Emakume
Log 4: The Singing Sea
The singing sea
The talking trees
Are Silent in a noisy way
The stars are bright
But give no light
The world spins backward everyday
-
00:02 Zulu
Lincoln Road: Miami; South Beach, Fl. USA
The cab dropped them off on Lincoln Road, a few blocks from the hotel they were supposed to go to simply because the cab driver said it was worth walking down. In her modeling days Courtney had come to this place for a shoot, young and wide-eyed by the glitz and glamour all around her. The strip had changed since she was last here, but the overwhelming feeling it gave her was the same. She suddenly felt sorry for Wayne because she knew he'd hate it.
The strip was lined with expensive boutiques offering Versace and Armani, Gharendelli chocolate and art galleries. And if it wasn't some over priced shop it was an equally over priced restaurant. Customers sat inside but most were under the large, heavy canvas umbrellas of various colors and designs outside, laughing and smiling, eating trendy sushi and drinking rainbow cocktails. All the while deep house, down tempo, acid jazz or salsa pumped through their speakers and into the streets.
A head of them walked a group of five young women. Hair, honey blonde and brown skinned: they bodies clad in impossibly low jeans that sat snuggly on their hips and bikini tops. They laughed and bantered in Brazilian Portuguese owning the night sky and the street with their walk.
"Does everyone in this town walk 'round naked?" Sneeden said that behind clenched teeth.
"It's too hot here to wear clothes," Krieger answered his question, adjusting her blouse as she spoke.
They eventually made their way through the throng of Miami nightlife and to Ocean Avenue. Just across the street sat the white washed art deco façade of The Lowe's, to it's right a shitty run down Walgreen's, the sidewalk in front of it dotted with bums and drifters. But that was Miami, the ghetto was always right beside luxury.
The Delano was only a short jaunt from The Lowe's, the two only really separated by another hotel that was just as thin, tall and classy as the two. If not for hedges all three hotels would almost literally share one valet drive way. But it wasn't just hotels and run down shops on Ocean, the hard beat of trance and techno, the deep bass of hip hop and salsa roared from the clubs lining the Ave. The spotlights and electric of Club Space enticed the youth that partied down the street.
Cover Girl stiffed at the glances from the intoxicated twenty-something's that passed her, the winks and blatant appreciation for her presence that very moment. And she scowled at the catcalls from young men dangling out of their speeding cars. But the fact that skinny girls in strapy heels and pleated jean skirts laughed and looked Wayne over as they passed erased it all from her mind. And the added satisfaction of hearing "Hey cowboy, how about a bull ride?" and the look that washed over her partner's face earned an out right laugh.
What a town.
-
00:15 Zulu
The Delano: Miami; South Beach, Fl. USA
The pair moved up the large white block steps in front of the hotel, receiving a few greetings from the valet drivers standing dutifully outside. The front door was glass and billowy white curtains that hung down and moved with the ocean breeze, the inside a mixture of old world and modern design. The floors were a light colored wood, the wall cases the same color and texture. The furniture was either black or white, the seats sculpted into some nameless, trendy, modern shape. The foyer was long and narrow, the concierge desk to their left when they stepped in, and the whole thing separated into square spaces by the same billowy white curtains from outside. Deeper in sat a pool table and a small dance floor adjacent to it, the bar in the very back veiled by the curtains. People moved back and forth, moved inside or out onto the terrace, but all with colored cocktails in their hands.
"Pretty posh for just some woman Orbea thought we should speak to," she said that as they moved toward the bar.
"It would have been better if he'd given us a description of the broad."
One drink wouldn't hurt them.
They walked out onto the terrace; rot iron tables sat on red Spanish tile that was decorated in spots with white and blue. The grassy area that led back to the pool and outside bar was manicured and bright green in the lights that lined its edges. Large trees and sculptures hide most of what was closer to the water. Wayne dropped himself into one of the padded iron chairs, his beer instantly leaving a ring of water where he sat it.
"You know what, I think this is Madonna's hotel," he watched her sip on her Mai Tai before he shrugged.
"Hell if I know," the way he said that made the words all run together.
Beach Head took another swig from his beer, the amber taste of his Michelob settling on his tongue. He needed a beer tonight. This little trip down south was mounting up to something much bigger than they had anticipated, and the fact that people were dying because of it bothered him. And all the while these people carried on with their lives. The sight of a dead body didn't horrify them like it should. Instead they all hung around like vultures once something looked like it might be dead. The idea that people are being murdered everyday due to some political group didn't seem to phase them, all they did was shake their heads in pity and went right back to what they were doing.
Callused, because most of them came from the same kind of bullshit in whatever country they were from. And the natives just got used to it.
