by Jack Freeman
At 00.45hours, on a typically damp night, a diesel van marked “Water Services”, drew up in Duke Street. The men inside the van got out and taped off the street around the manhole and erected a large red tent over the manhole cover. Azar and Jack parked a second van equipped as an ambulance round the corner on Wigmore Street and joined the others in the tent.
The manhole cover was slowly prised open just enough to allow the sleeping gas grenades to be rolled down the chute. As the grenades rumbled down, the cover was replaced and they then heard dull pops as the grenades burst and filled the cellars with incapacitating gas.
The two men and Azar put on gas masks and after 10 minutes opened the cover again. The first man slid in to the chute but only sank to waist height. He was quickly pulled out again. He cursed quietly and said, “The dumb thing gets too narrow, I can’t get down it!”
Azar broke in “Maybe I can make it. Sometimes being small is a plus and this is one of those times.”
“Ok,” said Jack, “We’ll have to try that. Take care down there.”
Azar slid down almost too easily, and fell rapidly and heavily onto the cellar floor, covered in coal dust. She was briefly stunned but quickly came round to see that, to her relief, Max was lying near by, still tied to the pole, and unconscious, but looking unharmed. Two heavily built men were slumped near by. A message was scratched on to the cellar wall – “Kilroy woz here,” and it was supplemented by a scratched picture of Kilroy peering over a wall.
“The two out of it here are no doubt Schmidt and Muller,” thought Azar, “But no sign of Kilroy or that Murphy character. Funny, we hadn’t heard they might be here.”
She took the bolt cutters from her equipment belt and loosed Max’s arm from the chain linking him to the pole. She checked that Schmidt and Muller were out of action by kicking their legs hard enough to bruise, while training the silenced machine gun on them. Both remained unconscious.
She then opened the cellar door and went up the narrow stairs to the door leading to the ground floor hallway. As she opened the door at the top of the stairs, a man with a handgun came out of a nearby office. He was yawning and had apparently just woken from a natural sleep. He must have heard something, thought Azar. Hope he’s the only one.
“Drop the gun!” Azar yelled.
“No way, sweetheart,” replied Garcia and calmly took aim at Azar. Now that he was working with Papa Doc Duvalier he had become involved with a voodoo cult and believed he had voodoo protection from a leading Haitian exponent and that belief led to the view that he could not be harmed. This belief was falsified by three machinegun bullets to the left leg fired by Azar using her weapon in single shot mode.
Garcia screamed in pain as Azar used the chain from the cellar to secure him by his arms to the banister.
“Shut up, right now, you stupid bastard,” yelled Azar as she pulled up Gardia’s shirt and stuffed it into his mouth.
Leaving Garcia moaning by the stairs, Azar opened the front door and waved in Jack and the other two agents, who had the ambulance in place and were equipped with a stretcher. The manhole cover had been replaced and the tapes and tent tidied away.
Jack gasped as he saw the wounded man tied to the banister moaning through the improvised gag. “Shit, well if it isn’t Johnny Garcia himself. We should do the world a favour and plug you right now. But we’ll leave you this time. That’s us even now. Don’t try getting to our guys again, you hear.”
Garcia nodded and then vainly tried to curse Jack and his descendants through the shirt gagging him.
Max was carried up the stairs from the cellar by the two agents, loaded on to the stretcher and taken out to the ambulance. They then drove to the car park under the US embassy and Max was installed, still unconscious and oblivious of the violent action that had taken place around him, in the small hospital facility inside the Embassy. The Germans and Garcia were left where they were.
6 in the morning, Max finally regained consciousness and became aware of Azar dozing by his bedside. He had to pinch himself several times to accept that he was indeed awake in a hospital bed and not still dreaming in a dark and dirty cellar.
“Whoa..what just happened here?” he asked Azar, as she in turn woke up.
As Azar explained the events of the previous night Max kept expressing disbelief.
“Hey, I love you girl, you know that. What a gal. A real Annie Oakley. And that Jack. What a guy. I think I love him too...in a guy sort of way , not a gay way you understand…”
Azar stared at Max. “They gave you some kind of drug , didn’t they? Its not just the gas we used that knocked you out. You’re talking like you’re drunk but you aren’t, are you? You don’t smell of it at all. You are high on something, high as a kite!”
