Fiction (MGS): Agent Decoy Pt1

The art of impersonation is very flexible, whether it’s for entertainment, psychological, or espionage purposes, copying another person has many different degrees of authenticity. Good impersonation comedians retrieve humour out of a public figure’s mannerisms, and while still keeping true to the subject material; create comedic situations for an audience’s entertainment. Then there’s spies, who may or may not have to pass themselves off as other people to be successful in their line of work. Deception is crucial here, as anything out of place could blow their cover. I take impersonation to another level. I not only manufacture my appearance to be successful down to the most minute detail, for each assignment I go through an arduous routine of information collecting and behavioural hypnosis to become the person I am impersonating. I even go as far as killing target and using their blood in my own body. My name is Agent Decoy.

I am the best impersonation artist in the world; I am able to perfectly mimic anyone in the world, provided I have observed his or her natural behaviour first. Of course, my services don’t come cheap, and my assignments don’t come simple. I am an agent of the CIA, and I work for them in protecting the country from foreign governments, organisations, and persons looking to attack the USA.

The call comes in; my Commanding Officer gives me the details in his usual gravelly tones. This time I’m off to Peru – “A medium size drug-trafficking operation has purchased some sensitive documents concerning high ranking government officials and details on top secret activities. It’s your job to retrieve the documents, destroy the smugglers’ warehouse and return safely.”
“Why me?” I ask.
“The smugglers don’t intend on keeping the documents, they’re going to sell them to the crew of a Somali pirate ship. Security is on high alert; the meeting is taking place within the warehouse and only the bosses of both parties will be granted access. Our regular agents would find entrance to the warehouse impossible. We’ve been tracking the smugglers for a while now and have decided that this meeting is the only chance we have, your deception skills are crucial to this operation.”
“Somali pirates? What are they going to do with the documents?”
“We don’t know. If you can find out, we would be grateful.”
“Will there be any outside help?”
“Absolutely not, no-one else was factored into the simulation apart from you. This will be a solo mission.” he barks at me.
“Simulation? Are you feeling all right, James? You sound a little different than usual.”
“I’m fine, now prepare for departure. We are coming to pick you up in one hour.”
He hangs up before I even have time to say goodbye. This was obviously an important mission; I’ve never heard James so systematic before.

In the car, there’s a file waiting for me on the back seat. It gives details about the bosses of the Somali and the Peruvian smugglers, a map of the area, and printed in bold across the page there is the notification: “The contents of the stolen documents are property of the US Government – under no circumstances are you permitted to read them”. This was worrying, the file noted that the smugglers have a guard force of 150 men; each armed with assault rifles and trained to an army level of precision. The Somalis were also not taking any chances; they had enlisted the help of a group of 3 ex-Egyptian Navy SEALS Special Forces mercenaries to oversee the deal. Whatever was in these documents was extremely volatile; I couldn’t help feeling a little anxious. I had never been sent on something so big before, my usual line of work involved posing as businessmen and influencing board meetings, sometimes impersonating Senators and Congressmen and having them commit crimes or scandals, with which they can be blackmailed with later. No matter how good their alibi, no one can argue with seeing themselves on CCTV, holding the staff of a convenience store at gunpoint. On top of the file is a suppressed Beretta M9, my usual choice of personal weapon.

When we arrive at the airport they lead me to my private flight just like usual, and inside there is my regular equipment. Everything I need is contained in two briefcases; facial putty and paint, fake hair, retinal contact lens kit, and fingerprint reproduction kit in one case, and my blood transfusion machine in the other. In the past, I used to only use the more specialised kit if it were necessary, such as to fool biometric scanners, but after my cover was blown by an unscheduled drugs test, I don’t take any chances anymore.

The agency has booked me into a small hotel about half a mile away from the warehouse. I lay down my cases on the table in the corner and get to work. The first order of business is to find a target. The two pirate bosses are staying in the same hotel one floor down, luckily for me they are in separate rooms. Their money is in another room, being guarded by the Navy SEALS. The meeting is tomorrow, and for tonight, the Intel mentions, it is likely that the bosses will spend it in the local nightclubs. I leave my room and find the nearest cleaners’ closet, I change into a uniform and start vacuum cleaning the corridor outside the bosses’ rooms. After a couple of times up and down, one of them emerges – it’s Yusuf Samaka Guleed. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a smart grey shirt, and knocks on the Navy SEALS’ door. He looks down the corridor at me; I smile at him and look down at the carpet, which by now is spotless. If I don’t find another job to do he might become suspicious of me, so I head back into the cleaners’ closet, pull a stepladder out into the corridor, and start cleaning the ceiling with a feather duster from on top of it. When I look back at Guleed, the other Somali boss has now joined him: Abdi Omar Khalid, who the Intel describes as “a high-spirited party animal”. When they are standing side by side, it becomes apparent that Guleed is slightly nervous, or rather, was nervous - he has a stony-faced expression, and appears to be wound up by Khalid’s juvenile behaviour. I can’t hear what they are saying from here, but a few words are spoken through the SEALS’ now open door. Two SEALS, dressed in uninteresting black suits, leave the room and follow Guleed and Khalid down the corridor to the exit. I rush over to Guleed’s room, pick the lock and let myself in. There’s nothing particularly out of place here; everything is neat and tidy, and there’s no sign of any notes or instructions about the meeting. I quickly plant a bug in the ceiling fan and let myself out. The hotel doors lock themselves when you exit so there’s no need to pick the lock back to its original state. Khalid’s room is a bit messier, but again, there are no notes or instructions anywhere in the room. After planting the second bug in Khalid’s fan I return to my room, where I prepare the bug’s receiver, a tape recorder, and a notepad and pen on the desk.

