Dinner-with 5 eyez (stripped)

Slow workdays...

The lingering to-do details, the dreaded list of catch up's, plus the forgotten stuff.

Malta – Mistra Bay- (Il-Bajja tal-Mistra)

And for the Lifeguard Captain, DJ, cleaning, muddling and puttering through his desk, trying to figure out what those scribbled notes meant weeks before, listening to his crew on radio, closing beaches, storm flags up, the endless check, check double check as the satellite weather streams glowing on large screens display an icky glob wobbling over Ionian Sea. His best mate, Chief Constable Ryan, coordinating the National pre-storm protocol precautions.

The Island nation prepares for a high probability extreme weather event.

Police and Lifeguard Rescue crews work in sync.

All events have been cancelled for the next 48 hours.

Ports, harbours closed. Ferries on their last commutes.

The AI weather prediction models were wrong…. again.

It’s anyone’s guess if Malta is in the storm path or just grazed.

The last tidy up desk shuffle as DJ slide’s Chief Ryan’s classified Interpol file in the lock safe. Nothing new there, investigators are still mystified about the mystery this summer. They’re still searching for a midsize cargo ship that, in fact, didn’t exist. The EU Guru’s leading this investigation will never stoop so low as to ask a Search and Rescue- Lifeguard Captain on the edge of Europe’s frontier zone. It’s better that way for now. Stay below the radar, being a zero is peace of mind.

Sky and Sea hues change over burgeoning white caps like spirts of Seaman lore tricking the eyes in depth perception on horizon, delusion or illusion, or are the waves making another tidal correction?

Hmm...

Where’s the equipment repair invoice files?

Marrina, bureaucracy sorceress- file master left early to retrieve her kids from school. More like the gathering of the tribe of terror. Theres still a lollipop jammed in one of the stairwell light sockets.

The last rescue RIB boat returns from patrol, powers down and is trailered out.

Another glance at the SAT – Radar weather screens.

That storm blitzed across Europe with golf ball size hailstorms bringing autobahns to a standstill and a mid-summer snow blizzard triggered an avalanche in Austria’s notorious Alberg pass, and then it all melted the next day in 40c heat causing flash floods.

Hmm…

Climate change seems to get weirder with no respect for seasons.

DJ descends downstairs to garages and equipment storage areas, the last crew in is all smiles. ‘All clear Capt’. ‘All accounted for Sir’, handshakes, fist bumps, chit chat, as two of the Rescue Lifeguards change back into their police uniforms. Chief Ryan paces the driveway intensely focused on a phone call. It looks serious, someone with allot of authority is on that conversation. He abruptly ends the call, entering with that military posture staring.

DJ shrugs his shoulders like an innocent suspect, ‘What’?

‘You’re cooking tonight mate.’

‘Oh shit! I forgot’! – head drop-

In a theatrical commanding police voice Ryan announces,

‘I have orders from your wife to cuff you and get your ass home because she did the shopping, and my wife is there with the others prepping and you know what that means’!

The crew snickers, muffled laughs as one of the Rescuers chimes in ‘I ain’t rescue’n you from this one Capt. A police officer blurts out, ‘does his wife cuff him to the kitchen to’?

A barrage of laughs and giggles.

DJ sighs, hands on head, blushing… ‘shit’… mumbling, ‘they’re probably snacking and on the second bottle of wine’.

30 Minutes Later:

The Lifeguard Captain's humble abode. It used to be a Lorry Park, carved out of a sloping hill side, concrete reinforced WWII bomb bunker. Refurbished, large sliding windows, grass & gravel roof. The gravel terrace is wind protected, mostly, with an ocean view. Allot of polished concrete & Mediterranean tile, driftwood crafted furniture, the odd assortment of throw rugs, tapestry and some hanging and dangling local art, photos and beach relic recovered stuff.

 It’s got that nautical, shabby & chic ambiance.

Blazing fire bowl on patio, scattered with bean bag chairs, garden sofa draped in thick comforter blankets surrounded by big terracotta planters, herbs, flowers, cactuses, and a few specimens DJ’s wife, Portia, planted - yet to be identified.

