls could help.  As she pulled out the sheets, a dizzying smell from a small glass bottle hit her.  It sparked a memory from the Academy lab.  Chloroform!  That must be how she had stayed down so long after being knocked out in the boot.  Probably Joanna’s idea since it was near the bedroll that reeked of a cloyingly sweet perfume. 

         Tina double-knotted each sheet and prayed it would hold.  She always had a hard time with ropes and in one spectacular incident, had caused Chuck to fall about six feet as her knot unraveled.  Rushing to help him, she blurted out the observation she had meant to keep private - that he looked rather like Humpty Dumpty falling off the wall.  His glares ever since had led to more incidents of forgetting, messing and breaking, and her long string of D’s in the midterm had put all the pressure on last night’s final.  Think about that after you are out of here!, although she would call Peter as soon as she had put some distance.

         As she checked the length, she realized the sheet-rope only covered about two levels.  Adding a bedroll, she looped one of its straps around the pole nearest the window, and tied the opposite strap to the sheet.  She checked her knots.  Both unraveled.  Cursing, and then catching herself to hope no one had heard, she feverishly tied them again, catching her still-pulsing finger from last night’s trunk mishap in one of them.  Her tally of bruises just kept growing.  It couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes, but it felt like an eternity had passed, and Father Time was standing miles ahead scratching his beard on why she hadn’t kept up.  Letting down the makeshift rope, she tensed to hear footsteps coming up the stairs.  Wearing her purse like a backpack, she rushed to put a leg over the rough-hewn windowsill.  The lock rattled.
 
         “Alex, where are the keys?” called Joanna.  “I want to check up on her!” 
         
         In her hurry, Tina hit her knee on a side of the farmhouse as she climbed down.  It was the same knee that Joanna’s door had connected with last night, and had now taken on a fire engine red.  She let out an involuntary Ow! that Joanna caught. 

         “Alex! Hurry up!” 
         “You had to choose just now to pee!” she yelled at his response.  “That’s what I get for working with amateurs!”
         
         Tina tightened her grip as she slid a few inches without warning.  One of the knots was fast unraveling.  She climbed down faster.  But the thin sheets had taken enough.  As she moved to the last one, it ripped through the middle, leaving her literally hanging by a thread.  Before she could blink, it tore completely.
         
         The fall wasn’t too great.  No more than five feet, and somehow avoiding her bad knee.  She lay on the ground catching her breath, as the sheet covered her like a Halloween ghost.  Above her, she could hear Joanna’s screams.  Tina threw off the sheet and started off across the adjoining corn fields.  She and her little sister used to call this the Corn-y Race when they were growing up in rural Iowa, and she had made the family fields her impromptu training ground when away from the track.  Old habits took over.  Behind her, she could hear Joanna’s car, but the city sedan wouldn’t make it through the uncut corn that was sometimes six feet high.  Although a pet peeve of her father’s, at the moment she was very grateful to the lazy farm worker who hadn’t gotten around to running the corn picker.
         
         But the worker hadn’t been that lazy after all.  As Tina battled past the tall corn, she was startled to hit a freshly-cut patch.  It would take Joanna a couple minutes to drive around but would be a much faster ride.  Tina could still hear the roaring car, but didn’t dare turn.  At the end of the patch, she could see a clump of trees.  She could try hiding.  As she flew to the spot with visions of a bumper knocking against her knees, she turned around for a pleasant surprise.
         
         The car was still in the first area of tall corn.  So much for thinking Joanna would figure out to drive around it!  Instead, she was still repeatedly gunning the engine, a futile attempt from the sound of it, to dislodge the car from the obstinate stalks.  Although Tina couldn’t see the car beyond the corn, the hot stillness of the day carried over the sounds of Joanna’s irritation.  She had a flash of Alex.  Would he get into trouble?  But from what she had seen, he could handle himself.  Checking that the car was still stuck, she set off at a trot.  If it did start, it wouldn’t take Joanna long to catch up. 
         
         But how long could she go?  The blazing sun was directly overhead, her mouth was parched, and in the middle of acres of farmland, cell phones had no coverage.  Running for her life, her shirt was soaked.  The skirt had climbed so high, it was a wonder it wasn’t around her neck.  A couple miles later, her shoes were splitting, legs covered with scratches from scraggly bushes.  Another mile.  Her vision was starting to blur.  All the physical training admitted defeat to a scorching summer.  A slower mile.  Her purse, still slung over her shoulder, felt like she was carrying a boulder.  What had she put in there anyway?  As she ran to a small hill, her burning lungs begged for a reprieve.  Water, please, water.  Over her pounding heart, she heard a motor from the other side.  Had Joanna beaten her after all?
         
         No, this one was too loud.  As Tina pushed herself to the top, she almost cried at the familiar sight.  After high school, she had rebelled against farming and babies to join the Spy Academy and follow her heart, or “her foolishness”, as Pa put it.  When she dragged out an old suitcase from the family homestead, she never wanted to look at another farm machine.  But she took all that back.  Right now, the weather-beaten tractor with its bouncing seat was the most welcome sight of her life. 
         
         “Help!”  She waved her arms as she put on a fresh burst of speed.  The motor was so loud that she was almost next to it before the plump old farmer finally heard her.
         
         Turned out he was the same guy who had called at the farmhouse earlier.  Since it had been empty for years, he had decided to amble over to check out the new owners and yes, if they planned to plant corn. 

         “But that city gal banged the door on my nose,” he complained to a desperately panting Tina, as his ruddy cheeks quivered with indignation.

