Moneypenny Diaries: Guardian Angel

by Samantha Kate

  An old man approached. He had served in the navy after the war and spent a year in Liverpool, before returning to his home town of Mariel, where he had worked in the port until his retirement. He accompanied me to the port gates. As we walked, he described recent strange activity in the port area. A month ago, several foreign soldiers had been to visit. A week later, a passenger ship had docked in Mariel and many hundreds of young men had disembarked. All wore civilian clothes – fawn trousers, checked cotton shirts and heavy boots – but marched like soldiers. The ship had strange writing on its sides, possibly Russian or Polish. Two weeks ago, the order was given for everybody living within a half-mile radius of the port area to evacuate their homes. The same men had taken over port security, barring any Cubans without special papers from entering and leaving.

  As we approached a road-block half a mile from the port gates, a jeep passed and I recognised one of my Havana security contacts in the passenger seat. His driver stopped at the tall iron gates to the port and two guards ran out of the sentry house. They wore uniforms of black with green epaulettes. I walked the perimeter of the port fence; there were guard stations at regular intervals and security appeared to be tight.

  Walking back into town, my Cuban contact said he had heard that all major deep-water ports in Cuba have been taken over by these men. The local people are scared. They do not know what is happening and fear another American invasion.

  ‘It certainly appears that the Russians are moving into Cuba,’ said Head of S after reading 007’s report. ‘They’re transporting goods and personnel that require high levels of maskirovka.’ He looked across at M: ‘That’s deception, sir. There’s a possibility that the cargos could be missiles – perhaps, given the evidence of the epaulettes, the same missiles that 006 saw being loaded on to ships in Severomorsk?’

  ‘Thank you, CS,’ said M. ‘If your analysis is correct, the situation is serious. We need to get a message to 007 to try to find out the exact nature of the cargo. It’s extremely irritating that we cannot contact him. Let’s try to get a message through that Frenchman again. Meanwhile, keep quiet about this. We need not tell the Cousins; we don’t want to alert them to 007’s movements.’

  Wednesday, 15th August

  An urgent cable from 007 arrived this morning, addressed to ‘M, Eyes Only’. It was in plain text, but brief:

  BUSINESS HERE SUSPENDED BY UNEXPECTED REVELATIONS CONCERNING EXPORT PROVENANCE STOP IMPERATIVE EYE DEPART ON BUSINESS TRIP TO COASTAL AGENTS WHO REPORT ARRIVAL OF NEW CONSIGNMENTS ON PASSENGER LINERS STOP THE HORSE IS TROJAN REPEAT TROJAN STOP WILL REPORT WHEN POSSIBLE SIGNED VON KASEBERG

  ‘Is M on his way?’ asked Bill as soon as he’d seen the cable. ‘Make sure the Cuba Group is standing by. We’re going to have to act on this immediately.’

  They were all assembled by 10.30. ‘I have here a cable from 007,’ said M. ‘It’s pretty self-explanatory. His cover’s blown and he’s had to go underground. Gone back to the ports to check out what’s on these passenger ships – do we have logs of their movements? Can you check their port of origin, please? This Caballo is definitely a double – he’s probably been working against the Cousins from the beginning. We can assume that means Castro knows all about Mongoose and that Caballo arranged the deaths of those two agents. Is it possible that 007’s presence in Cuba was leaked somehow? Well, let’s check and recheck. Either way he’s in danger.

  ‘We must tell the Americans. I’m going to have to do it personally, directly to the top. Can’t trust the London channel any more. In the meantime, we need to work out the implications. S Section – you find out what’s been happening at your end. Let’s get any information we can from Cuba – satellite pictures, intercepts from the listeners, anything. Chief of Staff, you’re in charge of collation. I want twice-daily reports while I’m away. Triple X through the Embassy. We’ve also got to establish a secure channel to 007. Someone ask Q Branch what they’ve got up their sleeves. We need to be able to communicate with him.’

  As the others left, he motioned for me to stay. ‘Your passport’s up to date, Miss Moneypenny.’ It was not a question.

  ‘You’re coming with me. I’ll need secretarial assistance. Make arrangements for a girl to come up to help Chief of Staff while we’re away. You’ll make sure she runs a tight ship. Book us on the first flight to Washington on Saturday morning. Send cables to the White House and McCone3 to let them know we’re on our way and will need to see them first thing on Monday morning on a matter of the utmost importance and urgency. That will be all. For now.’ As I turned to leave, I saw him reaching for his hot-line to Downing Street.

  M hates travelling by plane and does so only when it’s unavoidable. He’s been to America once in the six years I’ve been working for him and that time he managed to go by ship. I can tell that he’s not looking forward to this trip. He’ll be gruff and difficult for the next few days and I’ll have to keep my head down and ensure everything is done before he’s even asked for it.

  I have to admit, I’m excited about it. What a way to see America – first stop the White House. Not to mention escaping my mess here. M has made no indication of how long we can expect to stay over there and he’s not the sort of person one can ask things like that. I shall just have to pack enough for a week, and then if we stay longer, I can recycle. He’s staying with the Ambassador; I’m to be billeted with the Ambassador’s personal assistant in Georgetown. Helena is coming down to see Frieda again on Friday evening and she’ll take Rafi back with her – he’ll enjoy the break. Mary is moving up to my desk while Joanna Comely takes over her duties; she’ll be more than happy with the opportunity to exchange pleasantries with the oos.

