Phase 1

Well hello there.

My name is O'Grady.

Hank O'Grady. I'm a private investigator. 

What do I investigate? Things that wouldn't be otherwise seen.

In my line of work, you can't take things by their outward appearances. You've got to look beyond the mask. 

My cover is a Baskin Robbins ice cream server. If you don't think it's likely that a man behind an ice cream counter could be a private investigator, you are thinking what you are supposed to think. 

Why am I here?

And why am I telling you this?

It all has to do with a yacht, a newspaper article, ten million dollars in gold, and a missing super-millionaire, who kept his identity so secret, that the world only knew him as G.L.

The jewelry store.

This whole case came to my attention when a stooge came into the parlor (ice cream parlor that is), and ordered a double mocha flurry with a cherry on top. 

Now with the the people I generally work for, that's their quaint little way of telling me they have a job for me to do. 

I motioned the bum into the back room, and he laid out the case. It seems as though there had been a series of jewelry robberies and the company he represented was worried about their store getting robbed on a certain night because of their night guard was going on vacation. They didn't want the word to get out, however, so they decided to keep it under cover and hire me, strictly off of the books. The price tag for this was five numbers long. 

That was good enough for me, and I told the kind gentleman that I'd be at the address at eight. 

The address was easy enough to find and I was surprised to see that this was actually one of the most famous jewelry stores in the business: Tiffany & Co. 

The staff all left and I was looking around when I decided the flashlight I was using was too obvious, and I should use my ultra-violet night vision flashlight and glasses.

 Walking through the store, I decided to check the bathrooms. On the wall, in the men's bathroom, right above the little koala bear diaper changing thingie, there was some invisible, ultra-violet handwriting on the wall. 

What was written was a detailed map of the store, all of the security codes, and the locations of all the most valuable jewelry. 

As I was reading through all of this with amazement, I heard a window break. I dashed from the stall and found the bathroom door was locked from the outside. 

Most embarrassing. 

And Unprofessional.

I tried forcing the door, but it was very solidly built and I was obliged to wait until morning when the staff let me out. 

Two questions haunted me all of the night:

A) How did the thief know where I was hiding?

B) Get from the window to the door in time and lock me in?

When I got out, I immediately saw that the store had been very throughly robbed. Still, how did the thief lock the door in time? When I saw the back window, I knew at once. 

The broken glass was all on the street outside, which told me that the window had been broken from the inside. 

The thief had been hiding in the store the whole time, and had locked me in, stolen the goods, and broken the window to make his escape. 

The next time we meet, I doubt he will find it as easy as all that. 

After the robbery was investigated, I got to talk to the CEO of the jewelry chain and he gave me a good chewing out. Need I say that I didn't get my paycheck? 

The writing on the wall

Well, the next morning I had my plan of action worked out. 

The case seemed pretty obvious: Someone had come into the store, mapped it out, discovered the security codes, and written them in invisible ink on the bathroom wall. Then a different someone had come in as a customer, gone into the bathroom, found the map left by his partner, hidden in the store, and robbed it when everyone had left. 

So, I had a couple questions that needed asking:

Why were there two people involved in this caper? 

How did the first one get the security codes? 

Why was I hired for that particular night?

And finally, who were the people that robbed the store?

To get the answers, I needed to go back to the robbed store and check things out. 

When I got to the store I was asked to sign a guest book, for security reasons. 

I asked to see the manager, and was admitted after a little while. He seemed a nice guy and I got straight to the point. 

I showed him a list of all of the security codes I had gotten off of the bathroom wall, as well as a copy of the map. He was absolutely shocked at at first, but then informed me that the all of the codes were no longer any good, as they are changed every 24 hours. 

That was great news for me, as it proved that the codes must have been compromised the day of the robbery. 

It seems as though the Tiffany and Co. security system posts all of the the daily codes except one on the password protected company website. The one code that is not posted is the one that would allow access to the safe, and that one is emailed to only the manager. The manager then prints off the code and brings it to work every morning. He tacks it on a cork board in his office, the door of which is password protected. 

So all our first person had to do to compromise the security system would be to either get the password to the company website, or hack into it. Then, with those codes in hand, find the opportune moment, enter the access code to the manager's office get the code to the safe, and write all of them onto the wall of the bathroom along with a map that you compiled on the way. 

One other favor I asked of the manager was the list of the names of the people that visited the store that day. 

There were ten names on the list, and they all looked pretty respectable except for one that really stood out. 

That particular person seemed really secretive about his name, as he only used his initials, which happened to be G.L. 

