A Little Outing

These days, with a title like that, one might expect some unexpected revelation about the nature of one's sexuality. Not that this matters anymore -- we have come a long way from worrying about the love that dares not speak its name. Indeed, rather the opposite: now it won't shut up.

No, as diligent readers (and which of you are not) will recall, this outing has to do with a commitment made to the good Robert Gates to block a suspected attack on certain delegates to the G20 in Toronto. Actually, not in Toronto, but Niagara Falls.

Apparently several key delegates from a number of countries had expressed a wish to see the Falls. Canada was pleased to acquiesce to the request, and suggested a trip on The Maid of the Mist. From a security viewpoint, this was ill-advised -- a helicopter would have been just fine -- but a number of delegates were insistent, so there the argument ended.

Now for readers not familiar with the various attractions at the Falls, of which the Maid of the Mist is one, let me assure you that this is not Janet Leigh in a shower at the Bates Motel, or a documentary on gorillas and Dian Fossey, but a boat. Two of them, to be precise, with the descriptors VI and VII. (Canadians are nothing if not imaginative).

Each of the Maids are 80 feet long, and can carry up to 600 passengers. Also, a nice touch this, free raincoats are provided. The boats leave every 15 minutes from the Maid of the Mist Plaza (that Canadian imagination again) and go to the base of the American Falls, then into the basin of the Canadian Horseshoe Falls. And that's where trouble could be expected.

Matilda Hatt had been assigned by Gates to work with me on this, a very Good Thing. The night previous to the planned excursion Tilly joined me at The Manor. This provided the time to review the whole situation, and to agree on a strategy.

"There," said Tilly, pointing to a spot on a map of the Falls. "That's the only likely place."

"In the Basin?"

"Has to be. The currents are too powerful at the base of the American Falls. As it is, it's going to be tricky."

"Well," I stated, "you're the one that trained with the Navy Seals. And I agree -- there is no other possibility. Still, how good is the intel on all this?"

"I'm told it is first rate."

"Right. Let's do this thing."

We left early the next morning, and arrived at the Plaza in good time. I was introduced to the officials involved by my CSIS friend, CODE Barry, and after that explained just what the plan was.

"Really?" he said.

"Really."

I changed into a short-skirted waitress uniform, (to irritate the two Saudi delegates who would be coming) and began serving coffee, tea and sandwiches to those who had arrived early. Tilly had gone elsewhere, and, I assumed, had changed into a wet suit and equipping herself with some very nasty hand weapons. Soon all was ready, and we boarded Number VI, which had been commandeered for this particular occasion. My presence was explained as a reward for acting as hostess.

The trip was, in the words of some delegates afterwards, spectacular. I wouldn't know, because my eyes were focussed entirely on the delegates and crew. I was confident that both had been carefully vetted, but you never know in these situations. As we entered the Horseshoe Basin, I grew particularly tense. If we had guessed wrong....

Then I saw it, roiling up at the stern of the boat. A large and growing blood-red stain on the water. One of the delegates from China also noticed, and turned to me with a surprised expression on his face.

"Ah," I said authoritatively, "that's from the Canadian Red Inkfish. Our passage must have disturbed it. Happens all the time."

"I see," he said. "Interesting." He then turned away, but with the Chinese, you are never completely sure just what they are thinking.

We docked, and CODE Barry greeted me. "She's some distance away. One of our helicopters spotted her -- that current is probably vicious. I've arranged -- ah, here it is."

A patrol launch curved into where we were at the Plaza, and soon we were slowly going down the Niagara River, scanning the shore anxiously. Then I saw her, sitting complacently on a rock near the shoreline. "Bloody well took you're time," she shouted as we edged toward her. The she plunged in, and surfaced next to the boat where CODE Barry hauled her in. Her arm was gashed severely, and her wet suit had a big rip down the left leg.

"You look a mess," I said helpfully.

"You should see the other guy. And it wasn't Al Qaeda at all. It was a North Korean. I mean, really. They sink one boat, and then think they own everything maritime. Well, that's one who won't be owning anything Evermore. So the intel was both foul and fair, and I will have a little chat with Robert about that. Now you two can attend to me."

So we did.