In the middle of the night the receiver springs into life; Guleed’s room door opens and fills the room with noisy drunken banter. Among the voices is a woman, who seems restless, and speaking in Spanish, says “Come on Abdi, let’s go to your room”. Khalid tells her to wait outside while they have an important business talk. This is what I’ve been waiting for; I have been forming a plan for a few hours now. If I can appear as either Guleed or Khalid, I will then have an armed escort all the way to the meeting point, and be within touching distance of the documents. To achieve this however, I need to hear them speak naturally. I learned Somali along with the major African languages about 6 years ago, but haven’t really had a chance to use it, until now.

“Alright Abdi, you need to hear this. Abdi? Abdi, look at me.”
“Yes, yes, calm down. What is it now?
“It’s about the meeting tomorrow. It’s very important you know what we are supposed to be doing”
“I already know about it. God, you are like my mother sometimes, Yusuf.”
“Fine then, what is the plan?”
Khalid sighs, and while he is talking I hear the fizz of a beer can opening.
“In the morning we go down to the warehouse, and buy the stupid documents. Simple.”
“What time in the morning?”
“About half 10.”
“Exactly half ten. We let the SEALS carry the money case down to the warehouse, and let the smugglers count the money. If we are late they will call it off and we will be in deep shit. You know what they’re like when something goes wrong.”
The creak of a chair indicates one of them is now sitting down.
“Why? What’s so important about these documents anyway?
“I don’t know. Apparently it’s just a list of names, but even that isn’t certain. Anyway, you’d better get some sleep. Tell that cheap hooker to go home”
The door creaks open.
“I think she’s gone. Oh well, good night Yusuf.”
“Good night Abdi. Remember, we need to be there by half ten, so be ready to leave at about 9:45.”
The door closes.

After listening to the conversation on the tape recorder again, I grab the two suitcases and put the M9 in the jacket pocket and make my way to Guleed’s room. I put the cases down in front of the door and take the pistol out of my pocket, ready to fire, and knock on the door.
I am going to imitate Guleed; therefore I need to be able to copy his facial features and extract enough blood to keep me alive for the duration of the mission, so I cannot risk shooting him in the head.
In films and TV, suppressors are portrayed inaccurately; apparently they make little to no noise whatever gun they are on. Even the blast from a 50-cal sniper rifle is reduced to a tiny “phoot” sound, but this isn’t the case at all. Although they do reduce the sound considerably, it is still enough to be heard through the thin walls of a hotel.
When Guleed opens the door, I press the gun into his chest and shoot 3 rounds without hesitation into his heart. Getting the gun so close helps the suppressor muffle the gunshot. Guleed jumps back from the shock, but all 3 bullets have gone straight through his heart, resulting in minimal blood loss, and an immediate death.

When I first started my career, I paid a doctor to medically shave the bones of my face and pull my hairline back to make my face more generic and therefore easier to copy other people. The transfusion machine has about 30 tentacles that can remove blood from one body while pumping it into another. After dragging Guleed’s body into the bathroom I set it draining his blood and storing it in the device’s compartment. Meanwhile, I mould the putty around my face to start copying his high cheekbones and defined brow. It’s painstaking work; I finish planting the individual hairs on my head at around 4am. I look back at him lying in the bathtub, at his expressionless face, and back at the mirror. Apart from his skin being much paler than it was before due to the lack of blood, I look exactly like him, even down to the small scar on his chin and the mole on the back of his neck.

You can’t turn yourself into a doppelganger by just acting like someone - that’s impossible; instead, you have to become the person you are imitating. On each assignment I put myself into a state of hypnosis, surrounded by the target’s personal items and playing a loop of his voice if I can get it. By the time I wake up, I have fully transcended into believing I actually am the target; I talk like them, move like them, even think like them. I feel like a completely different person. Also, I know it sounds crazy, but since I started swapping my blood the process has become even easier; it’s like some of their life force is contained in the blood. I wouldn’t have believed it myself until I experienced it first hand. Tonight is no different; I unplug the transfusion machine from Guleed’s now stiff body and wheel it into the bedroom, lie down on his bed in his clothes surrounded by his personal items and hook myself up to the machine. As I start to drift off, Guleed’s reheated blood seeps into my veins and arteries.

Of course, no matter how mentally involved I am, I’d be dead within a few hours if it wasn’t for the anti-rejection drugs. These delay the most severe transfusion reactions like acute haemolytic reaction and bacterial infection for at least 12 hours. As long as I get back to my own blood within that time, there are no lasting health problems, besides a fever or dyspnoea every now and then.

