Tinker, Tailor ... Mossad Murphy?

I'm a little behind this week, so, sorry that everything is slow.  This post will be a short one.



Numerous times when writing about Scott Murphy, I've made reference to another fictional character, George Smiley.  Originally a character in a John Le Carre spy novel, Smiley was a plain little man, in a plain little suit, who tried to offend no one, only answered questions with questions, and was no one really important.



Except that he was a spy.  He taught them, he ran them, he designed plans for them.  In some of Le Carre's books, Smiley ran the entire plot from behind the scenes, and never once made an appearance.



Many, many moons ago, three of the novels that starred Smiley were put into film.  Tinker Tailer Soldier Spy was one, as well as the sequel, Smiley's People.  Both times, it starred Alec Guiness.  A third film was made, called simply A Murder of Quality, starring Denholm Elliott .... if you've ever seen the Indiana Jones films, you might know him better as Marcus Brody, one of the sidekicks.



Now, granted, Scott Murphy has a lot of differences.  He's got all sorts of tricks and tips for committing mayhem. Just don't ask him to punch anyone ... or shoot anyone farther than ten feet away ...



So, why am I explaining all of this?



Well, because they've remade Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, with a whole bunch of interesting actors. Since Guiness is dead, he's been replaced by Gary Oldman -- who I mentioned as this generation's Alec Guines not too long ago.  Smiley's sidekick is played by one Benedict Cumberbach, who BBC fans may recall from last year's Sherlock.



Now, it should be interesting to see how they play the movie, considering the original was six hours long, though my family has estimated that three hours could have been easily sliced out due to the speed of the film (eg: see Smiley walk. Walk, Smiley, walk), or due to the fact that much of the film was told in flashbacks, and stories, and interviews. The original film was interested in the methods and mechanisms of spycraft ... if one cut out a lot of that (which is repeated over, and over, and over again), then there's the plot and the character.



We'll see how it works.

Bad Romance: How to be a Cynical Romantic.

“[T]hink about it ... You know how good this is? .... How right it feels?  .... How easy it was? .... It just isn't f**ked up enough to really be you and me.”  ~Harry Dresden, in Jim Butcher's short story "Love Hurts."

In case the readers of this blog have not caught on yet, I'm a little strange.



At which point, I can just see each of you recollecting every other instance of borderline schizophrenia that I have described in my blogs on writing, and answering: “Duh.”



In this case, I have two very strong streaks in my personality. Lots of cynicism, and lots of romanticism …



On the one hand, I believe that all people are essentially good ... on the other, I believe that groups of people are stupid.



I believe in meeting someone, and being in love with them for the rest of my life ... and I go into first dates wondering how fast the phrase “let's just be friends” will appear in the conversation.



I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth, and in Jesus Christ His only Son Our Lord ... and on the other hand, if one more person mindlessly spouts random Bible passage without knowing ANYTHING about the context or the meaning, I will be sorely tempted to hurt them.



And my problem is that I see nothing contradictory about the above statements. “Good” does not equal “smart;” and when people get into large groups, the average IQ only goes down. “Belief” doesn't automatically mean “theology scholar;” and if someone becomes a monomaniac about a favorite passage of Revelations (which reads like the author is on magic mushrooms), it's hard to do anything about it.



My cynicism and sharp, biting opinions have brought people to me, asking for “relationship advice” …. I usually specialized in “Anti-Cyrano” letters for friends of mine, where I write a letter crystallizing a person's feelings and putting it into a diatribe at his or her ex, blasting said ex with enough wit that s/he feels like s/he brought a knife to an artillery duel.



On the other hand, when I can't talk to one I care about, I settle for reading instant message logs.  Can you say "sap"?



About a year ago, I started writing a love letter. I listed all the reasons why I was falling for this one woman. I explained I felt drawn to her wit, her IQ, her looks. I liked how many of our interests aligned. How good a friend she was to me. We were made for each other …



And other romantic tripe.



By the end of the letter, I told her that the whole thing was a stupid idea. I had met her once. We lived over a thousand miles apart. We talked on the phone, but that was no reason for me to become a romantic sap about it. I care about her too much to put her together with an obvious nutjob like me. She should do the sane thing, and run as far away from me as possible.