Crashing waves echo in distance.

Ryan changed out his Police uniform, DJ still in a Lifeguard tank-top and thick sweatpants with the rescue team emblem, got that appearance, did he arrive from the gym or work?

And it wasn’t a shave day, the persona of public servant or beach pirate or both is blurred.

Hmm…

Sights and sounds of good friends mingling as they stroll in.

Portia lets out a squeal and leaps for a lifting hug, kiss, hang, kiss, squeeze, landing with a twirl and high five’s Chief Ryan with a wink. Ryan’s wife reaches for her purse and hands the Police Chief €20 with a kiss and a squeeze on the butt, ‘you actually got him here on time’ The ooo’s and ahh’s, jokes & jibes from guest suggesting the Chief Constable has made money on an illegal wager.

The Lifeguard Captain cooks.

It’s no secret, when DJ is stressed, hang around the kitchen and this Lifeguard Captain and Chief Constable are under allot of pressure this season.

The kitchen, a de-stress, de-compress zone.

For DJ it’s a journey as he brings the simplest of ingredients alive in a series of edible murals. His best ideas, clarity of complicated equations, inspirations of make, create, and innovate simple edible healthy art on a plate.

It’s therapy, it has been a therapy.

It was Ryan that gave DJ a tomato in rehab as he sat in a wheelchair staring in the abyss, picked from the facility garden and asked him ‘is it a fruit, or a vegetable’? DJ took-up cooking classes and evolved from there.

The two former SAS Spec OP’s counterintelligence operatives were both recovering. Injuries, PTSD, debriefings, the pain of physical therapy, nightmares, flashbacks, depression, anger, confusion, tears of loss, guilt, questioning who they really served? What did they really accomplish? The humiliation and hopelessness of the dreaded spoon fed assist.

Cooking turned into a passion, the soul of an artist bloomed, the art of living in the moment.

Now a lifestyle event, #CGC - aka; Crew-Grill’n & Chill’n.

It’s been a Rock & Roll fast moving summer so far for Police and Rescue crews, tourist, events, offshore search & rescues, etc. But the mystery like a deep rip tide undertow is ever presence. Crime scenes with no clues, the missing. Fact is some the best International Intel agencies and Interpol can’t see what the ghost cartel really is or where it’s going. Chief Ryan calls it academia paralysis, theories by expert analyst, giga bytes of investigative data, AI models, Satellite photos, network online monitoring, but actual hard facts and clues are like mapping the dark side of the moon. 

Tonight, the Police Chief has an alternative motive in this culinary gathering.

A kind of resurrection of inception. Early on in this mystery DJ predicted 5 events and 3 mistakes of the Cartel. He was dead on accurate, and then everyone got busy with high season in full swing.

The PM and security council asked Ryan to lure his best mate back on track, a kind of reboot. After all, it’s an internal Malta national security matter, it started here and as far as the security council is concerned, it’s going to end here, not in some EU Interpol office, there’s not going to be some international joint task force claiming credit and making little Malta a secondary participating side show.  

Back in the day, DJ led a counter terrorism strike team. More like trackers and hunters and Ryan was one of them. Feared in Pashtun regions of central Asia with seven figure $ cash bounties for information as to who they were and where to find them. In East Africa, a Junta rebel General summed the territory’s most powerful witch doctor to raise demon warriors and curse the ghost recon commandos. Two weeks later the General went missing. The Russian mercenaries that vanished in Sahara, leaving an undisturbed well-armed outpost, no signs of combat, their looted gold bars from slave labour mining operations stacked and untouched, so embarrassing a fake news Kremlin scientist claimed that alien UFO sightings were part to the mystery.

In this case… its more of a shadow brotherly secret; DJ knows the Cartel boss from the past. The Cartel boss knows he knows but can’t tell his cartel mates because they’re all scared of what happened in the past. Chief Ryan can’t tell Interpol because no one trust each other and there’s been to many leaks already including informants on the cartel payroll.

