The Neural Bracelet

I decided to work from home today because of my near death experience the previous night. (See my earlier post, "I Just Sat There…Stunned" for that adventure.

Later in the afternoon I went out to the mailbox and pulled a pile of mail out. Heading back into the house, I noticed a sealed envelope by the front door. "What now?" I thought. I knew instantly who it was from – the envelope was blank so it had to be from Jake Stone, the covert operative who has been feeding me sensitive, classified information for this blog after reading my thriller, Dark End of the Spectrum. So he claims.

I was about to pick it up when I thought it could be laced with anthrax or some other deadly substance. I went into the garage and put on a pair of workers gloves and proceeded to pick up the envelope. It was thin so I immediately ruled out a bomb, but still. I went back into the garage and put on a facemask I use when I paint rooms. I slowly opened the envelope holding it as far away as possible. It held a single piece of cream-colored paper and I could tell most of it was blank. I opened the page and lettering instantly appeared.

"Check the fourth rock in the back." It said and within seconds the lettering faded away. It was from Jake Stone. He had sent me an earlier note that also faded. (See the Starbucks Caper) This is the 2008 version of Mission Impossible, but he's no Mr. Phelps.

I walked to the back of my house to where I have several stepping stones sloping downward with the grade of the land. I stopped at the fourth stone. It didn't look disturbed, but I wasn't taking any chances. I picked up a rake near the tool shed and went back. I carefully placed the tines of the rake under the edge of the stone and lifted. At the same time I ran towards the house in case there was bomb. Nothing happened and I hoped none of the neighbors were watching. I slowly approached and looked at the indented earth where the rock had been and saw something shiny. It was an anti-static bag – a gray silver metallic bag used to protect electronic components from static electricity and X-rays. The bomb was in there, I thought. Then again why tell me where it is. Was I being too paranoid? I opened the bag and spilled out the contents. A flexible silver watchband bounced onto the brown earth except it didn't have a watch. A small sticky note on the band said, "Try it."

Ok, was I dumb enough to slip it on? Was it the neural bracelet Jake had mentioned in his earlier note that connects directly to your brain through your nervous system? I was too curious to let it go. It would gnaw at me. I slipped the bracelet on. Nothing happened. I'm thinking who buries a sophisticated piece of electronics under a rock in my back yard? Was I really expecting something to happen? I suddenly felt like I was being watched. Worse yet, my thoughts were more vivid – they echoed in my head and I thought I was floating. Everything around me, the trees, the plants, the grass appeared virtual like they were a passing thought. My thoughts took on more significance. And then it struck – a white noise that took the color out of everything with the fury and sounds of a hurricane. What was once my colorful reality turned into a white liquid swirl that slowly numbed all my nerves. The last thing I remembered was someone calling my name.

The Starbucks Caper - Is This for Real?

You won’t believe this, but after I arrived home from work yesterday my phone chimed – a text message from Jake Stone, the alleged CIA, NSA operative I mentioned in my previous post, Clandestine Operative Hints at Cyber Terrorism Plot.

The message said,

“Go to the Starbucks closest to you and order a tall Caffe Misto. Pay with your debit card. JS”

What no time? Now I’m thinking this is so melodramatic like a cheap spy movie from television’s black and white days. So I immediately drive to the nearest Starbucks – a freshly built, clean structure that had yet to earn its handful of regulars.

An older man, white beard, glasses and wearing a cheap imitation of a captain’s hat and faded jeans, sat alone at one of the wired tables near the entrance. That’s him, I thought, but then why would he make himself so obvious? I went in and ordered the Caffe Misto. I handed the barista my debit card and waited for her to swipe the card and hand it back. Instead, she walked over to the barrister preparing my coffee and spoke in whispers. This is it, I thought, I’m dead meat. I danced nervously at the counter ready to bolt out at the slightest movement.

“Sir, your coffee,” he said.

With that he handed me my coffee and debit card.

“Sorry for the delay. We have to check all the cards now. There's a theft ring in the area.”

Popeye sitting outside must be my man. I started for the door and stopped as two little girls about five or so ran up to him followed by their mother, a thirty something woman wearing a billowing summer dress that made her look forty. Nice cover, I thought.

“Oh, sir this is for your trouble,” the young man said holding up a sealed Starbucks envelope.

“What is it?”

“A gift card.”

“For my trouble?”

“Yeah.”

I leave and notice Popeye and his crew have sailed off. Back in the car, I open the envelope. It’s a gift card all right with a form letter thanking me for buying Starbucks coffee. I throw it down on the seat and start the car. I’m about to pull away when I notice letters forming on the back of the letter. It’s new information from Jake Stone.