Before I had even finished the letter, I had made several conclusions about another character a writer friend was working on – someone who was also crazy, but smart enough to know he was crazy, and if he fell in love with someone, he would know better than to inflict his crazy on anyone else.



I don't think I'm the only person who could start a love letter, and end with character profiles for a fictional character, after trying to talk the object of my affection out of associating with me further, for her own good.



If you thought I was strange before, now you know better.



This actually comes in handy for writing a love story for spies in A Pius Man.



You knew I had to relate it back to the novel somehow.



As mentioned, A Pius Man also has a love story in there, between two people who are constantly questioning what the hell they think they're doing.



Manana Shushurin of the German BND, and Scott “Mossad” Murphy are brought together to investigate the assassination of a high-ranking al-Qaeda strategist.... the only reason anyone cares is that no one is claiming credit for the killing.  The CIA thinks Mossad did it.  Mossad thinks the CIA did it.  And then they realize that no one they know did it.



Enter the two most diametrically opposed characters I've ever written.

Manana is breathtakingly, jaw-slackeningly gorgeous. And Scott is pale and pasty, and survives by being invisible.  Instead of drooling over her looks, or undressing her with his eyes, Scott's first thought is “I hope to God you're not the one I'm meeting.” Her first thoughts aren't recorded, but as the book progresses, they fit well together.



Scott is a stiff. He is professional, and disciplined, and “Damnit, if I stare at her, someone will slip a knife into my ribs.”

There were odd little things at first. Scott reads a document over her shoulder, and she stretches, only noticing he's there when her hand brushes against his head. And Scott is staring so intently at the document, he blinks when she grazes his head, he apologizes profusely. She laughs at him, ruffles his hair, and calls him cute. I couldn't tell if she was flirting with him, or treating him like a fond new puppy. Later, after a firefight, where he gets rattled (because he rarely comes near the business end of a pistol unless he's already pulled the firing pins), she reassures him.

And the more stiff and awkward he acts, the more … lighthearted and playful she becomes. When things are quiet, Manana goes through the book as though spygames are just that, a game. When the bullets start flying, she's the first to fire back, if she's not firing first. She's the part of him that he's missing. He's the person who tries to ignore her looks and treats her like a person.



Throughout the novel, both of them are wondering what the hell they're doing, with various excuses: Have both of them been alone for so long, and are so desperate, that each is latching onto the first person of interest? Seriously, what moron would fall in love in the middle of a stakeout? And why is s/he kissing me and … nevermind.



As I said, I am a romantic sap. Thankfully, the cynical side of me takes that sap and smacks me over the head with it.

Then all heck breaks loose.  There are automatic weapons, and there will be blood.  And by the end of the book, the two of them will have to change roles.  Scott will have to take up a gun, even though he has only rudimentary knowledge about how to use it.  And Manana Shushurin will have to do a lot of running.



And there will be Manana standing over Sean Ryan's blood-soaked body.  But that's another story.

Secret Origins: Scott "Mossad" Murphy.

I said I would post this the moment the Facebook page hit 100 likes.



It did.



This is the origin of how Scott Murphy, Irish Catholic American, became a founding member of Israeli's Goyim brigade.



If you are on Facebook, remember, this is only the first part of the contest.  When the page hits 150 likes, I will post a podcast of the opening of the book.  When we get to 200 likes, I will post a chapter from the novel.  Somewhere in the middle, really.



And, at 200 likes, we start the real fun: the one who brings the most readers to the fan page will be inserted into A Pius Man by name.  Or we can put in someone else's name, if you like.



Enough of me.  Here's the story. Enjoy.





Tinker, Tailor, Goyim, Spy.

(Scott) Murphy's Laws of Spying.

(Scott) Murphy's Laws of Spying.

1.MURPHY WAS AN OPTIMIST
2.A relaxed spy is a dead spy.
3.Keep your head on your shoulders, or someone else will keep it…mounted on their wall.
4.The worse the weather, the more you are required to trail someone through it.
5. When your target drives to work every day like clockwork, the day you arrange for a car bomb, he'll walk.
6.If your mission is going really well, it's a trap.

