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Dateline 1989,
Beaches of the Republic of the Seychelles

The fighting was intense today. Forces of the New Revolutionary Madagascari Anti Seychelles League have taken up arms after the defeat of the old Anti Seychelles League. I came to the beach to meet the man best able to give me the information I needed to break the NRMASL front, Arden Ali, Corporal in the Seychellian Defence forces and all-around tough son of a bitch. He fought in several independence wars before settling in the Seychelles Security Force. His times abroad had made his acquaintance with Jaques Bombardier, former French Foreign Legionairre (with an assumed name), and current general in the NRMASL army.

Bullets from the hills shatter about our stone barrack. Arden has been wounded by a stray bullet, and has a bandaged arm. He tells me what he knows of Bombardier. I learn that Bombardier is a former Libyan who joined the Foreign Legion to escape from some troubles there. Moreover, he is a fancier of Honduran tobacco. This will be my way in.

I make my desent at nightfall behind the NRMASL lines. Waiting until daylight, I begin walking in broad sight towards Jacques bunker. A man jumps up from behind hiding aiming a gun at me, in MadagascariSeychellian, a sort of hybrid language, he shouts "Anda mulhathi bunwar!" which of course means "halt, who are you?".

"A Tobaccanist" I shout.

It was then that I learned my greatest lesson in espionage. Everyone is the same bunch of idiots, even your enemies. They're just human beings. And so you can feel a deep sympathy for them, because you share common fears, weaknesses, and desires. And your heart almost aches when you realize that there is much of them in you. But your heart does not ache as much as theirs when you are led into their secret chambers and a spy tobaccanist drives a 6 inch bowie knife into it. That has to hurt most of all.