Now for the rest: Deliver Fund is an intelligence operations firm, with its front sight set on disrupting and fracturing Human Trafficking networks. We are mid-ninety percentile laminated pocket protector-wearing, snotty nose-sniffling, bad haircut sporting, no girlfriend-having computer nerds… and proud of it. Most of our best work is done pinning down office chairs with our asses, searching Internet data that is by definition Open Source Intelligence (OSINT); the big O!
OSINT is public information that is one hundred percent legally available information that anyone can glean, given a computer and internet connection. An additional volley of firepower comes to us through other commercially sponsored resources not typically available (or even desired) by the consumer.
A large repository of exploitable target information readily available comes from the many social media staples such as Facebook and BackPage. Ah, my favorite, Facebook… because nothing I say all day long is for every single person I know, and because everyone I know wants to see pictures of my infant children in the bathtub together wearing soap beards—I mean, where else would they get that, get it?
So if ~95% of our time is holding down our helium office chairs and fingering our mice… what then, pray tell, do with do with the other ~five percent? That then, must be when we dart into phone booths to change into our ninja blacks, cross our belts of machine gun ammo across our chests, and deliver a greyhound bus load of pimps and racketeers to city central lockup, right?

Well, I’ll be the last to admit that is incorrect, because I actually think that sounds pretty cool, and certainly will retain that version of the story for when I troll the mall for chicks on the weekends. At the (very real) risk of losing some of my fan base, the less swashbuckling truth is that last five percent is spent verifying, ultimately, if persons and places are who and where the Internet says they are, and most of that entails not even getting out of my truck.
The illusion of kicking in doors, diving through windows, and hog-tying pimps in record rodeo time trials is… well its an illusion. Having been asked where that concept escaped from, well, words escape me like Hogan’s Heroes. But, I have an educated theory:
“…we do hire, and hope to continue to hire, retired operatives with military Special Operations backgrounds, primarily for the experience they offer in the realm of intelligence operations.”
With that, I submit to you that those of us who are retired from the field, have had our share of thrills, danger, and attempted remakes of Jason Bourne movies. I for one am all about that, being retired from all that, that is. As far as excitement and adventure go, I’m happy with the prize at the bottom of my box of Alpha-Bits, and if I even do ride the merry-go-round at Coney Island with my Small Daughter, I would actually fasten that safety belt thingy, and wait until the ride came to a complete stop before unbuckling it.
I often say, and I will say again, that there is the real world, and then there is the game. The winners are the ones who can best distinguish between the two.
The game entails sweeping in on crime with my HT cape flapping in the breeze, as I snatch and deliver the bad guys to Gotham City Metro. In the real world I take my weekly 60 hours of internet research out for a windshield tour of the underbelly of my broken city, and bonus; I have a paycheck at the end of it all.
Here’s to you and me, my friends, my brothers and sisters, my fellow mothers and fathers. We who took the insane risk of having children and falling hopelessly madly in love with their precious faces… only to worry for the rest our lives. What possibly could we ever do if we lost them, even for a second, to the demonic scourge to humanity that is human abduction; trafficked for forced labor of EVERY kind.
This is what we’re doing for children. By the grace of God you may be grateful that we have a plan for the unthinkable, are ready to work that plan all the time, and don’t mind one bit doing it.
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