“You’re absolutely right. They stuck a big old needle into me and I don’t remember anything after that. It was Garcia. He said they had a truth drug that really worked after 12 hours or so unconsciousness. Whatever it was, it gave me the most fantastic total recall it seemed like, going back years while I was out of it. It was like time travel, it was so real. That drug could be a hit, believe me, we’ve got to get the formula. But the hallucinatory recall was a side effect. Mainly it was supposed to lead to compulsive truth telling on coming to. Garcia was going to try to get all the names of the assets I’ve used in the recent ops involving the Cubans, Trujillo and the RPI. This means he is in league with Castro and the RPI, as we were suspecting. Our old pal Ali showed up too. Theory is that that little rat Agee let him out and Agee’s being covertly investigated right now. Did you get Ali this time?”
“Shit. No, we didn’t see him at all. Jack knew that Ali was on the loose and we suspected he might be part of this but didn’t know for sure. We shouldn’t have left Garcia last night. He worries me. What’s more, there was graffiti, saying Kilroy was here, like appeared outside the shop at there time of the shoot up. So maybe Murphy and Kilroy were involved too but not around tonight?”
“Well I didn’t see them and maybe the graffiti go back to WW 2 when they popped up everywhere from Okinawa to Anzio and Berlin. I guess that was Jack’s call to leave Garcia be. He probably has other plans for Johnny Boy. Ours not to reason why, wheels within wheels and all that…anyway I’m into peace and love now. You know that. So, next time I see Johnny I’ll give him the peace sign and a big hug. He’s lovely really, deep down…so is Ali too.”
“Hope that drug wears off soon. You won’t last 5 minutes out there with all that peace and love stuff. Garcia would definitely blow you away before you got in hugging distance. Same goes for Ali Saeed and Murphy.”
“Such a cynic, dear one. Speaking of hugging how about getting in here,” said Max with a grin, patting the bed.
“Mmm, better lock the door, we don’t want nurse barging in, or do we want a threesome, you naughty boy!”
Azar locked the door and joined Max in the bed, still in her combat clothes and hugged him tightly. She was thrilled that she had pulled of a successful action and in a role reversal the damsel had rescued the knight in distress. Again, she was getting a high from feelings of power mixed with erotic sensations,
“Didn’t Kali have lots of arms? that would be good right now,” said Azar. As her excitement grew more intense, she realised that when she closed her eyes she was imagining Jack Johnson was under her rather than Max. Fantasising about Jack took her over the edge to orgasm.
As Max began falling asleep, Azar left and had to shake her head several times to expunge thoughts of Jack. It must have been to do with the rescue action and the growing associations in her brain between sex and violence, she thought.
Jack in his cubicle upstairs in the Embassy building drafted his report on the action to free Max and wondered if there was some way he could see more of Azar. Just then, Azar appeared at his door and told him about Ali being involved in Max’s kidnapping.
“Shit. Sorry, I couldn’t warn you guys sooner about Ali being on the loose but I wasn’t informed until real la
te in the day. Sounds like that guy Agee has turned. He let Ali escape but kept it under wraps. Compartmentalisation has its problems, you could say. We haven’t seen any sign of Murphy or Kilroy, despite the graffiti. But we do know one or both of them are out there somewhere. Just not sure if they are involved in this particular stunt. Is Max ok, now?”
“Yeah, I would say he is nearly back to normal, but the truth drug has had some weird effects, so he’s been spouting more beatnik drivel than usual.”
“Hah, hah, hope that doesn’t last. See you around, I hope. Do keep in touch, and not just for emergencies.”
“Ok, be seeing you,” said Azar and left, thinking, Yes, she would like to see a lot more of Jack, a whole lot more.
Meanwhile, Max was dozing on his hospital bed when he became aware of two white coated figures in his room and heard the door being locked.
“Well now,” said a soft Irish voice, “if it isn’t our old friend Max Blue. How are you feeling? Ready to talk over old times? And what did you tell our CIA friends about our little set up?”
