Operation: Dream Date

“Smooth? You ken that’s a smooth operation?” Brown snorted his whiskey before it had even reached his mouth.

“Aye… Sir” McGowan hastily added at the end of his nonchalance. “We got the lass, I didnae ken what the fuss is about?”

“The fuss, Agent McGowen is that you didnae dae it very discreetly, did ye?” Brown slammed his barely touched glass onto the table beside the now nearly empty bottle of Famous Grouse Whiskey. McGowen sighed.

“Well… Our plan wis simple though…”

“Simple? With this fankle you’ve left me tae clean up, you call yer plan simple?” Brown yelped.

“Look, Sir, we did have a simple plan. Agent MacDuff…”

“MacDuff!” Brown interrupted, refusing McGowen’s sentences to finish. “Aye. No wonder it went to…”

“Did you no read the brief I sent Sir?” McGowen interrupted glowering.

“Aye, aye… briefly.” Brown scoffed behind his glass which had been swiftly returned to his mouth since his outburst.

“Ken what it said?” McGowen snapped, regretting it instantly. Brown looked over his glass as if in place of spectacles. He laid it back down on the table with cooled calmness and flung open a cabinet behind him full of overly-organised files. McGowen watched for a moment deliberating whether to continue. “Anyway, Sir,” he tested. Brown carried on scrounging. “Our plan wis simple. Crimson Axar, wis discovered a couple of weeks before tae have connections tae our recent decoded terrorist plans.”

“I ken, McGowen. Ah sent ye the briefing.” Brown slammed the cabinet and pulled open the one below.

“Right. Well, the lassie was finally uncovered using an identity of someone we hawp tae be deceased. She’s bin hidin’ out the Balmoral Hotel in Edinburgh. That’s when MacDuff came up wi' a plan which he filed in our data bank as...” McGowen coughed a little, “Operation: Dream Date.” Brown stopped shuffling folders and critically veered his head. Red-faced, McGowen hastily moved on.

“Sae, his plan was tae seduce Miss Axar with 'chivalry',” he mocked the last word, “and then offer her fur tea at the restaurant. Despite Agent MacDuff's undeniable charm, he is, em, howfur dae I put this? Boggin' wi' the lassies. Aye. Never been on a date before, so, I had tae teach him what tae dae. Ah said fur him to hold the door open, pull out the chair, laugh at her jokes, subtly flirt tae show that he cares - bit nae that he wants tae... ye ken?”

“Aye, McGowen, I ken.” Brown murmured.

“When she orders…” McGowen carried on, “…tell the waiter that you'll have the identical. Then tae make sure that we could win her over we did some digging intae her bank statement fae her time at the Balmoral. We discovered that she wid buy a bottle of Merlot when she was dinning with two. So, this is where the plan comes in. I wis under cover as the hotel's bellboy and waiter. When MacDuff ordered the bottle of Merlot I wid slip in a powerful sedative that wid take it's time to work but wid indeed chap a'body out cold. MacDuff would nae dram, only pretend. Once the sedative and bevvy had worked it's magic, slipping in the odd line of "I'm on mah third glass" would gang unchallenged!”

Brown slammed the second drawer closed giving McGowen a fright. He spun round and tossed a classified folder onto the desk with complacency. Once more McGowen carried on as if uninterrupted whilst Brown flipped through the file’s pages.

“When Miss Axar wis out cold MacDuff and I wid escort her back upby tae our room. “Sorry awfy much tae drink!” tae the watchers that is. That wis where Agent Brodie wis waiting tae switch steid with Miss Axar using our face mask and her clothes. Miss Axar wid be collected tae be sent tae head-quarters and Agent MacDuff and I wid watch over ‘Miss Axar's’ meeting at 10pm.” McGowen took a deep breath and looked up at Brown. Brown’s focus had been diverted to the folder he had unearthed. His eyes darting across the pages in time to the clinking of the ice in his glass that he was simultaneously stirring with his free hand.

“What did you get in yer literacy test?” Brown unexpectedly blurted.

“What?”

“The test fur yer reading when ye wur qualified tae be an agent in training - what wis your score?”

“Eh… I scored fair high, Sir.” McGowen replied flustered.

“Then ye have nae problem reading?”

“No... Sir”

“Re-read yer report and tell me why Operation: Dream Date wis really Operation: Dooms Date.” Brown spun round the file he had been x-raying and slipped it under McGowen’s nose. Even though McGowen knew the contents he reluctantly read on; the events of the night resurfacing forcefully.

5.30pm. In the luxury suite at the Balmoral Hotel, Agent Brodie and I had set up Agent MacDuff’s black suit for the evening date with Crimson Axar. We had a hidden camera on the front left pocket button, imbedded wires to connect to an earpiece and an inside pocket where he could access a tranquiliser gun for emergency use. Shortly after, MacDuff returned to the suite having ‘seduced’ Miss Axar, however, also carrying a kilt, blouse, blazer, knee high socks and a sgian-dubh. To impress Miss Axar, MacDuff had fabricated a heritage of rare Scottish bloodline from the highlands. Hence his kilt.

8pm. MacDuff met Miss Axar in the foyer to escort her to the restaurant. Even though MacDuff undeniably fitted his new attire, he showed no signs of knowing how to wear it. When they reached the revolving doors he allowed Miss Axar in first, following swiftly behind. However, upon attempting to exit, the handlebar snagged his kilt and he endured three rides round before finally retrieving himself and scurrying to level with Miss Axar. She had conveniently been unaware of MacDuff’s temporary absence – much to the wounding of MacDuff’s ego.

