Havana Hell – Chapter 20
Barn Owl Cottage, New Forest, Hampshire UK.
It was dark when Grace eased herself behind the wheel of the dark grey Ford Fiesta that Jason had purchased for her to use for local shopping trips and outings … all part of his effort to domesticate her and make her feel at home at Barn Owl Cottage.
But this was no casual outing. She had grown weary of her repeated attempts to reach Roger Moore by phone going unanswered. And had decided, in her desperation, to drive to MI6 headquarters in London and demand to see him.
She knew full well that she was being foolish. That there was in fact little chance she’d be allowed entry, much less an audience with Roger once she reached the massive MI6 building overlooking the bend of the Thames at Vauxhall. But she was determined to try.
With little traffic to deal with at that hour, she made her way north to Cadnam, swung onto the M27 to circle around Southampton and was on her way to London on the M3 before 4:30 am. With luck she’d reach her destination in no more than an hour and a half and she would avoid the notorious morning London rush as well.
It was raining lightly as she sped northeast, the rhythm of the windscreen wiper blades having a somewhat calming influence on her tightly wound nerves. Call it a sixth sense, woman’s intuition … whatever … she knew all was not well … that the man she had come to trust, and wholeheartedly love, was somehow in mortal danger. She desperately needed to know where he was, who he was with and what was going on.
She saw no reason why Roger Moore could not brief her. She was an ex-special agent who has given her all … including her body … more than once … for ‘The Circus’. After all, hadn’t she rescued his daughter Sophia when the girl had been abducted in Milan a few years ago? Where was the risk? Surely, Roger’d know that whatever he might tell her about Jason’s mission would be safe with her.
It was 4:19 when she pulled the Fiesta into a vacant stall at the St. George Wharf Car Park, just a short walk south of the massively distinctive, ‘postmodern’ temple-like structure of layered blocks that housed London’s foreign intelligence services.
Out on the street, she braced herself against the morning chill and set off at a brisk pace for the main entrance facing Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens.
But before she was halfway there, two wen who had been walking along behind her, suddenly accelerated, hooked arms with her on either side, and whisked her along between them.
“Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, Ms Miller,” said the one on her right in a deep Irish brogue.
“Please come with us, and act as though we’re old friends,” said the other.
“But … what …?” she stammered.
“We’re here to take you in to see Chief Moore,” soothed the man on her left. “He’s been expecting you.”
“But how did you …?” She left the sentence incomplete, for it had suddenly dawned on her, the Fiesta had been bugged with a tracking device.
“Don’t ask questions until we get you inside,” advised the man on her left, steering her away from the building’s main entrance and toward a small, guarded entry point.
Minutes later, on emerging from a lift after an ascent of quite a number of stories, she was met in the corridor before the lift by Roger.
“Welcome Grace,” he breathed in her ear as he embraced her. “I’ve been expecting you. Do come this way. My office is ..."
“I know exactly where your office is Roger, I worked here for long enough, remember?"
Once inside his richly appointed inner sanctum, she broke free of his guiding arm, squared off to face him and shouted, “You don’t answer my calls, you’ve bugged my car! What the fuck is going on Roger?”
“That was Jason who fitted the device in your Fiesta. He wanted you watched over and protected in his absence.”
“Really? And what else did he have bugged?”
“A few mics and video cams placed discreetly around the cottage.” he replied, stepping to the sideboard, “Coffee or tea, Grace? Something to eat, perhaps?”
“Not in the bedroom or bath, I hope.” she demanded, ignoring his hospitable small talk.
He tented his hands and smiled, before offering her a seat with a wave of his hand.
“It’s not like we haven’t seen all of you before, Grace. But be that as it may, you’re here for a purpose. You understandably want to know where Jason is and what is happening, and I’m prepared to do the extraordinary here, and let you sit in as I receive incoming operational messages from the field. For it seems Jason’s mission will be coming to a head in the next few hours.”
“Alright,” she murmured, somewhat mollified. “Where is he and what’s going down, Roger?”
“He’s in Havana, Grace. It’s close to midnight there. He’s engaged, in partnership with Langley, in a high profile mission to save the world from a nuclear bomb falling into the hands of a terrorist organization.”
Her hand went involuntarily to her mouth. “Do we know if he’s alright? Who is he with?”
“We don’t exactly know how well the mission is going, Grace. He’s ensconced with two other agents, and we haven’t heard anything for some time. That’s why Langley has an Anglo-American SAC team going in as we speak. It’s excellently led, I can tell you that by a Swedish chap who knows his business. Word on exactly what’s happening should be any minute now.”
