In the world of spies, Industrial Espionage is an area that is often over looked. Who is the young lady, fearful of spies stealing the prototype of a saw that she is carrying? Throw in the CIA and the FBI to make things interesting.
Sharper Edge
“Are you a spy?” the young woman asked.
We were sitting next to each other in First class, on an overseas flight from Paris to Washington Dulles. I was trying to eat my lunch. I noticed she barely touched her meal.
“Uh, why do you ask?” I felt a twinge of unease. My fellow traveler was attractive, with dark brown hair and eyes. But those eyes told me I had no reason to worry. No one could fake that degree of innocence.
She pushed her hair out of her face. “You kind of look like James Bond.”
“Babe, I have blond curly hair and I’m from New Jersey, what exactly makes you think I look like James Bond?”
“Oh, I don’t know, the eyes maybe.”
“Mine are blue. His are dark, black or something.”
I started to take a bite. The fork was halfway to my mouth, when she grabbed my arm.
“I have a small saw in my briefcase.” She whispered. I glanced at the sealed briefcase handcuffed to her wrist in her lap.
“Uh, the chicken is pretty tender I don’t think I need a saw. Just maybe a fork.” I looked into her eyes hoping to see a little laughter there. Nope, she was oblivious to my attempt at humor. She looked even more worried.
I tried again to take a bite of my rapidly cooling meal. This time, the chicken almost touched my lips when she grabbed my arm again.
I let out a big sigh, put down my fork and turned to face her.
“I need protection,” she whispered.
“From what?” I asked.
“Saw thieves.”
“Saw thieves?” I repeated slowly. “But, if you think I’m a spy, how can you trust me not to steal your little saw?”
She frowned at me. “You are not taking me seriously.” She continued to whisper, “Honestly there are people out there who would kill for this saw. It was developed to cut thru stone twice as fast as anything currently available on the market.”
“Babe why are you telling me this?”
“Because you have a gun.”
“How do you know I have a gun?” I asked.
“I saw your holster when you put your bag away, your coat kind of came open.”
“So why would my having a gun make you think I would protect you?”
“Because only good guys, like air marshals carry guns on planes.”
She doesn’t know how right she is, I thought. I wonder if she would go out with me.
I motioned for her to lean closer. “Actually my name is Conner Wright and I work for the FBI.”
Her eyes got wide. “Wow, really.” She swallowed.
“So,” she whispered, “Are you on a mission?”
“Yeah, watching for people smuggling saws into the country.” I said.
Anger flashed over her face and I grabbed her hand just before it came in contact with my face.
“Jerk.” She hissed.
“I’m sorry,” I told her, trying to look contrite. “What’s your name?”
“Amanda Sharp. But since you think I’m so funny just leave me alone.”
She turned away and held the briefcase tightly in her lap.
“Can we start over? Please, tell me about your saw.”
She looked doubtful, but suddenly smiled. “Well, the blade is circular, and inset with diamonds.”
“Diamonds?”
“Yes, hundreds of diamonds. The way they are inset makes them extremely effective. This saw even surpasses the traditional cemented carbide tools in performance.”
“Hum. So how much would it be worth?” I noticed her eyes sparkle as she talked about the saw. It was very distracting.
“Well the diamonds on this prototype are worth thousands of dollars. You can imagine how much a full sized blade would cost. But the diamonds are not the most important thing. The technology is worth millions.”
I tried to distract Amanda with questions about what she had seen and done in Paris. Maybe I could find out a little more about her, I thought. The hostess came by too soon and removed our lunch trays. The plane started to descend.
As we walked off the plane, I noticed Amanda had grown pale and stumbled walking up the boarding ramp. When she reached the gate two large men in dark suits grabbed her arms and started escorting her through the terminal. I jogged after them and barred their way.
“Thank you gentlemen,” I said “I have her from here.”
One of the men started to shove me aside. I flipped out my FBI ID and held it up in his face.
“This young lady is under arrest. Step aside.” I frowned at them “Or do I need to arrest you?”
They let go of Amanda, looking confused. I grabbed her hand and pulled her quickly through the terminal, leaving the two goons behind.
“Where were you planning to go? I hope somewhere safe.” I asked
“Razor’s Edge Technologies on 71st street.” Her voice was shaking.
We hailed a cab and she told the driver the address. Twenty minutes later the cab was pulling into a secured drive at the company. An older gentleman and two security officers approached the cab and helped Amanda out.
Amanda turned back toward the cab. “Thank you Connor. You saved me. She handed me a card. It’s my number. If you want to call me, I’d like that.” She smiled.
I called Amanda the next week, but it went straight to voicemail. I left a message.
Struck out, I thought, too bad.
Today I sit here in the park staring at my shoes. Who could have guessed that lovely, innocent Amanda was not so innocent after all? I am currently on administrative leave for having assisted a known Industrial Espionage Spy escape from two CIA agents at the airport and disappear with a very valuable prototype, and a shitload of diamonds.
Saw my ass!
Mary Clayton Writing 