Secret Agent for Aliens

root's picture

I have been a member of the State security forces for nearly 17 years. Code WLCP2BXVUTJ9EW3A. My father was a civil guard, and my mother was an Opus Dei housewife. What could they expect from me?
I met Alone Jazz on my first mission as an undercover agent. I have such good memories of those first missions in the Retiro with the black communities of underground Madrid. I had been informed that he was a very dangerous element. I belonged to the Black Panthers in the USA. My bosses feared a black revolution in Spain and had chosen me to infiltrate. It didn't take me long to make friends with the Black Panthers, and little by little; I infiltrated into the movement. I was in charge of videotaping them and taking photos that I then published on a website made by my panterasnegras.es.
The plan was perfect, and my superiors were delighted with all the material I gave them. And so were the black panthers, because they saw their videos and photos on the internet. I even published an Afrika Total newspaper. This went fine for a couple of years. But I was afraid it would end. The so-called black terrorist group was not terrorist, only black. They were friendly people who worked for the migrant community. I was trying my best to make my colleagues at the immigration office see that they were dangerous, so that I could continue my investigation. I liked this job and the excellent life of parties and concerts. I even extracted phrases from rap songs to show how subversive I was.

  • The police are after us.
  • Freedom for the manteros. 
  • Nobody is illegal. 
  • Christopher Columbus didn't have an ID card
  • Squat the senate

But my reports were not very well-founded. My bosses wanted me to report a cache of weapons or explosives. There wasn't. The most they were doing was selling marijuana in Lavapiés and pirated CDs.
That's why they took me away from the investigation. They closed the case for lack of danger. And I was transferred to Malaga to the drug trafficking unit. There I was wounded in the leg, and I spent a couple of years on sick leave to recover, but that's another story.  
It was last summer when I went back to Madrid on holiday. I received a call from the chief commissioner for foreigners. None other than the famous Vilar del Rejo. He invited me to an urgent meeting in the dungeons of Puerta del Sol.
The chief commissioner is an impressive figure. Black patch covering one eye. They say that nothing goes on in the State's sewers without him knowing about it. My colleagues call him the Spanish Hoover, as he has the same power as the former director of the FBI, John Edgar Hoover.
Vilar del Rejo himself gave me a mission. 
Alone Jazz was back in Madrid. He had been seen in the Lavapiés neighbourhood. It was suspected that he had contact with black Islamist groups in the Sahel and that his cadres had some kind of code to communicate with other terrorist cells throughout Spain. My duty was to get as much information out of him as possible and record him with a special camera on my glasses. I was to call him the next day to invite him to lunch.
It worked, he was happy to listen to me, and we met that same day. I met him at his house, a corrala in Lavapiés. As soon as I entered the doorway I put the camera on my glasses to record. That was my problem. The batteries of the glasses don't last long, only a few hours. Alone Jazz made me wait for about an hour. African time obviously. As soon as he saw me, he introduced me to the future mother of his child—a young black girl from the island of Bioko.
 Interesting, I thought to myself. The commissioner would have information. A new revolutionary indoctrinated from the cradle was on his way. We went to her house, and I saw all her paintings. That was the objective, to discover the secret message of his paintings and how he transmitted the information. He talked and talked about his art, and I recorded and recorded with my camera in my glasses. We went for a walk in Lavapiés and went into a black anarchist place. Great, all unpublished material for my report.
It was already lunchtime, and we went to an African restaurant. I paid, but they didn't give me a bill, which is a problem because I didn't get my money back at the police station. Lucrecia was very friendly, and I did some research for my report. I found out that she was Bubi and Alone Jazz Fang. I tried to put one against the other as I was taught in the spy class, CIA manual abroad. You know, Tutsis against Hutus and vice versa.
But it didn't work; they loved each other too much to fight over race. I didn't see anything obviously suspicious in their pictures either. But of course, I have to do a report. And I have to get it right if I want to be reassigned the case.
We were having a coffee when my camera glasses started to vibrate. The battery was running low. I had to make a quick phone call on the sly and meet the support agent, and switch material. I made up an excuse and met my contact a couple of blocks away. Everything was flawless, as they taught us in the police school for foreigners. I exchanged the camera glasses and ran back.
But they were gone. What nerves. I went all over Lavapiés, but I didn't see them. I called air support, and they sent a helicopter to locate them. Lucrecia was wearing a light blue dress; they had to find her quickly.
I don't want to criticise my colleagues in the air unit, but it was already dark when they located her. I ran to the place and told them.
 
Ah, what a coincidence. I'll see you again in the neighbourhood.
 
They were a bit surprised, but accepted my last drink. So I laughed and prepared my report with the clear objective of getting back to the investigation.
Report
The dangerous Alone Jazz has returned to Madrid with the clear objective of resurrecting the black panthers. But they have adapted to the times and are now the Pink Panthers. Perhaps because of new contacts with extremist transgender communities. They have connections with anarchist groups and radical LGTBI collectives. The anarchist local in Lavapiés should be investigated by an officer who knows the black community in Madrid.
The pictures that Alone Jazz paints and exhibits with them definitely have a secret message and I recommend the interior ministry to buy them all from him, so that they can be investigated in detail. If he sells his works, he will not do any more exhibitions in Spain, and the pan-African indoctrination of the Afro community will cease.
 
My recordings were not as good as I had hoped because of the camera-glasses faults. I ask the Ministry of the Interior and Foreign Affairs to invest more funds in spying equipment. The batteries of the camera-gaffes are not good.
Lucrecia, the girlfriend of the implicated person, has a code name Black Blackbird and is a Bubi pro-independence person who has infiltrated the Pink Panthers. They don't prepare any attacks, only exhibitions of paintings. But they are active in indoctrinating young blacks in Madrid. They also want to have a child to expand the Pan-African community and the Pan-African message.
 
This couple should be specifically monitored as they could destabilise the current policies of the Ministry of the Interior on foreigners.