“Who are the other two ensconced agents?”
“Two from the CIA. One acting as a honey pot. The other paired undercover with Roger.”
“Both female?”
“Yes.”
Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
Axel Eriksson pressed his hand to his ear, the better to hear the incoming message above the bursts of ongoing gunfire. He was standing in the big house’s first floor parlor. Two of his team were at his side. Lying before them, sprawled on the floor, were the bloodied corpses of two of CAAL’s security men. Elsewhere in the building, upstairs as well as in the basement below, the sounds of a fiercely contested firefight continued unabated,
The voice in his ear was that of Major Martinez, who had led his DI team into the basement while Eriksson and his Anglo-American team cleared the upper floors. They had agreed on this division of labor as they had closed in on the house Martinez’s men had identified as the target of the raid. The curtain had gine up around half past midnight.
“Eriksson, you’d best get down here as soon as possible. You’ll want to see this.”
“See what?”
“I believe we’ve found two of your people. Mr and Mrs Thompson to us, but I suspect they’re someone else entirely to you. They’re both in a very bad way. CAAL has been torturing them mercilessly. I’ve sent for ambulances as they’re both still alive … but only barely.”
“Yes. They’re ours … two of the three I told you we had ensconced in the house. Her name is Barb, his is Jason. Any sign of our third agent? She goes by Rosa.”
“No, she’s not here. But I believe she was, as it’s pretty obvious that they had been torturing more than just the Thompson’s down here … sorry, I should say, your Barb and Jason. In any case, whoever else was down here, including the torturers, are gone. We’ve only got a few surviving CAAL foot soldiers cornered at the far end of the basement.”
“Alright, I’m on my way down. Listen, Martinez, we’ve got to find that bomb before it’s too late. I need to see whether I can get anything out of Jason or Barb before the ambulances arrive. If Potter and CAAL see their whole setup here as imploding, there’s no end to what they might try to do. Believe me when I say all of Havana is in mortal danger!”
“Right. Watch out when you come down the stairs. As I said, we have the last of them cornered. They’re firing away at us, but aren’t hitting anything as the angle is poor. But there are plenty of errant ricochets. Take care you don’t fall victim to one!”
“Have you lost anyone tonight?”
“Yes, sadly my colleague, Major Sanchez. Bullet in the head, I’m out for revenge!”
To Be Continued
Barn Owl Cottage, New Forest, Hampshire UK.
It was dark when Grace eased herself behind the wheel of the dark grey Ford Fiesta that Jason had purchased for her to use for local shopping trips and outings … all part of his effort to domesticate her and make her feel at home at Barn Owl Cottage.
But this was no casual outing. She had grown weary of her repeated attempts to reach Roger Moore by phone going unanswered. And had decided, in her desperation, to drive to MI6 headquarters in London and demand to see him.
She knew full well that she was being foolish. That there was in fact little chance she’d be allowed entry, much less an audience with Roger once she reached the massive MI6 building overlooking the bend of the Thames at Vauxhall. But she was determined to try.
With little traffic to deal with at that hour, she made her way north to Cadnam, swung onto the M27 to circle around Southampton and was on her way to London on the M3 before 4:30 am. With luck she’d reach her destination in no more than an hour and a half and she would avoid the notorious morning London rush as well.
It was raining lightly as she sped northeast, the rhythm of the windscreen wiper blades having a somewhat calming influence on her tightly wound nerves. Call it a sixth sense, woman’s intuition … whatever … she knew all was not well … that the man she had come to trust, and wholeheartedly love, was somehow in mortal danger. She desperately needed to know where he was, who he was with and what was going on.
She saw no reason why Roger Moore could not brief her. She was an ex-special agent who has given her all … including her body … more than once … for ‘The Circus’. After all, hadn’t she rescued his daughter Sophia when the girl had been abducted in Milan a few years ago? Where was the risk? Surely, Roger’d know that whatever he might tell her about Jason’s mission would be safe with her.
It was 4:19 when she pulled the Fiesta into a vacant stall at the St. George Wharf Car Park, just a short walk south of the massively distinctive, ‘postmodern’ temple-like structure of layered blocks that housed London’s foreign intelligence services.
Out on the street, she braced herself against the morning chill and set off at a brisk pace for the main entrance facing Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens.
But before she was halfway there, two wen who had been walking along behind her, suddenly accelerated, hooked arms with her on either side, and whisked her along between them.
“Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, Ms Miller,” said the one on her right in a deep Irish brogue.
“Please come with us, and act as though we’re old friends,” said the other.
“But … what …?” she stammered.
