Intrigue in the Mar-a-Lago Bathroom

[griselda_gimpel]

When super spy Nazli Darzi infiltrates the Mar-a-Lago, she finds top secret documents where she least expects them.
              

Nazli Darzi was a spy. Her official cover story in place when she touched down in Florida was that she was a glamorous actress, but then what is a spy but an actress performing under the highest stakes?

 

                After she collected her baggage, a car took her to the Mar-a-Lago, where former president Tronald Dump resided. As president, Dump had been an enemy of Darzi’s own country of Iran. But spies got information by consorting with the vilest of individuals, so it was that the car containing Darzi pulled through the gates of the estate known as the Winter White House.

                The Mar-a-Lago was a golf club, and palm trees lined the road as Darzi made her approach. As they came closer and closer to the target, Darzi ran her cover story over and over in her head.

                Iranian Intelligence had actually filmed a few scenes for the soap opera that Darzi allegedly starred in, and these had been uploaded online. If anyone called broadcasting, they’d find Dates Over Dates listed on the schedule, and there were a couple of young agents who maintained a Discord server where they pretended to be part of the small but enthused fan base for the series. Her alibi was airtight.

                Once inside, Darzi was shown to the room where she’d be staying. She freshened up and then came down to mingle with the other dinner guests. There were a number of sleek partygoers in attendance, and Darzi had no doubt that at least half of them were beholden to one intelligence agency or another.

                She met the former president before dinner. He was boorish and rambled, but she dutifully listed and took mental notes of the nonsense he was spewing, in case any of it proved useful later. Eventually, a Russian intelligent agent whisked the former president away so that he could get his own shot at intel gathering.

                Then it was time for dinner.

                Darzi’s nose wrinkled involuntarily at the sight that greeted them. Laid out on the table were greasy hamburgers from the local “fast food” restaurant.

                The former president slid his way next to her.

                “I love fast food places,” he said. “The people preparing it don’t know who it’s being served to. That means that there’s no risk of being poisoned. I had an uncle one time who found the cure for poisoning, did you know that? Smart guy, my uncle.”

                He continued onward.

                Darzi hung onto every word. Even if 99% of it was boorish nonsense, if there were any gleam of information that could be taken from it, it was her responsibility to find it.

                As she listened, she mimicked the other guests and reached out and took a burger. She unwrapped it and eyed it critically.

                Was it halal? No.

                Was it remotely appetizing? Also no.

                Was she going to eat it? Yes. Absolutely. Anything for the mission.

                An hour after finishing her “meal”, as the party continued and laughter and champagne glasses tinkered off of each other, Darzi was beginning to regret having partook in the act of consumption.

                Her stomach rumbled. Her stomach churned. She desperately willed her body to have discipline, but when you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go.

                She excused herself, asking for directions to the nearest bathroom.

                Inside, she sat down on the toilet and shook. Every second she delayed taking care of bodily necessities was a second she couldn’t be next to President Dump, pumping him for hints of state secrets.

                She glanced to her left as she tried to finish up her business as quickly as possible. For some reason, there were stacks upon stacks of boxes lined up next to the toilet. She slipped the lid off of the top one. She doubted she’d get anything too good from these, if they’d just been left so haphazardly piled up, but one never knew. Even something as innocuous as scheduled meetings or old business forms could have value in the right hand.

                TOP SECRET

                That was emblazoned across the first sheet she’d pulled out. She scanned it, and her eyes widened as she read the information contained there.

                Her hands trembling at what she was seeing, she carefully pulled out her burner phone and stopped trying to rush.

                And as she snapped photo after photo, the same phrase repeated over and over in her mind.

                You have got to be shitting me!