Congratulations Tourist with an Agenda!

When the man in a suit wearing dark sunglasses pulls you out of line you'll act nonchalant about it at first.

"Who, me?  I am but simple tourist.  Nothing to see here, sir," you'll politely intone.

"That's not true," he'll respond, which will, in fact, be a true statement.

"Okay, you catch me.  I am spy."

He'll look at you like he doesn't believe you, and he'll have good reason.  You'll look like an absolute shitheel, and you'll just have admitted to being a spy without being interrogated, without even being asked a direct question.  You'll have volunteered the information.  Which, again, will be true, but will carry with it a caveat, one that you'll inject into your conversation following the awkward pause that occupied the time it took you to read this paragraph.

"Novel writer.  I am a writer of novels about spies, you see."

The guard will shake his head.

"That's an incredibly obtuse way to phrase that."

"Yes," you'll reply.  "Is quite truth."

After that, the guard will let you go, unconcerned with your bumbling attempts at spycraft, uninterested in your generic sounding novels, and totally unaware of your real super secret agenda: being kind of an asshole to other people on the tour.  You'll walk slower than is generally considered socially acceptable while on stairs, ask a number of questions that hint at details about yourself that no one else on the tour cares about and, at one point, ask a woman out while she's standing next to a man who is obviously her husband.

In a few months, you'll send out a manuscript of your second novel, "The Asshole Spy."

There will be little discernible interest in the text.

Congratulations Tourist with an Agenda!