7.Throw rocks before grenades— it desensitizes the reflexes of who you're throwing them at.

8.And remember: five second fuses are three seconds long.

9.The easy way is always booby trapped..

8.When in doubt: improvise. It's hard to trace a bomb when it's made out of Bisquick.



10.Make it tough for the enemy to get in.... and you can't get out.



11.Even paranoids have real enemies.



11.The shortest distance between two points is money.



13.Never attribute to malice what can adequately be explained by stupidity.



14.Control the situation. If you can’t handle the variables, the variables are going to handle you. The moment that happens, they will handle you right into a jail cell if you’re lucky, and a field execution if you’re not.



15.The only thing more accurate than incoming enemy fire is incoming friendly fire.



16.Guns may be nice tools, but they leave behind other problems. Bodies are messy and hard to dispose of unless you plan in advance. Try not to kill someone unless you really have to. And if you have to, invest in plastic wrap, gloves, and hefty bags (see: Dexter).



17.The closer the synagogue the better the bagel.



18.The spy who plans for everything to go well is usually the one who will be shot in the back with his own gun. Conversely, the spy who plans for everything to go to hell from the first minute will never have to use a single contingency plan.



19. Invest in people. If you rely solely on a multimillion dollar piece of equipment, the more likely someone is to circumvent it with something found at Wal-Mart.



20.“Guns make you stupid. Duct tape makes you smart.”

Corollary 1: Tracers work both ways.

Corollary 2: The seriousness of a gunshot wound is inversely proportional to the distance to any form of cover

Corollary 3: The complexity of a weapon is inversely proportional to the IQ of the weapon's operator.

Corollary 4: Friendly fire – isn't.

Corollary 5: The day you need to clean your gun is the day the SWAT team arrives to kill you.

Corollary 6: A gun is hard to explain the security. A magazine you can roll up into a tactical baton, isn't.

Review: Always a Spy.....

REVIEWS OF BOOKS YOU (PROBABLY) NEVER HEARD OF. PART 1: “Once a Spy”

Since this is the summer, and beach reading is in fashion, I figure it's time to have a slightly more leisurely look at some of the books that are not written by King, Patterson, or Cornwell. These are books that have not had millions of dollars in advertizing dropped on them, but are suburb nonetheless.



Let's start....

“Once a Spy,” by Keith Thomson, opens with Drummond Clarke, a retiree lost in the fog of Alzheimer's. He spends his time making a pot of chicken and stars soup, and promptly, for reasons he can't really remember, pours it into the plant next to the windowsill. The plant is made of plastic.

Across the street, men wonder what happened to the listening device they planted in Drummond's home.

Charlie Clarke, degenerate gambler, prefers not to see his father. But, like clockwork, the day after Christmas, he gets his annual phone call. His father is seen wandering the neighborhood. Charlie hopes that this is the last time he'll have to deal with his always-distant father. He has plans to seal Drummond away in a nursing home, and use what little cash the retired appliance salesman has to pay off Charlie's own debt to some unsavory Russian loan sharks. Charlie has particularly high hopes when Drummond insists that he used to work for the CIA. Obviously, the old man has lost his marbles.

Until, that is, Drummond saves Charlie as his house is blown up, and hotwires several cars as father and son are shot at in a running chase through Brooklyn.

And now, Drummond and Charlie have the unusual experience of father-son bonding while under fire. With each new experience, Drummond has lucid moments that keep them alive, and one step ahead of their adversaries.

Now if only Drummond can remember why people are trying to kill him....



“Once a Spy” is a very well put together thriller that doesn't slow down until you finish the novel. While the fight / chase scenes are intelligent and creative, the real fun of the novel comes in between battles, in the quiet moments while Drummond Clarke is still lucid and remembers everything from his former life as a spy. This is when Charlie learns about his past, from moments as simple as why his father missed his high school graduation (Drummond was off the coast of Saudi Arabia in a wetsuit), to why he wasn't allowed to go into the local candy store (couldn't have a young Charlie ruining a covert dead drop, now could they?). The father and son moments are lightly handled, and not hitting the reader over the head with hammer labeled SUBTLETY. Instead of bonding over a camping trip, or fishing, it's over the body of a newly knocked out assassin.