“We’re here to take you in to see Chief Moore,” soothed the man on her left. “He’s been expecting you.”
“But how did you …?” She left the sentence incomplete, for it had suddenly dawned on her, the Fiesta had been bugged with a tracking device.
“Don’t ask questions until we get you inside,” advised the man on her left, steering her away from the building’s main entrance and toward a small, guarded entry point.
Minutes later, on emerging from a lift after an ascent of quite a number of stories, she was met in the corridor before the lift by Roger.
“Welcome Grace,” he breathed in her ear as he embraced her. “I’ve been expecting you. Do come this way. My office is ..."
“I know exactly where your office is Roger, I worked here for long enough, remember?"
Once inside his richly appointed inner sanctum, she broke free of his guiding arm, squared off to face him and shouted, “You don’t answer my calls, you’ve bugged my car! What the fuck is going on Roger?”
“That was Jason who fitted the device in your Fiesta. He wanted you watched over and protected in his absence.”
“Really? And what else did he have bugged?”
“A few mics and video cams placed discreetly around the cottage.” he replied, stepping to the sideboard, “Coffee or tea, Grace? Something to eat, perhaps?”
“Not in the bedroom or bath, I hope.” she demanded, ignoring his hospitable small talk.
He tented his hands and smiled, before offering her a seat with a wave of his hand.
“It’s not like we haven’t seen all of you before, Grace. But be that as it may, you’re here for a purpose. You understandably want to know where Jason is and what is happening, and I’m prepared to do the extraordinary here, and let you sit in as I receive incoming operational messages from the field. For it seems Jason’s mission will be coming to a head in the next few hours.”
“Alright,” she murmured, somewhat mollified. “Where is he and what’s going down, Roger?”
“He’s in Havana, Grace. It’s close to midnight there. He’s engaged, in partnership with Langley, in a high profile mission to save the world from a nuclear bomb falling into the hands of a terrorist organization.”
Her hand went involuntarily to her mouth. “Do we know if he’s alright? Who is he with?”
“We don’t exactly know how well the mission is going, Grace. He’s ensconced with two other agents, and we haven’t heard anything for some time. That’s why Langley has an Anglo-American SAC team going in as we speak. It’s excellently led, I can tell you that by a Swedish chap who knows his business. Word on exactly what’s happening should be any minute now.”
“Who are the other two ensconced agents?”
“Two from the CIA. One acting as a honey pot. The other paired undercover with Roger.”
“Both female?”
“Yes.”
Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
Axel Eriksson pressed his hand to his ear, the better to hear the incoming message above the bursts of ongoing gunfire. He was standing in the big house’s first floor parlor. Two of his team were at his side. Lying before them, sprawled on the floor, were the bloodied corpses of two of CAAL’s security men. Elsewhere in the building, upstairs as well as in the basement below, the sounds of a fiercely contested firefight continued unabated,
The voice in his ear was that of Major Martinez, who had led his DI team into the basement while Eriksson and his Anglo-American team cleared the upper floors. They had agreed on this division of labor as they had closed in on the house Martinez’s men had identified as the target of the raid. The curtain had gine up around half past midnight.
“Eriksson, you’d best get down here as soon as possible. You’ll want to see this.”
“See what?”
“I believe we’ve found two of your people. Mr and Mrs Thompson to us, but I suspect they’re someone else entirely to you. They’re both in a very bad way. CAAL has been torturing them mercilessly. I’ve sent for ambulances as they’re both still alive … but only barely.”
“Yes. They’re ours … two of the three I told you we had ensconced in the house. Her name is Barb, his is Jason. Any sign of our third agent? She goes by Rosa.”
“No, she’s not here. But I believe she was, as it’s pretty obvious that they had been torturing more than just the Thompson’s down here … sorry, I should say, your Barb and Jason. In any case, whoever else was down here, including the torturers, are gone. We’ve only got a few surviving CAAL foot soldiers cornered at the far end of the basement.”
“Alright, I’m on my way down. Listen, Martinez, we’ve got to find that bomb before it’s too late. I need to see whether I can get anything out of Jason or Barb before the ambulances arrive. If Potter and CAAL see their whole setup here as imploding, there’s no end to what they might try to do. Believe me when I say all of Havana is in mortal danger!”
“Right. Watch out when you come down the stairs. As I said, we have the last of them cornered. They’re firing away at us, but aren’t hitting anything as the angle is poor. But there are plenty of errant ricochets. Take care you don’t fall victim to one!”
“Have you lost anyone tonight?”
“Yes, sadly my colleague, Major Sanchez. Bullet in the head, I’m out for revenge!”
To Be Continued
) ...