Jamming the Secret Service

The phone rang “cring cring.” I said hello, James Bum speaking. The voice at the other end said: “Head straight for Cartagena, we will brief you when you get there.” As an experienced spy, I don’t ask questions, I comply. I put on my dark shades and leather jacket— standard wear—and headed to Piarco Airport.

I suspected the US Secret Service wanted me as part of their investigations into the prostitution scandal. I have handled all types of missions all over the world, and gained a reputation as the equivalent to the original James Bond. My latest mission was The Plot To Kill The Plot that involved PM Kamla Persad-Bissessar which I uncovered.

Brimming with confidence, I set off on my mission and touched down in Cartagena, Colombia. I was not scared. I knew Colombia was dangerous terrain, but full of lovely women. I was prepared to avoid them, because I am at an age where excitement could kill me.

I hopped in a taxi and headed straight for the Hotel Caribe. Arriving there, a man with a beard resembling Santa Claus greeted me. I guess he was my contact. He told me I was drafted into the investigations because of my undercover work worldwide. He even told me all the spy agencies of the world were impressed when I cracked the plot in Trinidad and Tobago.

While trying to tell him it was no big thing, he congratulated me profusely. I had to tell him “cool it”, as we got down to brass tacks. He handed me a dossier with all the information concerning the scandal, the names of the men and women. Apparently the preliminary work was well handled. There wasn’t really anything left for me to do.

However, I knew I had to rise to the occasion because my name was James Bum. I went up to my room, kicked off my shoes and settled in. Before I could say Colombia, there was a knock on the door. I opened it. A beautiful young woman was standing there. I asked: “Can I help you?” She said she had come to offer me “room service”.

“Room service,” I said shocked. “I am an old man.” She said age was just a number. The way she was dressed I could tell she was not employed with the hotel. Same time my curious instincts kicked in. I asked her in broken Spanish if she knew anything about the US Secret Service men and the scandal, and she said “yes”.

She started to cuss down the place about the men and their stingy attitude, and the feeling that a lot of men feel anything they want they could get. Then it dawned on me she was the woman at the storm of the controversy.

She said she charged $800 and was paid $30 for her services. She even told me if the Secret Service agent paid her, everything would have remained a secret. She washed her mouth on the Secret Service. I told her Washington had recalled the men because they embarrassed President Obama and their families. She told me she did not care.

I asked: “So you got on like a jamette?” “What’s that?” she enquired. I pretended not to know. You see me, I gone.