I purposed to look into this guy and see what his deal was. 

Confirming my supiscions

Well, as a private eye it is necessary to keep from jumping to conclusions. 

I didn't want to hunt down a desperate criminal and just find out that he was just some weirdo that signed his name with only his initials.

So, I took the page I copied from the guest list and took it to an expert handwriting analyzer that I knew. 

Two days (and five hundred bucks) later, I received his report. 

It seems that there were three names on the list whose writers had a suspicious nature. 

Mr. GL was among them.

Other characteristics of his handwriting were:

He was a man in his thirties.

He had very fast reflexes.

He had an very confident, almost reckless nature.

He had lived or was living in France. 

Not bad for analyzing only two letters. 

I also went into the security camera archives of that day and found the clip of the time GL was in the building. 

He was wearing a sport coat and a baseball cap low enough that I couldn't see any of his face. 

He avoided he only spoke once to anyone, and the girl remembers that he had a French Accent. 

He only walked around the store a couple times before he left. 

The way the cameras were positioned I couldn't tell if he had entered the men's bathroom at any time. 

On a hunch, I called some of the major hotels in New York asking for a Mr. G.L.

After about 20 some calls, I struck gold at the Long Island Holiday Inn.

Mr. GL checked out the day after the robbery. 

The bellhop told me that he mentioned that he had a flight leaving at 10:23 as he left. 

There were five flights leaving JFK International Airport at that exact time:

They were to Ontario, Houston, Miami, Oklahoma City,

and Paris, France.

Hot, than Cold

Well, I felt that I had exhausted my resources here in the US and that it was time for me to follow my target over the Atlantic to the land overflowing with berets and baguettes. 

So, I climbed aboard a 777 and, after an eight hour flight, arrived in France. 

My first step was to get in touch with the local authorities. I was feeling a little foolish (something that rarely happens) about flying thousands of miles after someone that I only knew two letters of his name.

I was in luck. GL actually happened to be somewhat of a celebrity in France. The police station forwarded me to a journalist that had been following GL for quite some time. 

His name was Francisco Rossini, but he asked me to call him Frank. 

Somehow, his name and voice seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. It probably wasn't a big deal anyway. 

According to Frank, GL had come upon the French scene a couple of years ago as one of the best consumer product testers in the business. Soon every major corporation was hiring GL to test their products. Let's say Hilton wanted him to test one of their hotels. All he would have to do is check into the hotel (with the money they gave him), stay in it for a couple nights (virtually for free), send in his report and collect his fat check in the mail. The same thing goes to any thing, Ferrari gives him free cars, Calvin Cline gives him free suits, and Boeing gives him free planes. 

The thing that made his career so successful is that no one, and I mean NO ONE, has ever seen GL. His identity has never been compromised. There are no pictures, videos, or descriptions; nothing. This is very valuable for someone in his line of work because the companies know that they are getting the most accurate test possible because their employees won't be giving him any special treatment. 

Over time GL has become filthy rich from his business. Think about it: He lives virtually for free, and gets paid several grand each time he gets something. 

Not a bad life. 

As Frank's telling me this, I'm thinking that this is also the perfect cover for the real GL. 

Here is a man whom the world has never seen, making oodles of money, who gets hired to go into fancy businesses and check them over. 

Sounds like my man to me. 

As I was mulling this over, Frank floored me with a very unexpected bit of news. 

It seems that last night, a large bomb went off in the bedroom of Mr. GL. 

Investigating the ruins

According to Frank, the bomb went off about eleven o'clock last night. 

It exploded in what seems to be the bedroom suite, and completely blew the whole roof off. 

Naturally, I wanted to investigate, and Frank said that he would give me a ride over and drop me off. 

On the way, he gave me a couple more details on the incident. 

No body has been found,  but the bomb may have been hot enough to completely incinerate one. 

There was also an active security system on the whole time before and after monitoring the perimeter of the property that was activated. 

According to Frank, that means that no one could have entered or left the property, but I think I know GL a little better than that. 

As we entered the estate, I was constantly amazed by the richness of my surroundings. 

I mean, a garage with a Lamborgini parked in front is common enough I'm sure, but a garage with seven Lamborginis parked in front (one for each day of the week?) is a little more out of the ordinary. 

As we approached the huge mansion, I could see that one whole side of it had been blown out. 

Frank left me at the steps, and gave me his card with his cell phone number on it for me to call him when I was done. 

There were several Police cars there still, as well as a lot of reporters and photographers.