Sneeden snapped his eyes up to a waiter whom was setting another beer down in front of him as well as another cocktail in front of Courtney.
"We didn't order these," he said that dryly.
"I know sir, but she did," he pointed toward a table behind him.
Cover Girl shifted to the side of her chair to look passed Wayne who was already turned around. At the table sat a dark hared woman, her tresses cut in some deliberate haphazard chop; short and styled so that her bangs fell over one side of her face. She smiled, spreading her glossy lips, and raised a hand.
It was her.
The duo took a sit at her table.
"How's the Magic City treating you?" the same voice from the phone call. She sipped on at her Jack Daniel's on the rocks.
"Just fine, but I'm afraid not everyone has it so easy here," Krieger said that flatly, the woman responded to her by holding up her glass and taking another sip.
"This is a pretty fancy place to live," Wayne spoke up.
"Well, if you went to see Orbea at his school, then you know that not everyone in this town is fabulous. Not everyone can afford to live on the beach, shit, I only live her because I lost my house to Andrew."
"Florida is a half state, after all-"
"Not an ex-husband, lovely, the hurricane."
Open mouth. Insert foot. She felt like an ass now. The woman at the head of the table felt the uncomfortable silence and quickly broke it.
"I'm surprised it took this long for this to turn into a military concern."
"It all has ties to the ETA, and any terrorist activity is the militaries concern," he took another swig of his beer.
The woman sat upward in her chair and straightened her thin black blouse. She crossed her legs under the table and flicked her head backward to get her hair out of her eyes. At least these Joes were easier to deal with than the last two she'd given information.
"If only it were purely the ETA who were the problem."
"You're talking about the second faction?"
"Not so much a second faction as much as a group that took over. They're dangerous and much more concerned with violence than Basque freedom."
"Orbea said the same thing."
"Orbea knows what he does because of Michelena, he doesn't know about the fifteen to twenty-six year olds they're recruiting and teaching the Palestine way of suicide bombing. He also doesn't know about their attempted assassination of the Spanish Prime Minister," she took another sip of her whiskey.
"Why would the Basque allow this group to move in?"
"Because they really don't have any power, this group gave them that, gave them weapons and brainwashed them to enhance their use of violence against the Spanish and the French. And I wouldn't doubt that they'd brainwash them into attacking others for more, unrelated political reasons," she had the Miami accent. It wasn't something that could be easily identified. She sounded like a northerner out of her element, the right kind of pronunciation, but with an extension of the vowels that was unique to south Florida.
Wayne narrowed his eyes, "you know a lot for just a civilian."
She smiled, "semper fi."
Beach fell back in his chair.
"I've dealt with you Joes before, though you two are much easier to deal with then the others."
Cover Girl sat forward, "who did you give Intel to?"
The woman ran her hands through her hair, pushing her bangs backward from her forehead. Courtney caught sight of a scar that was hidden before just above her right eyebrow. "I dunno, some Cajun and a sailor that was hornier than the drunk twenty-one year olds walking down Ocean."
Ship Wreak and Gung Ho.
Cover Girl nearly fell out of her chair, her laughter intense enough to bring tears to her eyes. The comment earned a near laugh from Beach Head who actually looked like he was holding something back.
Despite it all, this was still business
"Why use the cover of Cuban gunboats?"
The woman recovered herself, "contrary to what Mr. Tuttle has told you, the boats are Cuban. What he doesn't know is that Cuba has always harbored ETA members. After all, Jai Alai came to this country through Cuba. However, the number of declared members residing there is minute, they're only using gunboats now because they figured out a way to pick off defectors here in the U.S. and Cuba just happened to be convenient," she finished off her drink.
"So the problem isn't here...." Courtney nearly whispered that.
"No, it's not. But it's not in Cuba either. The defectors are aware of what's going on now, we may have a few more bodies in the next couple of days, but the gunboats won't be a concern for much longer. You need to take this fight to Spain," she was sliding a pack of Marlboro's out of her purse as she said that.
Wayne watched her light her butt and exhale the smoke that just filled her lungs. His furrow deepened, "if you know all of that, then why were we called down here?"
The woman took another drag, "because we've only just figured all this out, you two were just barely behind us, which I must say is pretty good in keeping up with Intel. However, if what you really mean is why GI Joe was called in, then well," her cigarette hung on her lip as she searched through her purse. She pulled a piece of material from her bag and tossed it onto the table, just in front of the soldiers. She also pulled a card from a case and slid it up beside it. "You'll need me in Spain," she said that as she walked away, the smoke from her cig trailing behind her.
It was Beach who took hold of the blue material in front of him. He slowly pulled the thick material apart to reveal the Basque's new banner.
A red snake.
