Thursday, April 9, 2009

Isolde -- Part 1

Yes, a bit late with this missive, but I have been rather busy. It all started, as it usually does, with a phone call on my secure line. Only one word, "Ernestine". That was enough to get in touch with my employers, and to know that somewhere a wheel had come off. Turns out that fifty Stinger missiles had somehow fallen into the hands of the Lord's Resistance Army, based in one of Uganda, Sudan or the Democratic (Hah!) Republic of Congo. You never knew for certain -- national boundaries in that area leave a lot to be desired. The leader of this ghastly outfit was that paragon of Christian charity, Joseph Kony, he who delights in kidnapping young boys, arming them with AK 47's, and then telling them to kill their parents. (Don't even ask what happens to the young girls.)

I and colleagues had tangled with this outfit before, but this time was a bit different. Apparently, Kony was in the process of transporting the Stingers to Somalia, where they would be sold to the Islamic pirate enterprise they have going there. Isn't ecumenism wonderful! But the difference was the source of the intelligence.

My eldest daughter, Isolde.

This came as a total surprise. The last time I had talked to her, she was safely ensconced in a small pension in Vienna, along with her current girlfriend, an oboist named Magda something or other. Isolde, you see, is on the other side of the street (so to speak). No Tristan for her. She is also a first rate violinist, and had landed in the first violin section of the Vienna Philharmonic. She was excited about this, and was eager to inform me that Riccardo Muti had agreed to take both Isolde and Magda on as his pupils. "Just think, Mum," she blurted, "I'll be working under Muti!"

With Isolde and Muti, the "under" would be metaphorical rather than literal. Yet I was happy for her. She is in my opinion some distance from becoming a Perlman or a Bell or a Midori, but she is on her way. And now, my employers tell me, she is also in what I refer to as The Trade.

Isolde, you see, travels a lot, whether with the Philharmonic itself, or participating in concert performances, international competitions, or what have you. My employers (bastards) saw this as an opportunity, and I have since learned that she has become an expert in drop-offs, as well as becoming an ace courier. Who would question a striking blonde carting a (rather special) violin case, in company with a host of other musicians?

I didn't have time to raise the matter with her, given the exigency of the mission, but I certainly did when I arrived back. And yes, the Stingers were recovered, Kony's "army" was somewhat depleted, and we also managed to grab a cool $100,000 American in the process. My colleagues and I quickly decided to make a donation to Medicins Sans Frontieres, who were working in the area. The harassed young doctor was grateful, and the money would be used for a greater purpose than anything dreamed up by government.

As for my conversation with my daughter, that will have to wait for next time. Right now a rather tricky debriefing is scheduled. I love Isolde dearly, but occasionally I am grateful that there is an ocean between us. As Quentin Crisp once put it:"The continued propinquity of another human being cramps the style after a time unless that person is someone you think you love. Then the burden becomes intolerable at once."

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