I started to poke through the ruins, and it was very easy to see from the crater where the bomb was positioned. 

Walking over to the crater, I noticed that there was a picture frame lying on the ground next to it. 

Although the wood in the frame was scorched, it was not burnt. 

If this bomb wasn't hot enough to burn the wood in a picture frame, it certainly wasn't hot enough to burn a body. 

And since there wasn't a body found in the ruins, I could make a pretty good guess that GL was still very much alive. 

But where was he?

The perimeter security system wasn't activated, but if GL was able to sneak in and out of jewelry stores, he should be able to sneak in and out of his own property. 

The reporters were everywhere, and I found them a little annoying so I tried going around the corner of the mansion for some quiet to think about all of this. 

As I was mulling these thoughts over in my mind, I nearly bumped into a man who was standing directly around the corner. 

I gave my appologlies, and moved to walk around him but he stopped me with my name. 

"Mr. Hank O'Grady, I presume?"

"Yes, who are you?" I said. 

At that, he flashed me a shiny smile and a shinier revolver from a hip holster. 

It's little details like that which will get my attention. 

"Mr. O'Grady, your presence is requested for a short interview. If you don't mind, we'll use my car."

At this he pointed to a sleek, black sedan running with a driver about fifty feet away. 

I didn't see a whole lot of options except to go with him, which I did. 

We drove off into the French countryside, where I was more than interested as to where I would end up. 

An interesting interview

So there I was, in a black sedan speeding down an empty highway to some unknown place on the French countryside with a smiling Frenchman sitting next to me still fingering a revolver in his pocket.

Not a situation I was exactly enjoying. 

After about a half an hour, of going through deserted fields (give or take a cow or two) we started to climb a hill on top of which there was a lone scraggly tree and a parked black van. 

We stopped at the top of the hill, and the Frenchman motioned for me to get out of the car. 

As I stepped out, a man got out of the black van as well. 

He was taller in his 30's and was wearing a French suit.

Walking quickly over to me he shook my hand and (with a distinct French accent) said, "Good afternoon, Mr. O'Grady, I trust you haven't been too inconvenienced by this little interview."

"Not really", I said, "as long as this is necessary". 

"Well, you might think it is by the time we're over. The fact is, I can take you to the man you're looking for. A Mr. GL?"

"What makes you think I am looking for a 'Mr GL'?"

"Because you have one too many buttons on your coat."

Well that got me for a moment, until I looked down at my coat and saw what he meant. 

There cleverly situated was indeed a button on my coat that didn't belong there.

Out of curiosity, I tugged on it, and it came off easily. 

A quick glance showed me that it was indeed a 'bug': A wireless listening device. 

"Well well well, how did that get there?" I asked. This guy had me rattled. 

"Very simple sir, I put it there this morning as you slept in your hotel room. It was nessessery to keep tabs on what you were up to."

"Why was that?"

"Very simple Mr. O'Grady, I am the man you are looking for.

I am GL."

A slight misunderstanding

"You see, Mr. O'Grady," went on GL "I believe you have misjudged me.

"You believe that I am a master international thief, a genius at picking locks, hacking into security systems, a making daring entrances and amazing escapes. 

"This is true, in part, I was in the jewelry store that night you were hired to guard it.  In fact, I was the one that locked you in the bathroom to keep you out of my way. 

"I have been extensively trained in all of the arts of the thief, to pick, to spy, to plan, and to execute. 

"You think that I am responsible for the theft of the jewels, and you are absolutely correct.

"I was present at the robbery and I actively allowed it to happen; you could even say I planned it. "

"So, if you stole the jewels, why are you telling me all of this?" I asked. 

"Because," he smiled, "that is make your mistake; I didn't steal those jewels, nor any of the others in the robberies before that.

"You think, Mr. O'Grady, that I am the wolf that preys on the weak, but I am, in fact, the hunter that preys on the wolves. 

"You see, years ago I inherited a great deal of money. An incredible amount that would keep me in the lap of luxury for the rest of my life. 

"But that's not what I wanted for my life, I wanted to do more than sit in a million dollar pool and drink martinis until I just died without doing anything meaningful. 

"For my whole life, I hated crime, I saw it as the scourge of humanity. When I learned of my inheritance, I saw it as an opportunity to do something significant about this problem. 

"I bought a large mansion in the countryside and converted the large underground chambers beneath it into a training headquarters. 

"I began teaching myself all of the arts that the greatest thieves in the world must learn. 

"I wanted to become one of them, to excel the best of them. 