My alarm clock bursts to life and blares away inches away from my ears. My muscles snap into action as I fling the sheets off me and slam my hand down on the clock. A powerful migraine crackles through my forehead; sitting on the edge of the bed, I can barely keep my eyes open. So tired… what time did I get to bed last night? I’m already dressed… did I fall asleep in my clothes? I can’t remember anything besides the conversation I had with Abdi. In fact, it feels I’ve been dreaming about it all night, the whole conversation, repeating again and again, all night long. Word for word, it’s all I can think of. “Remember, we need to be there by half ten, so be ready to leave at about 9:45.” These documents must be important if it’s playing on my mind like this. I’m sure I’ll feel better once I splash some cold, soothing water on my face. My head hurts so much… I sluggishly get up and walk over to the bathroom door, but it’s locked… Did I lock it? Do I even have the key? Never mind, a bottle of fruit juice from the mini-bar will have to do for now, I’m sure a cleaner will unlock it for me when it’s time to leave. I have to go and get the others awake. Hopefully there’s enough time for some breakfast before we set off to the meeting. I open my hotel room door and walk along the clean corridor, when I realise that I don’t actually know where Abdi’s room is. I know where the SEALS’ room is though, so I knock on their door instead. The door opens in an instant, and a pair of vigilant brown eyes stares back at me. One of the three SEALS, he’s dressed in the same plain suit as the last time I saw him.
“Are you both ready?” He says.
These SEALS may have been trained how to kill people in a split-second, but nobody taught them how to hide it. This man’s eyes provoke fear in me like some kind of acute reaction, in the same way that you instinctively know that spiders or snakes are dangerous, you can tell that this man is a killer. It’s all over him.
“Err, yeah, yeah. Well, I am. I can’t remember which room Abdi is in.”
“Right, I’ll get him.”
The SEAL walks out of his room and along the corridor. Before the door closes I peek into the room; I notice a sleeping bag at the foot of the bed. I follow the SEAL down the corridor; he stops only a few doors down, and knocks sharply. Abdi, struggling to put on a tie, opens the door.

“Whoa! Who sent the gorilla?!” he blurts out.
The SEAL doesn’t react. He just stares straight into his eyes for a few seconds. That same terror feeling that I just had spreads across Abdi’s face.
“It’s time.” He casually declares, and walks back to his room. Abdi looks relieved to see him walking away.“Yusuf, I though it was you who knocked.”
Sometimes, Abdi’s foolishness really gets on my nerves.
“You really need to start thinking before you open that mouth of yours. It’s going to get you killed one of these days, and by “you” I mean “us”.
Abdi still hasn’t managed to sort out his tie.
“Come here you big child. Do I have to do everything for you?”
Standing close in front of him, I look over his shoulder into his room. The hooker from last night is lying in his bed, and there’s beer bottles sprawled all over the floor.
“You said she’d gone! What the hell, Abdi? God, I can’t believe you’d ignore me like this.”
Before I have a chance to knock some sense into him, the SEALS come out of their room and walk towards us. One of them is talking on a cell phone giving a status update to our bosses; another one is carrying the money briefcase.“We’ll have to continue this later, it’s time to go.”

It is a strange sight, seeing 3 huge, scarred, burly men crowding round a tiny table, eating waffles, but nobody else seems to notice apart from me. We’d stopped at this small, open area café next to a busy road for breakfast. A never ending stream of people and cars pass by, some of them only a few feet away from these unflinching men. It’s like I’m the only one that can see their battle-hardened personas. And with that, I can’t escape the nagging sense at the back of my mind that something doesn’t feel right. Last night must have really messed me up – I still can’t remember a thing. When I do try and remember, all I can think of, the thing that clouds my mind, is today’s meeting; the documents. I’m sure everything will become clear as my hangover wears off.

We get there well before the deadline. With the SEALS leading the way, we arrive at the smugglers’ filthy warehouse. On the outskirts of the city, down a long, dusty track is a grey, grimy tin structure. The taxi driver drops us off with at least a 100 metre walk left to do. Of course, Abdi complains, but nobody responds to him.

One of the Peruvian bosses meets us at the entrance, and leads us past the armed guards into an office room near the back. On the way, we pass through 2 huge spaces, filled with hundreds of large crates, stacked on top of each other. A few trucks parked in one of the rooms are filled with loads of white, neatly packed parcels. Surprisingly, the inside of the warehouse is quite clean, and most of the guards are inside guarding the shipments. I guess they do this to avoid any police suspicion. Because our guide only speaks Spanish, we don’t understand a word he says until we get into the office room, where one of the people there introduces himself as a translator. We are sat down on one side of a long table, with the smugglers on the other side. Someone comes through a door behind the smugglers side, and lays the documents down on the table. And then it hits me… That nagging feeling I had… My memory loss. It all comes back in an instant… I’m not Guleed. I’m Agent Decoy. I have to steal the documents and destroy the warehouse.


To be continued