The action / spy sequences are also well done. No one, adversary or protagonist, is stupid in this book. While Drummond is useful in a firefight, the adrenaline can only last so long, and so can the lucidity. It is up to Charlie in these moments, and he's being graded on a sharp learning curve.



It's certainly worth the ride.

A Public Service Announcement: How to Spot a Suicide Bomber

I live in New York City, so a certain amount of paranoia is reasonable. How much is too much? Great question. However, given that the New York City skyline has a relatively recent hole in it, I don't think it's too much to consider that someone, sooner or later, might want to consider rendering more damage to the city.



Over the past few years, I have come to the conclusion that most people—even those with limited knowledge of weapons, tactics, explosives, or anything harmful—can plan a better terrorist attack than some of the “masterminds” currently operating out in the world.



For example, one of the most likely scenarios in any major urban environment is suicide bombing. Load some people with bombs onto the A and the 6 trains in rush hour, or in the midst of time square—then you can start seeing examples of terror.



Suicide bombers are easy to spot. They give out all sorts of signs for the simple reason that they are, by definition, all first timers. Israeli counterintelligence wrote the defensive playbook, using pragmatic observation and psychological insight, and came up with a 12-point checklist, 11 for women—you'll see why. If you want to see the list being applied, I recommend Lee Child's novel “Gone Tomorrow.”



Now, the twelve signs that you might be looking at a suicide bomber.....



1. Inappropriate clothing: bulking clothing helps hide the explosive vest. If someone is wearing a heavy coat in spring or summer, that could be a hint. If you're living in the sections of the planet where you have never seen real snow, that's less of a hint, and more like a neon sign.



2. A robotic walk: Bombers walk like a robot for a very simple reason: they're carrying approximately 40 pounds of additional weight. Also, many suicide bombers tend to be high before they go towards their target—raw opium is standard, usually tucked between the gum and the cheek. So, either take the added weight or being high, or both, a suicide bomber walks funny



3-6. Variations on a theme: irritability, sweating, tics, nervous behavior. These people are in the last moments of their lives: scared of the pain, drugged out of their mind. Motivation doesn't matter, nor does sincerity of one's beliefs—they are about to die, they see it coming, and they haven't exactly had to do this before. The stress becomes visible.



7. Breathing. Breaths come low, and controlled. It's more or less a matter of the bomber trying to control their breath so they don't hyperventilate.



8. Staring. No one is 100% sure why, but suicide bombers stare straight ahead, fixed on a target. Perhaps it's tunnel vision, perhaps it's blocking out everything but the thought of being about to meet ones maker. Every image of bombers before they blow up shows them with the exact same stare.



9. Mumbled prayers. To date, everyone who blows themselves up in a suicide bombing has done so for religious reasons. Surviving eyewitnesses have all seen continuous, formulaic incantations on visibly moving lips, usually before all hell breaks loose.



10. A large bag. Fresh dynamite is a stable explosive that needs to be set off by specially prepared blasting caps. These caps are wired with cord to an electricity supply and a switch. A nine-volt battery will do, or a large square battery—these are too heavy for a pocket, usually, therefore, a bag.



11. The most recent point: You can't see the person's hands. If the person's hands are in the bag consistently, it could be resting on a button. In the earlier days of suicide bombings, a good bearhug would pin the bomber's arms to their sides, preventing them from reaching the button. The bombers learned, leading to....hands in the bag.



12. Male bombers only: Recently shaved beards. Usually, this is done so the bomber can blend in better. However, it has an obvious flaw: when they shave off their beards, they're leaving an obvious tan line where the beard used to be, the lower half of the face is paler, since it had not been exposed to a great deal of sunlight in a while.







What do you do when you see someone who might be a suicide bomber? That's for another blog post. However: I wouldn't recommend taking the nearest large object and smacking them over the head with it—for one thing, if they have their finger on the trigger, that might set it off early. The best thing I can suggest (without writing a new article) is to move away, slowly—put distance, and preferably a building, between you and the suspect, call emergency services and report a suspicious-looking person.