Cobra.
Log 4: The Singing Sea
The singing sea
The talking trees
Are Silent in a noisy way
The stars are bright
But give no light
The world spins backward everyday
-
00:02 Zulu
Lincoln Road: Miami; South Beach, Fl. USA
The cab dropped them off on Lincoln Road, a few blocks from the hotel they were supposed to go to simply because the cab driver said it was worth walking down. In her modeling days Courtney had come to this place for a shoot, young and wide-eyed by the glitz and glamour all around her. The strip had changed since she was last here, but the overwhelming feeling it gave her was the same. She suddenly felt sorry for Wayne because she knew he'd hate it.
The strip was lined with expensive boutiques offering Versace and Armani, Gharendelli chocolate and art galleries. And if it wasn't some over priced shop it was an equally over priced restaurant. Customers sat inside but most were under the large, heavy canvas umbrellas of various colors and designs outside, laughing and smiling, eating trendy sushi and drinking rainbow cocktails. All the while deep house, down tempo, acid jazz or salsa pumped through their speakers and into the streets.
A head of them walked a group of five young women. Hair, honey blonde and brown skinned: they bodies clad in impossibly low jeans that sat snuggly on their hips and bikini tops. They laughed and bantered in Brazilian Portuguese owning the night sky and the street with their walk.
"Does everyone in this town walk 'round naked?" Sneeden said that behind clenched teeth.
"It's too hot here to wear clothes," Krieger answered his question, adjusting her blouse as she spoke.
They eventually made their way through the throng of Miami nightlife and to Ocean Avenue. Just across the street sat the white washed art deco façade of The Lowe's, to it's right a shitty run down Walgreen's, the sidewalk in front of it dotted with bums and drifters. But that was Miami, the ghetto was always right beside luxury.
The Delano was only a short jaunt from The Lowe's, the two only really separated by another hotel that was just as thin, tall and classy as the two. If not for hedges all three hotels would almost literally share one valet drive way. But it wasn't just hotels and run down shops on Ocean, the hard beat of trance and techno, the deep bass of hip hop and salsa roared from the clubs lining the Ave. The spotlights and electric of Club Space enticed the youth that partied down the street.
Cover Girl stiffed at the glances from the intoxicated twenty-something's that passed her, the winks and blatant appreciation for her presence that very moment. And she scowled at the catcalls from young men dangling out of their speeding cars. But the fact that skinny girls in strapy heels and pleated jean skirts laughed and looked Wayne over as they passed erased it all from her mind. And the added satisfaction of hearing "Hey cowboy, how about a bull ride?" and the look that washed over her partner's face earned an out right laugh.
What a town.
-
00:15 Zulu
The Delano: Miami; South Beach, Fl. USA
The pair moved up the large white block steps in front of the hotel, receiving a few greetings from the valet drivers standing dutifully outside. The front door was glass and billowy white curtains that hung down and moved with the ocean breeze, the inside a mixture of old world and modern design. The floors were a light colored wood, the wall cases the same color and texture. The furniture was either black or white, the seats sculpted into some nameless, trendy, modern shape. The foyer was long and narrow, the concierge desk to their left when they stepped in, and the whole thing separated into square spaces by the same billowy white curtains from outside. Deeper in sat a pool table and a small dance floor adjacent to it, the bar in the very back veiled by the curtains. People moved back and forth, moved inside or out onto the terrace, but all with colored cocktails in their hands.
"Pretty posh for just some woman Orbea thought we should speak to," she said that as they moved toward the bar.
"It would have been better if he'd given us a description of the broad."
One drink wouldn't hurt them.
They walked out onto the terrace; rot iron tables sat on red Spanish tile that was decorated in spots with white and blue. The grassy area that led back to the pool and outside bar was manicured and bright green in the lights that lined its edges. Large trees and sculptures hide most of what was closer to the water. Wayne dropped himself into one of the padded iron chairs, his beer instantly leaving a ring of water where he sat it.
"You know what, I think this is Madonna's hotel," he watched her sip on her Mai Tai before he shrugged.
"Hell if I know," the way he said that made the words all run together.
Beach Head took another swig from his beer, the amber taste of his Michelob settling on his tongue. He needed a beer tonight. This little trip down south was mounting up to something much bigger than they had anticipated, and the fact that people were dying because of it bothered him. And all the while these people carried on with their lives. The sight of a dead body didn't horrify them like it should. Instead they all hung around like vultures once something looked like it might be dead. The idea that people are being murdered everyday due to some political group didn't seem to phase them, all they did was shake their heads in pity and went right back to what they were doing.
Callused, because most of them came from the same kind of bullshit in whatever country they were from. And the natives just got used to it.