"And I did just that, but was years ago. Now I have brought down seven factions of organized crime and am now working on my eighth, the largest I have ever experienced. 

"Their reaches are from the USA to Europe to Asia, completely worldwide, and specializing in grand theft. 

"When I learned that the Tiffany's Store was the next target for them, I got right to work. 

"I was able to enter the store undetected, and began setting video cameras and other ways of gathering evidence.

"The fact that you were guarding that night was not coincidental, the leader of the gang himself went over to contract you for the job."

"Really?" I asked incredulously. 

"Absolutely" he went on, "I was surprised that you didn't recognize him when you saw him the other day."

"What! Who was he?" 

"My 'friendly reporter' Francisco Rossini, that you met after you contacted the police."

"Hmm, I thought I knew the guy."

"It's actually very fortunate, you see as I've gotten closer to having the members of this gang arrested, the gang has gotten closer to figuring out who I am and, well, disposing of my presence.

"It all came to a head yesterday when they managed to sneak a bomb into my house and blow up half of it. 

"But I shall not miss in my death blow as they have in theirs. Even now, they are in a joint meeting discussing how to find me now that I have disappeared.

"Which brings me to the question that you asked me a while back: Why did I bring you here?

"The fact is, you, Mr. O'Grady, hold the key to helping me bring these criminals to justice."

Well that had me going, what did I have that could convict these men? GL had lost me there. 

"Well, what would that be?" I asked. 

"It's a piece of paper that is in your left shirt pocket. It has the cell phone number that Frank Rossini wrote on it."

Wow, this guy knew everything. 

"Sure," I said handing it over, "but how is this going to help? Are you going to deliver an arrest over the phone?" 

"Not quite," he said and motioned to his assistant who 'escorted' me here. 

While we had been talking he had been setting up on top of the hill a mobile desk with a computer on it and a couple of what looked like large satellite dishes. 

As we walked over GL explained, "With the evidence I collected at the jewelry robbery I can send those boys to jail for good, I only have one limiting factor.

"I have no idea where in the world they are right now. That's where this cell phone number comes in. By making one call to it, I can find the unique broadcasting frequency of that individual cell-phone and pull up it's exact position on GPS."

And with that, he picked up a cell phone off of the desk, hooked it up to the computer with a cord, and dialed. 

Epilogue

I imagine it went something like this:

Frank Rossini and his gang are sitting around a table in a warehouse full of loot. 

They are all arguing about where they should start looking for GL, when Frank's phone starts to ring.

He picks it up and answers it, "Hello?".

On the other end he hears a crisp, clear voice ask, "Yes, is this Frank Rossini?"

"Yes, what's it to you?"

"Nothing much, except that my name is GL and you're a dead man."

[Click]

Just as Frank was sitting back to think about this unusual exchange, the door bursts open with twenty of France's version of a SWAT team. 

Game over. 

Of course, that's just what I think happened, you remember I am still standing on a hilltop in the middle of nowhere. 

As GL's phone made the connection to Frank's, the computer went right to work, pulling satellite images up on the screen and zooming in so that we could see where Frank was in real time.

Just as one satellite disk on the hill was pulling in the exact position of Frank's cell phone, the other was uploading them to the police. 

Within minutes, I saw a black police truck pull up to the warehouse and the officers boil out and through the door. 

While this was happening, GL was listening intently to a French police radio, and a bit after we saw the police enter the building he looked at me and said, "It's all over, they got them and most of the stuff."

"Wow," I said, "that's great! Do you get to collect the reward?"

"How do you think I make my living?" GL asked with a smile.  

"And" he continued, "the reward I'm collecting from these boys will very nearly pay your first year's salary". 

"What?" I asked, not quite getting his meaning. 

"Well you see, Mr. O'Grady, I generally have a standing rule that the only people that I allow to see my face are the ones that work for me.

"So, I can either teach you the skills I learned, and have you help me in what I do, or I'd have to kill you. 

"Besides, after what you've been through, I'm sure you're not quite ready to go back to serving ice-cream. What do you say?"

Well, he had me there; working at Baskin Robbins has its perks, but this isn't the kind of job offer that comes along every day. 

Sort of the next level of private investigating. 

"I guess I just have one question," I said, "why did you choose me?"

"Because you have a gift, Hank. Not everybody can track someone half-way across the world just by getting his initials."

"You know, I think I'm going to like working for you."

"Nice" GL laughed, "Hey, I'll get you some ice-cream to seal the deal."

Yes, I'm going to like this new job just fine. 

I only hope they have Rocky Road here in France. 

THE END