Chapter 3: The Locks at the Mouth of the River

The state of the roads running thru the hilly terrain in the border region was bad enough to make Sergeant Wilson regret his submissive acceptance of the assignment to scout out the dams and the shipbuilding industrial area. He knew he had the best of covers with the horny Canadian housewife and they would not be subjected to intense scrutiny since they were using a car with low risk plates and Florence was sure to be happily in her cups most of the time soaking up the local wine products. He had been given a packet of local currency to keep her well supplied with the stuff because it was the best way to keep her on a chain and unfocused enough to carry out his mission without her being fully aware of exactly what he was actually doing.

He was constantly placing her in front of the places he needed to photograph posing with her tongue out and with her fingers in a "V" to show she was having lots of fun. Sometimes she would expose part of her breast if there were no witnesses and that underscored their aura of innocence if and when the photos were sniffed at by the spook types that would pop up here and there like ghosts in the mist.

There were in total three countries in opposition to his less than innocent visit to the border. There was the one he was physically inside of, the one directly across the river from the objective and the one that was sitting like a shadowy stage manager watching his puppets move according to the flick of his wrist spouting the currently accepted party line.

He had pretended to have a breakdown on the side of the road almost to the top of the mountain that overlooked the entire complex of industrial production. It was not heavily traveled because of the pot-holes and the fact that bandits of an ethnic background were known to roam the area making trouble for the local authorities and preying on visitors soaking up the spectacular scenery and the varied cultures. It was the perfect place to get a panoramic shot of the objective and he knew the special film he was using would be ideal for blowing up into a detailed expose of the levels of production and the types of craft they were building. One thing was absolutely clear; they were not building fishing boats or tourist ships to cruise the waterways and even the large body of water further inland.

An ancient truck of unknown origin was laboring up the winding road carrying a load of the foul-smelling fodder for the farm animals on the small farms that riddled the hills with tenacity despite the whims of Mother Nature and the evil schemes of warring men.

The high-pitched whine of a motorcycle was heard before it came around the bend in the road catching poor Florence still squatting down in the tall grass doing her business with a self-indulgent look on her pretty face like the entire world should stop while she kept her panties out of the mud. It was obvious she had no concern who peeked at her goodies because her inbred sense of exhibitionism was a comfort in her boredom with everything around her.

Sergeant Wilson was tempted to swat her on her behind because the last thing he wanted was to draw attention to their presence.

It turned out to not be the suspected militia patrol making their rounds of the surrounding areas like clockwork during the daylight hours. It was an old man far too overweight to be riding the less than powerful motorbike with tires that looked almost flat from the bulk it was carrying.

He pretended to be pissing on a dead tree stump with his back to the road but still waved to the man to show he was not someone to be considered a danger or threat. Sergeant Wilson was none too happy when the man did a low-speed U-turn and pulled up to their car on the side of the road.

He spoke with halting English which was strange in that remote area. The rough laborer's clothes identified him as one of the shipbuilding workers on his way to his shift on the dry-docks.

"You got trouble? I recognize your Canadian sticker. My wife's sister marry Canadian guy and now is in his country with four little kids."

It was Florence that answered,

"Thank you, sir, we overheated our engine and will be fine as soon as we get off this steep road. Our car is old but it is good except on such mountains with difficult roads."

Sergeant Wilson smiled his most reassuring smile and offered the man a fresh water bottle from the box in the back seat.

"Well, you guys should be good now because it is all downhill from here to the village near the river. There is an auto shop at the crossroads that has the, how you say, the antifreeze stuff that helps cool the engine."

He hurried on his way not wanting to be late for his shift because the bad marks added up and they might find a younger, more agile worker to take his place.

Florence was bored with the long stop and started to send him clear signals that she wanted to be held and wanted to be kissed even though it wasn't even noon time yet. Sometimes, she was a real high-maintenance female but she had her good points as well. He felt her husband was lucky to have her because she was not the typical housewife who let herself go after having a couple of kids and she had that sort of submissive attitude that he found delightful.

In any other circumstance, he would have given Florence exactly what she wanted in the back seat of the car but this spot was far too exposed and it was better to get back on the road and safely tucked away in an unsuspecting Bed and Breakfast down in the village like typical tourists out on a lark in a strange and exciting country. It was what the locals would expect and it was better to keep in the proper role to allay suspicion considering the incriminating photos inside his cameras.