Icebergs and Espionage: Part Two

Cont'd from Part I...

June 2, 2007

On the run since Game One, which we watched from safe house number two on Monday night, I haven’t had opportunity to write until now. Game Three starts in less than an hour.

So, before the puck drops in Ottawa—where the mayor has declared certain portions of the capital city a no duck zone (as reported by the pre-game show folks at the CBC)—I’ll relay the highlights of this “secret” mission into Canada.

From Safehouse Number One in Deer Lake, Newfoundland: At breakfast, I gained the trust of a Bobby Orr fan from way back. My source, who shall remain nameless, attended school in Sault Ste. Marie with Wayne Gretzky. In "the Soo" he and the “Great One” were in the same geography (or perhaps it was geometry—that information is confidential). More importantly, my source’s sister turned down the teenage wonder’s request for a date, an act for which my informant has not yet forgiven her…

…On a day trip from Safehouse Number Two, the photographer and I documented the presence of at least thirty icebergs along the Bonavista peninsula, where Montreal Canadien standout Michael Ryder grew up. One source, at a local restaurant within plain view of the ‘bergs in the bay, let on that the Bruins’ nemesis has a brother that's also a talented player. Seems that the Ryders—the father is a teacher, the mother a nurse—have spent a lot of time at Cabot Stadum, the local rink…

…Taking no chances on staying more than one night in each location, the photographer and I fled for the Avalon peninsula—but not before I gained access to a highly secure area of a well-known “tire company” that sells, among other things, hockey sticks. The good stuff was not on display, so a double agent allowed me into the warehouse, whose swinging double doors were clearly marked “Restricted Access.” Then I selected an inexpensive Joe Sakic Easton model, which I’ll debut on Thursday morning…

…Our case officer in St. John’s met us for dinner—we gathered at table along the wall, so I could survey the sidewalk scene for our pursuers—at an eatery on Water Street. After signing the jacket of the CD I had purchased at a well-known music establishment, he said he’d leave an envelope for us at the restaurant at which we would eat tomorrow’s lunch.

The next afternoon at the dead drop (that's what we spies call the location where confidential materials can be retrieved), the white, business-sized envelope-stuffed with vital materials. We reviewed its contents and then enjoyed the finest pizza (half cheese, half pepperoni and pineapple) available in the Fog City…

…On the eve of our penultimate day in the province, a black Dodge Nitro parked next to us as we admired an iceberg that had materialized from the fog earlier that day. The trio of operatives (they were trying far too hard to look inconspicuous, so they had to be the enemy), parked next to us—so we split the scene in a hurry, taking a detour to Safehouse Number Three. The Nitro was already in the neighborhood, but our stealth prevailed as we out-maneuvered the opposition.

Unwilling to risk blowing our cover, the photographer and I drove (she did all the driving while I scanned the Trans Canada Highway for potential secret agents and moose) the whole day to catch an overnight ferry back to the mainland.

Upon exiting our vessel in North Sydney, Nova Scotia, we drove the length of the province, which Anne Murray, Glenn Murray, and Kenny Tarr call home, entered New Brunswick (where I immediately called my contacts at the New England Hockey Journal Radio Show), and then sped to a secret seaside location not far from the Can-Am border.

Now, after a meeting with a couple of “investment brokers” at a local pub (I recommend the fish 'n' chips), where we discussed future missions, we’re holed-up in Safehouse Number Four and watching the CBC pre-game. I’ll leave you with this shocking tidbit from Timbit Nation: there are more non-hockey fans here than one might expect--some didn't even realize there was a game tonight. I'm going to report them all to the proper authorities.