“Garak, what’s two plus two?” Entek asked. Garak knew, and he knew Entek knew, but he didn’t know if the Central Command knew, so he had to keep it under wraps.
Garak walked into Doctor Bashir’s Infirmary and asked: “Doctor, would you like to start working as an Obsidian Order agent?”. Shocked, Doctor Bashir jumps up from his chair, then looks at Garak as if he had lost his mind. Garak turns around and starts to leave, but then he stops and asks: “Doctor, could you spare some aspirin?”. Old spy trick: people only remember the end of conversations.
Garak casually approached the rendezvous point with his contact. According to the preplanned signal, he knocked on the door one hundred and twenty-seven times. To no response. He took a step back and looked into the window – just like he thought. On the windowsill there was a sign they had been discovered – sixty-three clothing irons.
Garak has left behind a darling on Cardassia – beautiful Palandine. Just in case, his letters to her he writes in Romulan and with his left hand. He also doesn’t send them.
Garak heard a knock on his tailor shop’s door. He opened them. It was a little regnar. “Hello, little silly. Do you want some milk?” he asked. “You’re fucking silly!” said the regnar. “I’m from the Obsidian Order, idiot!”
Well-disguised, Garak walked down the streets of Romulus. Still, somewhat in him betrayed that he was a Cardassian spy: maybe it was his slightly foreign accent, maybe his Obsidian Order insignia he left pinned to his chest, or maybe just his ridges?
Garak loved to sit in his chair and feel the power of Cardassian literature. The power was electrical in nature and came from the chair itself.
A stranger came into Captain Sisko’s office. He stood in front of his chair and made odd gestures with his hands and various winks. Finally, with an air of intrigue, he said: “Cardassian voles are migrating north, and grain weevils are following after them.” Captain Sisko looked at the stranger with obvious distaste. “Garak’s shop is downstairs,” he said.
Garak opened the door to his bathroom. Suddenly, the light came on. “It’s a trap!” Garak thought. It was actually his mistakenly opened fridge.
The speedometer on Dukat Senior’s skimmer showed 120 km/h. Outside of its window, Garak walked, expertly pretending like he was not in a hurry to get anywhere.
When it was time to walk across the Promenade, in order to not arouse any suspicion, Garak dropped to his hands and knees and quickly crawled to the meeting point.
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