Congratulations on Recovering Your Data!

As a spy you’ve done some pretty crazy shit. You’ve killed men for learning too much, you’ve been tortured for information you didn’t have, you’ve gone to Six Flags alone to meet a contact (easily the most uncomfortable thing you’ve ever done). You ever had sex with a Russian chick one time. Or Polish, you weren’t entirely sure.

But today you’re going to do something crazy even by your standards.

You’ll come upon the French mercenary you’ve been tracking in the Savannah, somewhere inside Kruger. There won’t be another soul for miles and miles – you’ll have gone offroad almost a week ago and never looked back. He’ll be laying there on his back, staked out in the sun, both knees bent at odd angles, one hand shattered.

“It’ll end one way or another,” you’ll tell him. “It’ll just end faster if you work with me.”

He’ll grimace and spit at you.

“Real mature,” you’ll say, shaking your head. You’ll take the tack hammer to his right hand, splintering the bones in the fingers, the hands, the wrist. The limb will go slack under your efforts - he’ll thrash uselessly in place, arms and legs ignoring his commands.

“FED IT!” he’ll gasp.

“Pardon?” you’ll say, crooking your ear towards him. He’ll let out a long, low moan and you’ll pull out your pistol.

“Elephant shit,” he’ll gasp at you. Then he’ll start laughing, a coarse and vile rasp erupting from his throat. “Fucki-“ he’ll coo, but your gun will finish the sentence for him, the shot echoing across the savannah. You’ll run your hand through your hair and sigh as you get the gasoline out of your truck and slosh it over his corpse. You’ll light the match and walk back to your truck, considering absently where the nearest herd of elephants would be. There will only be one watering hole within a reasonable distance, so you’ll surmise that he must’ve found some way to get one of the elephants who waters there to eat the drive. And since he’s a clever fucker he will have made sure that the elephant would pass the drive near the watering hole, so he’d be sure to be able to find it.

You’ll wait there for the better part of a day before a small herd of elephants, including one very, very big bull, saunters up to the watering hole. You’ll watch them as they drink. They’ll occasionally turn cautiously towards you, questioning your intent, before shaking their ears and turning back to their business. They’ll each shit, a heaping, steaming pile that you know will harden as soon as night falls. If you don’t get the drive before that happens you’ll have to crack open each pile of shit and risk damaging the drive. Better to do it while it’s still warm.

You’ll luck out, and the elephants will leave long before their shit starts to cool. You’ll be able to snap on a latex glove and rummage through each pile – it’ll be buried in the largest of the piles, the one from the bull, a tremendous heap that’ll make you wish you never flunked out of college, joined the army and tested positive for sociopathic tendencies during the service exam. But you’ll have the drive and you’ll be able to go home, and that’s something, isn’t it?

Congratulations on Recovering Your Data!