         “Hop on in,” he reached down a chunky arm, as she was about to crumple near the huge tire.  “You can wait at the house till we get the Sheriff here.”
                                                                                                          *
         Tina entered the restroom of the precinct with a smile.  These were her people, the Iowans, known for their genial Midwestern hospitality.  The old farmer had practically fallen over, although the initially friendly wife had turned odd.  She kept trying to offer her a fraying shawl, even though Tina was noisily fanning herself with a wrinkled newspaper and had just gulped down the entire pitcher of iced tea.  As the wife was about to say something, the farmer distracted her with their clucking hens in the backyard.  When the Sheriff picked Tina up, he had been all smiles too, and turned back every time he made a comment.  Now, as she looked in the mirror under the efficient fluorescent lighting, she figured out why.

         Her filled out lacey bra was on full display.  The first button that had popped out courtesy Alex had been followed by another.  The friendliness of her fellow Iowans had been for entirely different reasons.  Clutching at her cleavage and the two ends of her blouse, she mustered her dignity to peek out for a pin.
         
         Freshly showered, full with pizza on the police dime and dwarfed under someone’s old University of Iowa sweatshirt, Tina couldn’t stop touching the heavy gold necklace.  Intricately carved with hieroglyphs, she had found it in her purse when she had reached for her phone.  Attached was a note saying “Call Peter Wiggins,” signed Alex.  After Peter arrived at the station, they showed it to the Sheriff who fished out a FBI flier from his desk that had a picture of the same necklace with the word STOLEN printed in block letters at the top.  It had been stolen from Chicago’s Field Museum last week, during a visiting exhibition for the Treasures of Egypt. The curator had almost cried in relief when they had called, and had promised a finder’s fee to Tina that would cover her next semester’s tuition at JB.  If Peter let her stay, that is.  She finally looked up at him, waiting patiently till she got over her fascination at the necklace so they could continue talking.
         
         “So Alex is actually from the FBI, and messaged you that the necklace was with me.  Since Lisa had called, you had already alerted the cops that I was missing.  But how did he know I knew you?” she asked, shushing the tiny voice that piped up to wonder why she was so relieved to know Alex was one of the good guys.          
         
         “I trained Alex well,” Peter puffed his expansive chest.  “When he looked through your purse for id, he saw the JB assignment.  After the pickup didn’t go according to plan, Joanna was getting trigger-happy and he wanted to make sure you were safe.  Getting the necklace out was a bonus.” 
         
         “Hmm….” There was silence for a moment as Peter suddenly found himself talking to the top of Tina’s freshly washed head.  Better to let him think she was obsessed with the necklace than get ideas that she had paid any more attention to Alex than a real spy would.  Not that I did, of course.

         “But I have to apologize, Tina,” Peter broke into her thoughts. “Chuck and I have always used that garage for training exercises, both at the FBI and JB.  Chuck was waiting at one end, while you went to the other.  And by coincidence, Joanna was there too.  Alex tells me they were supposed to do the exchange in the garage, and FBI would tail the person with the necklace.  Alex would stay with Joanna and try to trace the cash. Instead, the person never showed, and you did instead.”
         
         “It’s ok.  Now that it’s over, it was kinda fun actually.  So have the Feds picked up Joanna?”

         “In custody as we speak”.

         “Guess she thought good ol’ Iowa would be a better place to hide than Chicago.  How did Alex get mixed up with her anyway?”

         As Peter took a moment to answer, Tina looked up.  His comforting look was slowly turning into the assessing one he reserved for the Academy exercises.  And for once, he didn’t look disapproving. 
         
         “The usual route.  Bar, flattery, wanted to learn from her, yadda-yadda.  She loved the attention.  Took a few months to trust him, but finally told him about the necklace deal, and got him along as backup.”
         
         “So if he’s been with her for months, didn’t he know about the Museum theft?”
         
         She could make out the beginning of a smile.  From his overly patient manner since she called, she guessed he had been expecting hysterics, not a discussion of the case. Perhaps I could impress him enough with questions to give me another chance. 
         
         “He did, but wanted to get to the source.  So the FBI knew about the necklace from the time it was taken, but the local police were kept out of it.”  She nodded understandingly.  They had an entire chapter in the JB manual devoted to the perpetually adversarial relationship between the FBI and the cops, who always though the FBI was encroaching on their territory.

         “Alex has a hunch someone else was calling the shots…” Peter focused on a spot behind her head, as if lost in thought.  “Joanna was the tool, and would get a cut of the profits when the item was fenced.  Whoever it is, is smart.  In spite of Alex’s best efforts, he wasn’t able to get anything more than an alias.”
           
         “Can I help?” she jumped in eagerly.  At Peter’s startled look, she added, “I did help with the necklace!”
         
         Peter’s smile broadened, although she wasn’t sure why.  “And what about your exams here?”
         
         Shoot.  Probably too much to expect that last night would give me a free pass.  But no harm trying.  “I thought we were done.  But I could take them again...”
         
         Peter laughed and shook his head.  “With Chuck?” As she floundered for a response, he waved her off.  “We’ll see on Monday.  Right now, you need to get home.” 
         
         “She’s all yours,” he called out.
         
         Alex walked in.  The same crooked smile.  Tina grinned back.  She stood up so quickly, she pushed the edge of the table into Peter’s bulge. 

         “Hello again,” he winked at the gasping Peter as he held out a hand for Tina.  It would be a fun ride.