A spy movie with lots of fast cars, beautiful women, sharp-dressing sleuths and unmistakably evil bad guys. Set in a multitude of locations around the world, no expense is spared in producing an exciting and exotic movie that demands the most intense suspension of disbelief!
Barrington Wainwright III sipped his brandy, keeping an eye on the couple in the corner of the room. Rachel maintained focus on her Creme Bruhlee, each mouthful gently measured to maintain a delicate appearance of pose and grace. She noticed Chesterton's vigil. Pausing with the fork in her hand, she furrowed her brow and looked puzzled.
"Barrington, why are you so preoccupied with the woman on that table? Am I lacking something you need?"
Wainwright smiled. Rachel had been a model for most of her young life and spent most of her time fighting off admirers. As far as physical attraction went, she was in the big leagues. Still, he thought, it's interesting that she has some little insecurities.
"Strange as this might seem my dear girl, I am much more interested in the gentleman."
Rachel lifted an eyebrow.
"Well Barry, I'm afraid I can't compete on that level!"
He laughed and leaned over in her direction.
"Rest assured that I have not renounced my heterosexual proclivities. However, I believe he's the link between Senator Bunting here in Washington and our good friends in Iraq."
"And how do you work that out?" she asked.
"Well, we know that the contact man is English, even though he has a passable American accent. Take a look at how the man in the corner is eating. Observe the silverware."
Rachel turned slightly to watch the man eat a piece of steak. Unsure of what she was supposed to see, she asked Wainwright to explain.
"He holds the fork in his right hand, cuts with the left, then pops the food into his mouth with the fork still in his right. And he's been doing that all night. Typical Brit."
"You call that evidence of his nationality?" said Rachel incredulously.
"Well, that and his tie."
"Yes. Look at the stripes. The point downwards from his left shoulder to his right side. That's a British tie. American stripes go the opposite direction because tie-makers here start with the cloth facing up whereas British couturiers start pattern-down. Put the two together and you have your man."
Rachel flopped back in her chair and shook her head in amazement.
"Is this always how Secret Agents work?" she asked.
"No," said Wainwright with a well-earned smirk, "Only the best ones!"