“Sure, sure,” replied Max, “Joe isn’t it and your colleague Kilroy? Nice to see you again. Well, I passed on news about you to the CIA. They were especially interested in that Mafia-Cuban plan re our President Kennedy and I gave them good descriptions of you guys. But they did have some files on you from your Irish rebel days. Wait a minute, I see that Joe, you look a bit battle scarred so the old description doesn’t quite fit.”
“That’s right. A bomb can cost you your looks, you know. I think that was all down to you, Max, wasn’t it?” asked Murphy.
“Well, yes, it sure was. I figured the john was right under your office so that’s where the big one went for that night and left a tiddler for the Shah. He’s our ally you see, so couldn’t really follow through for you there. Your plan was nice, I’m not saying it wasn’t. Just not right for me.”
“Well, ok. Lucky for me you got it a bit wrong and I wasn’t directly above your gadget but near enough to get a shock and lose a whole lot of skin on my best side. Kilroy here was fine. He’d bounce back from most things. So he would. By the way, you know why he never says anything? Show him, Kilroy?”
Kilroy went up close to Max and opened his mouth to show a short ragged stump of tongue.
“Jeez. What happened there?” asked Max.
“When he was a boy they didn’t have this nice drug you are enjoying. Some bad guys wanted to know where his dad, a certain type of IRA man was, and he wouldn’t say, so out comes the tongue. He’s quite bitter about it and usually I let him work it out on people we want to talk. He’s got quite an array of tools for this purpose about his person. But looks like we won’t need to use his services with you. You are singing a treat.”
“Sorry about the face, Joe, and about the tongue business, Mr Kilroy. Anything else you’d like to know?”
“Maybe we could just confirm you are still a CIA asset and all this revolution stuff is a cover?”
“Tell you the truth, and this drug is good like that, I can’t tell a lie right now. I’m kinda storm tossed like a cork in that big old sea. I’m for a revolution in the head, for freedom, meditation, creativity, doing your own thing, exploring consciousness, drugs, you name it. I don’t like the commies or the capitalists too much. Guess I’m a sort of libertarian anarchist and sometimes work with one lot and sometimes with the other. Tacking in the breeze, hopin’ to get to a promised land one day…”
“Ok, ok, enough of the beatnik bullshit. I guess that drug really does work. You are a very mixed up guy. Me, I’m simple. Money is my main driver. But there is another one that is quite strong. That’s revenge. So although its not actually necessary to get you to talk, I am going to ask Mr Kilroy here to practice on you, for a bit, just to keep his hand in,” said Murphy, pulling out his Colt .45 and training it on Max.
Ok, thought Max, it’s surprise time.
“Just let me push the covers down so Mr Kilroy can get at me better. I totally dig what you are saying. Revenge can be sweet like the old saying has it…,” so saying Max swung himself over to the other side of the bed and gambling that Murphy would not fire and bring the security team down on the room, rammed the wheeled bed into Kilroy and Murphy, sending them crashing against the wall. In a blur of action, Max was on top of Murphy, crashing a heavy jug of water on his head and grabbing the Colt.
“Hold it Kilroy, I will use this thing. Yep, it is loaded. You can see the rotating chambers, can’t you?”
Kilroy nodded and sat back, resigned. Max smashed the gun into Murphy’s head to ensure he stayed out of the action. Don’t want him dead. Need him to spill all about the Kennedy plot. That’s got to be stopped.
Max rang the bell, and told the startled attendant to get Johnson and some guards down here right away.
“What’s been going on Max?” asked Jack , startled at the sight of Max in a hospital gown wielding a Colt .45 over a quietly sitting man and a bloody headed unconscious man.
“These bozos are Murphy, with the sore head, and Kilroy, of the silent service. Yes, he really exists. This one anyway. They thought they had got to me while the truth drug was kicking in. But its effects had passed and I conned them. They decided to torture me for kicks anyway, so then it was surprise time, as I transformed from spaced out, beat truth teller, to action man. You should bang these up in your holding facility here and get them over to Long Beach or wherever you hold jerks nowadays, out of reach of law. Murphy here has intel on some kind of plot against JFK. Murphy’s not your usual nutter, ranting about taking JFK out, he does plots for a business, so take it seriously. I think he’ll talk. Especially, if you sweeten it with money. Poor Kilroy can’t actually talk, but he can probably write and can do the yes/no head shake, so you should be able to get something out of him. Now can I get a bit of rest and for goodness sake, put a decent guard on this room. Court-martial whoever was supposed to be doing it.”