The kaleidoscope may come clear here. Like that storm over the horizon, so close, yet so far away.

The stage is set…

Its DJ’s kitchen, he designed it. Portia, an angel that tries to cook, occasionally, when inspired. DJ eats her creations because it's made with love, fact is, she’s handicapped in the culinary realm, more like a safety risk as the Lifeguard Captain diplomatically describes it. She’s a savvy smart businesswoman on a first name basis with the local chef’s and eateries.

She has 3 take away delivery Apps on her phone.

Hmm…

Glass of wine…

Rhythm of Lofi R&B chill background music.

The slice and dice begins.

Mixing bowl, fresh oregano, purple onions, garlic, cilantro a dash of powdered veggie bullion = boost the salt taste & Veg aroma, hit-it with white balsamic + olive oil, lemon juice & a quick whip stir.

Fresh fish filets, the trick here is eggs, separated, whites are whipped with dried Cajun spice powder and laid in a tray of fine breadcrumbs dusted with white pepper.

DJ sips his wine and drifts into the culinary zone twirling a slim cleaver.

Hmm…

The upside from this weird Storm offshore is… The cartel boss is out there on his luxury super yacht getting his ass kicked. He loves luxury boats but can’t swim and is seasick prone.

Two large Sautee pans, low heat, drizzle olive oil on the 5-count pan to pan, a quick chat with guest, a splash of white wine, butter, crushed garlic & a pinch of cayenne dust in Pan 1.

Hmm…

Coco, aka; gangsta assassin princess, aka: hit bitch. Only DJ and Ryan know who she really is. Cuban pedigree special Op’s Wasp Brigade, a rich bitch with a custom-made wardrobe of military style cargo pants, boots, slim cut utility vest in designer shades and that tuned muscled up body, she’s like a sly cat. DJ believes that crumpled paper, scribbled diagram with dots & spots found next to the Imarsat NAV terminal on the Sailboat executions of a Geneva banker and investigative reporter, was a message, but no one knows.

Fresh Linguini from Geppetto’s, whatever Portia lacks in culinary skills, she knows how to source the best ingredients. Portia and Ryan’s wife are loitering around the kitchen Island doing appetizers, more on wine quality control duty now. The gossip from the two feels as hot as the stove.

DJ picks up a tomato, staring at it in a flash back.

‘Hey mate is that a veggie or a fruit’?! Ryan’s boisterous laugh with a cheer’s as he looks back at others ‘ahh never mind its personal joke from way back’…

DJ slices tomatoes in small cubes, fast, feather lite, effortlessly.

Hmm…

Crypto payments, slave traders, rare earth metals, market makers - London Metals Exchange, voodoo derivatives re-called and a shipping container with shrink-wrapped palettes of cash washed up on the coast no one claims from a ghost ship that never existed.

Linguini, in -big metal bowl, oregano-onion herb, tomatoes mix tossed in. Boiling kettle water drenched. Stir… wait for the right moment as the water turns milky white from starch.

Pan 1 heated, hot.

Hmm…

Hot - like that mission DJ’s team did in Somalia, a four-day chase across the searing desert after a ship hijacking. If it wasn’t for Ryan’s sniper skills in that sandstorm, the North Koreans and their mercenary pirates would have escaped. The now Cartel boss was in on that one, it was a logistical quagmire for both sides, and it’s a quagmire now in this hunt, kinda the same, different game.

Pause… DJ twitches as tracer rounds glance by his head and the smell of burned…

Oops, the herb pan is smoking a bit as he lifts it off the burner and adds another round of olive oil. ‘Babe, can you grate me several hands full of Parmesan please’!

Portia lets out a few girly chirps as she bounces around like, golly gee whiz, she’s on an important kitchen mission as her wine glass slides off the counter and shatters, DJ laughs and blows her a kiss.

Ladle of seasoned pasta water in hot pan as a hiss of steam rises, both hands full of Linguini in the seasoned pan, another ladle and wait for the beginnings of a sauce set-up affect as DJ tosses the large pan of pasta with one hand ease in that optical allusion of a flying wave, loop rhythm.