Sneeden snapped his eyes up to a waiter whom was setting another beer down in front of him as well as another cocktail in front of Courtney.
"We didn't order these," he said that dryly.
"I know sir, but she did," he pointed toward a table behind him.
Cover Girl shifted to the side of her chair to look passed Wayne who was already turned around. At the table sat a dark hared woman, her tresses cut in some deliberate haphazard chop; short and styled so that her bangs fell over one side of her face. She smiled, spreading her glossy lips, and raised a hand.
It was her.
The duo took a sit at her table.
"How's the Magic City treating you?" the same voice from the phone call. She sipped on at her Jack Daniel's on the rocks.
"Just fine, but I'm afraid not everyone has it so easy here," Krieger said that flatly, the woman responded to her by holding up her glass and taking another sip.
"This is a pretty fancy place to live," Wayne spoke up.
"Well, if you went to see Orbea at his school, then you know that not everyone in this town is fabulous. Not everyone can afford to live on the beach, shit, I only live her because I lost my house to Andrew."
"Florida is a half state, after all-"
"Not an ex-husband, lovely, the hurricane."
Open mouth. Insert foot. She felt like an ass now. The woman at the head of the table felt the uncomfortable silence and quickly broke it.
"I'm surprised it took this long for this to turn into a military concern."
"It all has ties to the ETA, and any terrorist activity is the militaries concern," he took another swig of his beer.
The woman sat upward in her chair and straightened her thin black blouse. She crossed her legs under the table and flicked her head backward to get her hair out of her eyes. At least these Joes were easier to deal with than the last two she'd given information.
"If only it were purely the ETA who were the problem."
"You're talking about the second faction?"
"Not so much a second faction as much as a group that took over. They're dangerous and much more concerned with violence than Basque freedom."
"Orbea said the same thing."
"Orbea knows what he does because of Michelena, he doesn't know about the fifteen to twenty-six year olds they're recruiting and teaching the Palestine way of suicide bombing. He also doesn't know about their attempted assassination of the Spanish Prime Minister," she took another sip of her whiskey.
"Why would the Basque allow this group to move in?"
"Because they really don't have any power, this group gave them that, gave them weapons and brainwashed them to enhance their use of violence against the Spanish and the French. And I wouldn't doubt that they'd brainwash them into attacking others for more, unrelated political reasons," she had the Miami accent. It wasn't something that could be easily identified. She sounded like a northerner out of her element, the right kind of pronunciation, but with an extension of the vowels that was unique to south Florida.
Wayne narrowed his eyes, "you know a lot for just a civilian."
She smiled, "semper fi."
Beach fell back in his chair.
"I've dealt with you Joes before, though you two are much easier to deal with then the others."
Cover Girl sat forward, "who did you give Intel to?"
The woman ran her hands through her hair, pushing her bangs backward from her forehead. Courtney caught sight of a scar that was hidden before just above her right eyebrow. "I dunno, some Cajun and a sailor that was hornier than the drunk twenty-one year olds walking down Ocean."
Ship Wreak and Gung Ho.
Cover Girl nearly fell out of her chair, her laughter intense enough to bring tears to her eyes. The comment earned a near laugh from Beach Head who actually looked like he was holding something back.
Despite it all, this was still business
"Why use the cover of Cuban gunboats?"
The woman recovered herself, "contrary to what Mr. Tuttle has told you, the boats are Cuban. What he doesn't know is that Cuba has always harbored ETA members. After all, Jai Alai came to this country through Cuba. However, the number of declared members residing there is minute, they're only using gunboats now because they figured out a way to pick off defectors here in the U.S. and Cuba just happened to be convenient," she finished off her drink.
"So the problem isn't here...." Courtney nearly whispered that.
"No, it's not. But it's not in Cuba either. The defectors are aware of what's going on now, we may have a few more bodies in the next couple of days, but the gunboats won't be a concern for much longer. You need to take this fight to Spain," she was sliding a pack of Marlboro's out of her purse as she said that.
Wayne watched her light her butt and exhale the smoke that just filled her lungs. His furrow deepened, "if you know all of that, then why were we called down here?"
The woman took another drag, "because we've only just figured all this out, you two were just barely behind us, which I must say is pretty good in keeping up with Intel. However, if what you really mean is why GI Joe was called in, then well," her cigarette hung on her lip as she searched through her purse. She pulled a piece of material from her bag and tossed it onto the table, just in front of the soldiers. She also pulled a card from a case and slid it up beside it. "You'll need me in Spain," she said that as she walked away, the smoke from her cig trailing behind her.
It was Beach who took hold of the blue material in front of him. He slowly pulled the thick material apart to reveal the Basque's new banner.
A red snake.
Cobra.