I greeted the couple and directed them to their table. MacDuff being prone to stumbling after one small mishap sat down looking very perturbed.

“Do you know what you would like to order or would you like some time to read the menu?” I had asked with rehearsed sophistication.

“I’ll just have my usual,” Miss Axar smiled thinly and passed back the menu.

“And you, Sir?”

“I’ll have the identical. If her taste in food is as good as mah taste in lassies, it’ll be braw. And bring us a bottle of yer finest Merlot” he grinned. I bowed, cringing, and returned to the kitchen to relay their order.

“Good choice, that is a favourite of mine,” I heard Miss Axar say.

“Aye, I ken that,” Agent MacDuff blurted. I coughed into my hidden mic and MacDuff rapidly corrected himself.

8.15pm. I returned with the bottle of Merlot; the sedative already diluted. Agent MacDuff was looking disproportionately dishevelled. His conversations hadn’t engaged Miss Axar at all. I poured the wine into their glasses listening to a very tedious rendition of how MacDuff had – supposedly – witnessed The Loch Ness Monster. Once the wine was poured I slipped away, but not far enough to miss “cheers tae thee!” as MacDuff downed a gulp of the spiked wine. Miss Axar’s sat on the table, untouched.

8.35pm. I returned with their meal, preparing myself for an unconscious MacDuff, yet he sat laughing heartily as Miss Axar distracted herself by impatiently stirring her untouched glass of wine.

“Lang may yer lum reek!” MacDuff raised his glass then chugged the last of his wine down. He swiftly toppled a healthy refill into his glass and clunked the half consumed Merlot into the bucket.

“Your dinner,” I interrupted. “Two breasts of pheasant in an orange and ginger sauce.” As I spoke the colour evaporated from MacDuff’s face as he frowned at the plump piece of pheasant that had been placed in front of him.

“Pheasant?” He exclaimed, slamming his glass of wine onto the table.

“More water?” I asked topping up their glasses without a response.

“I dinnae eat this pile o…” the water jug slipped sideways out my grip and collided with MacDuff’s glass of wine. The staining red drowned the pheasant and slid down Miss Axar’s dress. She leapt backwards and in doing so collided with something sharp. She became momentarily distracted as she examined the fresh red oozing down her flawless skin, making the red Merlot splattered dress look rustic.

“I am so sorry!” I hurriedly wiped down her dress. “We will pay for your dress to be dry cleaned.”

“Never mind.” Miss Axar snapped irritably “Put that money towards fixing the furniture!” She dabbed the wound with a hanky and sat back down.

8.45pm. Positioned at the door, I carefully watched as MacDuff struggled to straighten his crumpled sock and Miss Axar leant over to grab his attention. This was the moment when the plan had to change. Miss Axar had slipped a powder into MacDuff's water. She knew who he was!

9pm. Under the misconception of serving ‘defective water’ and now with an ‘apology meal-on-us’ I had managed to retrieve the spiked water from their table. The tides had now turned. With MacDuff no longer making any sense, and his continuous ignorance to my presence, our under-cover communications were officially decimated. The only action I had taken was removing the Merlot from their table. Yet amidst my relentless planning a commotion brought me out of my strategic slumber. A decanter of whiskey had journeyed past MacDuff’s table, and with the sedative finally affecting him, his drowsiness had caused his aim for the whiskey to knock over the entire trolly, shattering the crystal decanters. MacDuff was on the floor, his ankle seeping blood through his white sock. I rushed over to help him back to his feet, which, he then decided to assist in by grabbing on to the nearest item – a stuffed stag’s head – and with the might of his grip he snapped the antler, falling back down, flailing his leg in the air. Some of the diners had the misfortune of discovering that MacDuff had decided to dress to traditional standard - right from sporran to barren beneath his kilt.

“Oh no!” MacDuff scowled “I killed the stag!”

Now looking pale, Miss Axar tried to slip away surreptitiously from the restaurant. However I had noticed and pursued her into the foyer.

McGowen pulled back from his reminiscing and looked at Brown.

“We picked the lassie up, explaining that she hud been on the bevvy, then Agent Brodie took her steid. We got the information we needed.”

“Yer report has gaps Agent McGowen!” Brown piped up, “Why wis Agent MacDuff blootered? The sedative took a lang time tae work, by then his body should've shut-down. And why wis Miss Axar passed out if she didnae take a dram?”

McGowen closed the folder and slipped it back to Brown.

“You dinnae gie Agent MacDuff enough credit Sir. Before he went tae his meal he took an antidote tae the sedative. Saved him it did. How come he was blootered? We all ken he's a light weight. As fur Miss Axar, it says it in the report. She didnae cut herself fae the table, 'twas MacDuff's sgian-dubh which she skelped when ah spilt the wine. His sgian-dubh had a mechanism so if pressure wis applied it would ping up. He had the sedative inside it sae when Miss Axar bumped it…” He shrugged. “The blood on MacDuff's sock wasnae his blood.” There was a moment of silence. Brown picked up the file and looked at it distastefully.

“Well laddie, there’s nae denying, that nae matter the outcome, that wisnae a smooth operation.” Brown tilted his head to signal McGowen to leave. He got up as Brown started to scribble something down.

“Oh, and McGowen!” He called after him. McGowen turned round “'Twas most definitely nae a dream date.” McGowen watched as Brown filed away the folder.

‘Operation: Dream Dooms Date’