“Too late for that. Looks like these guys snuffed the guard with a hypo of God knows what. Things look bad for this pair. They’ll need to come up with some really special intel to get out of bumping off a Marine on US territory. Here, have a slug of this,” saying which Jack pulled out a flask of Jack Daniels. Max took a slug and started to hand the flask back.
“Shit. Keep it. You earned it,” Jack added.
Chapter 18. Playing away
Three days after Max had been extracted from the Dominican Embassy, Jack came to see him at the book shop.
“Well, Max, just coming by to let you know that Ali and Garcia have vanished again. The Dominican Republic Embassy deny that anything at all happened there the other night. Their security records state no events at all. Our asset there reports that everything is cleaned up and back to normal.”
“Ok..so, they snuck Garcia away, just like they snuck him back in, when he was supposed to be away before. What happened to those Germans and there was a Scotch doctor guy I recognised, Finlay, who had something to do with a Company mind control programme once?”
“Herren Schmidt and Muller are recorded as leaving through Dover yesterday. So hopefully, we won’t hear of them ever again. They are now on the West German police radar and will be under observation for some time. Finlay, we don’t know. We’re looking into him as another potential defector, along with Agee. He had been a willing Company asset but seems to have turned. He left the McGill laboratory without warning. His boss, Cameron, is putting it about that it’s a family crisis back in Scotland but rumours are flying round psychiatric circles that its drink or drugs or a child porn scandal. We don’t really know, but he is on our list of hostiles to be addressed. I guess Garcia and company maybe have something on Agee and Finlay, or maybe it’s just dough.”
“OK. I seem to remember the Jerries weren’t too nice to me before the needle went in, so I wouldn’t mind bumping into them again some dark night. Finlay seems a creep but maybe he kept me alive while doped up. At least I wasn’t OD’d. Mainly, I ’m not too thrilled that Garcia
and Ali are out there somewhere. Their beef with me hasn’t gone away. In fact it’s worse than ever now. Semper vigilo, always alert, will have to be our motto for a while now.”
As it turned out, the next four months passed peacefully and Azar and Max resumed their quasi-bohemian lives as beat generation book sellers and figures on the underground scene. They were regularly found at happenings, poetry readings and gallery openings all around the capital.
In mid-August 1962, Max found in the morning mail a thin blue aerogram letter from Lola Lopez. This was puzzling as when they had met back in Miami, after the Kidd debacle and before the Bay of Pigs fiasco, Max had kept his true name secret. Intrigued, Max slit open the letter and read,
“Hi Max, you were a very naughty boy to kid me on about your name and job when we met up in Miami Beach. But I forgive you! Guess what, I was sent to DC to visit CIA HQ about six months ago to ask them about using the real place as a set in a new secret agent action film. I saw your picture in a group photo on the wall of the coffee room they used to throw me a swell party. I told the sweet man I was talking with (Agee, I think was his name, does that ring a bell?) that I thought I had met the guy in the picture. He told me all about you! So much for security! Anyway, I’m coming over to damp little old Great Britain in a week to help at a premiere at the Edinburgh Film Festival. It’s Dr No . It’s a secret agent pic and that should be right up your street. It would be great if you could come up and see me there. I know you’re married now, but that never stopped me...so, its up to you. I’ll be at the North British hotel, Edinburgh, August 20-25. Maybe see you then? All love & kisses, Lola”
The next day Max announced to Azar that he was going to the Edinburgh Festival.
“There’s going to be a Writer’s Conference up there. It should be good. Bill Burroughs, Norman Mailer, Henry Miller are all going to be there. It will be a gas, in fact. Also, the Film Festival looks good. There will be premieres of the Manchurian Candidate and Dr No, both of which relate to my previous line of work.”
