Continued from Part I
I woke up from a nap and removed the thin, dark blue blanket covering my head.
“Any international security forces tailing us?” I asked my wife.
“What?”
Spy stuff, I tell her.
“Oh god,” she says and then refers to me as Walter Mitty’s donut-loving cousin.
I guess we’ve ditched the double agents, so I toss the blanket onto the back seat. Another mission accomplished…
From Grand Manan, we landed at Blacks Harbour and then drove to the safe house in St. Andrew’s.
After a two-hour nap, I watched a doubleheader—Oprah and Ellen—as cell phone coverage went from Rogers to AT&T to Rogers to AT&T.
My wife and I then walked west along Water Street, past the art gallery touting http://www.twocountriesart.com/ and toward Olde Tyme Pizza.
While we waited for the Hawaiian Pizza, I glanced back and forth at the two televisions. On the monitor to my left, the Weather Network updated us on highs and lows across Canada; to my right, a station from New York aired the People’s Court.
Walking back toward the wharf, we entered the new coffee shop in town. At Honey Beans we ordered two hot beverages. The new owners, who had moved from Alberta, were still getting things in order. They needed business cards, a Web site, and an American flag to compliment the Canadian one hanging outside, but my hot chocolate and my wife’s latte hit the spot.
With sundown still two hours or so away, we finished our treats while gazing upon Passamaquoddy Bay. We discussed the possibility of someday setting up a satellite spy operation here in St. Andrews, where we could observe activities from Canada’s Navy Island to Eastport, Maine.
Instead of watching the same fireworks that Eastporters would watch the reluctant spy’s wife and I walked back to the safe house to catch the pyrotechnics on Boston’s WBZ.
I fell asleep long before the first flare was fired, knowing that we’d have to slink from the safe house before the authorities could, unannounced, pop in on us.
On the road by 6:00 a.m., Walter Mitty's donut-loving cousin and his wife were at Timmy’s in St. Stephen and then across the border before the feds could say “foiled again.”