Its bit of bravado, a show, a pan that size extended in one hand with gym sculpted arms and a wine glass in the other with a smile.

Cool is the rule here…

The art of cooking pasta without boiling it. H2o is just a starch liquid herbal additive. Basic chemistry but you gotta have a feel for it. Like swimming, sometimes its fast water or feels wetter than the day before.

Squeezed lemon slices - pan 2, with a olive oil hit, dusting it in fresh chopped dill, laying in breaded fish filets. The Cajun lemon-dill aroma permeates the surroundings.

Hmm…

The basics of this mystery stripped is -one thing and one thing only – distribution. The players of the game change, the market, the exchange, the bazaar has been around for thousands of years. It’s the crimes around this Cartel business model, dark, sickening and evil.

Pause…

Exchange, distribution, logistics.

DJ stares at the stove.

Ryan glances over, he knows that tranced look, he casually excuses himself from the others. ‘All clear mate’?... DJ stares, tilting his head to and fro, in a low murmur baritone voice ‘ahh, you gotta photo of that crumpled scribble from the Sailboat assassinations’?

Ryan nonchalantly starts scrolling his phone, zooming a photo on screen, DJ looks in a series of twitching glances as he flips fish fillets in a one arm swirling motion exposing their golden-brown tainted Cajun orange lite crust…

A bowl of grated parmesan lands next to him, as a side plate crashes on the floor with an ‘uh-oh’ chirp, or was that a squeal, DJ doesn’t flinch…

Another photo glance…

A hand full of Parama sprinkled on pasta with a ladle of herb water and tosses, a creamy texture appears from herbal acidity, starch & heat… a sauce is born in the pasta.

Hmm…

‘It’s a ancient NAV Map, she’s trying to contact us, she wants out’…

Ryan stares in a low whisper, ‘Holy Shiiit Mate! it’s a star navigation chart’. DJ smiles and nods, ‘The dark princess is reaching out to us, she trusts us, we’re from the same professional creed, Capo isn’t, maybe a sign of a rift in the Cartel'?

Parma, pasta, toss, heat down…. Mixing bowl, sour cream, lemon juice, dill, egg yolks-wipped-in, smear each plate edge to edge with a coating of the concoction, linguini twirl bundle, fish filets, dash of olive oil and fine drip lines of balsamic syrup dusted with dried Cajun spice & lemon wedges.

 The party moves outside on the long driftwood picnic table, the fire roars, the sun sets.

Ryan’s boisterous laughs lulls into a silent gaze at DJ’s wine glass. No one else notices in the chit chat as they both lock on with an eery stare. There’s an inaudible sonic generated ripple in the wine glass. DJ casually leans back unzipping his Lifeguard rescue backpack, cupping his hand over an L shaped item cloaking his arm under the table.

Conversations and laughs continue…

A faint hum emanates in the breeze…

The wine ripple pattern changes...

DJ bolts to his feet and yells ‘TAKE COVER’! With a reflex point, Flair Gun Shot skywards…

Poof – sparks shower…

Whi-ZzzzzzTchh-zzzz KaBam!

Food, drink, glass, spatters. Ryan grabs a thick lounge blanket and leaps on the table as burned polymer smell and flare smoke rises from under the blanket.

Ryan pushes himself off and lifts the blanket.

It’s a UAV drone, a state-of-the-art with modified rotors for low acoustic signature.

LIGHTS! Portia sprints for the patio flood lights switch.

EVERYONE OK?!

Ryans wife answers 'all good no injuries'! DJ and Ryan sift through the wreckage using cutlery to crack open casings and chip sets separating several piles of components.

The piles go from 2, 3, 4 and then 5.

Radar, Lidar, Infrared, HD and coded multiscan laser.

DJ looks at Ryan ‘5 Eyes pro kit mate’.

Ryan holds up a chipset in the light.

Pause…

‘The yanks are here. If they’re using expensive toys like this to spy on us, they don’t have a clue about the star chart.