I felt we were running out of missions.

The CIA was funding them.

'Keep up the good work,' was the cryptic message.

Any new toys, I asked.

They had a plane that could fly up to speeds of Marc 5  and asked if I'd like to try it out.

That was 6174 kilometers per hour.

That meant they had another mission planned for us.

I bet it was either Panama or Colombia.

'We know you have traveled extensively around Central America,' said Max, who was thoughtfully stirring a  mini red umbrella in his drink.

It had to be a bloody mary.

Drug cartels, I asked.

Something even better, he replied.

'And if we take the top-secret plane, we could be in Latin America in about three or even two hours, depending on how high I take that baby.'

More like one, I said, if we reach the outer limits of space.

This was becoming more and more like Moonraker by the minute.

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