  Thursday, 16th August

  Drinks with Bill. He grabbed me as I was on my way out. ‘A word, please, Penny.’ We went to a small wine-bar on Ebury Street. ‘It’s no bad time for you to be going away,’ he said. ‘I haven’t told the Old Man yet about our little problem. I’m trying to keep it as tight as possible. At present, it’s confined to Dorothy and myself – and our mole, of course. She’s fairly sure she’s got him in her sights, but in any case, she’s going through the list of people who could be privy to security information about employees. It’s not long, but long enough. She’s been cross-referencing it with what we learnt from Kingfisher and there are some overlaps. We’re looking into it, but of course we don’t know whether it’s the same chap we’re after. To be honest, I don’t think we’re going to get to the bottom of it until you have another contact. I imagine it will happen, so long as he doesn’t get wind that we’re after him. That’s why it’s best to be quiet about it.’

  ‘I’m so grateful, Bill. I can’t begin to tell you …’

  ‘Well don’t then,’ he replied. ‘I know you’d do the same for me, if it came to it. Now have a good time over there and forget about all this. Nothing can happen while you’re away. If we don’t hear from him when you get back, we’ll have to put our thinking caps on and try to devise some way to lure him in. We need to get to the bottom of this. Over the last few years this office has come to look like a colander. It’s downright embarrassing.’

  Friday, 17th August

  It’s midnight and I’ve just come back from dinner with Helena. A delight, as always. She manages to remind me that there’s a world out there beyond our secret one. She’s as excited about my trip as I am. From childhood, we’ve dreamt of visiting America together, getting a big American car and driving from coast to coast. I told her that we would, some day. I’m just going ahead to get a feel for the lie of the land. Now I must pack. It’s hot enough over here; apparently it will be stifling there, over 100 and humid. I hope the OM doesn’t melt under his spotted bow-tie.

  Sunday, 18th August, Washington, DC (transcribed on 8th September)

  I left my journal behind and am writing this up from a small notepad I bought at the airport. The flight was unexpectedly enjoyable. I didn’t realise how tense I’d become about the possibility that I was unde
r constant surveillance; for the first time in months, I couldn’t feel the watching eyes on my back. The BOAC double-decker Stratocruiser was half empty and M insisted on a row to himself upstairs. I think he was half terrified at the thought of having to make conversation with me for the entire night. He told me to ‘relax, enjoy yourself’ while he went over the Cuba file. We stopped at Shannon for dinner and when he made no move to invite me to join him I sat at my own table and gazed out of the window at the planes arriving and departing. How much travelling has changed. Nine years ago, Helena and I left Kenya by boat and it took ten days to sail to Southampton. Today, we could fly in a day and a night.

  I’ve never flown so far before and I enjoyed every second of it – sitting in my own capsule far from the fears that have engulfed me over the past months. I felt suddenly affectionate towards M, upstairs with his files, chewing his pipe; I have spent more time alone with him than with anyone else over the past eight years, and yet in many ways he’s a mystery to me. I sometimes wonder whether he would notice if I left, or whether he would continue to call my successor Miss Moneypenny?

  Monday, 19th August, Washington

  An audience at the White House with the Attorney-General4 – ‘Call me Bobby’: an invitation which, needless to say, M did not hasten to take up – and Secretary of State ‘Bob’ McNamara.5 I found it thrilling from the minute the Embassy Rolls swept us through the heavily policed iron gates leading to the building in which more power is concentrated than any other in the world. We followed bespectacled young men down thickly carpeted corridors, past statues of presidents past, and finally to the huge book-lined office of the Attorney-General. I was treated with charm and respect and given my own chair at a small desk across the room from the A-G’s personal assistant, who was taking notes on their behalf. The Americans’ youth was immediately striking; they are both full of energy, handsome and highly motivated. I found them most impressive.

  I was interested to note that M acted no differently towards them than he does to any of the ministers in London who frequently cross his threshold. He was polite, formal, but entirely in command. Once and always a Rear Admiral. He kept his suit coat on throughout, even when the others took theirs off and rolled up their sleeves. He lit his pipe without first asking leave, and didn’t hesitate to grunt and disagree when something they said displeased him. As far as M is concerned, while we have much to thank the Americans for, we are still the senior country, particularly in intelligence concerns.

  ‘Mr Attorney-General. Thank you for seeing me at this short notice,’ he began. ‘I took the unusual step of coming here myself to relate to you the intelligence that we have gathered, as well as my team’s possible interpretations of it, as I believe it has the potential to escalate into a serious problem.’

  Kennedy thanked him and nodded for him to continue.

  ‘As you know, we have been keeping abreast of the situation in Cuba, thanks in great part to the co-operation of one of your men in London, Agent Scott.’

  Again Kennedy nodded. ‘It was our wish to inform you of our operations in that theatre,’ he replied.

  ‘Thank you. We have recently gained access to certain intelligence which I felt you should know about straight away. It concerns Caballo.’

  ‘The CIA’s high-placed source?’

  ‘The man they believe to be their source,’ replied M. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, we have reason to believe that Caballo is a plant – his loyalties are with Castro.’

  The Americans looked at each other. ‘The Agency gave us their assurance that he was clear. There was some initial doubt, I believe, but they checked him out as thoroughly as was possible, given the difficult circumstances – he refused to reveal his true identity, I believe. But all the information he gave us, initially at least, was bang on target, and we’ve sent men into Cuba as a result of it,’ said McNamara. ‘Could I ask on what basis you make that assertion?’

  ‘I’m afraid I am not at liberty to tell you, but I can assure you that our source is entirely trustworthy.’

  ‘You’re sure about this Caballo?’

  ‘Nothing is certain in this business, as you gentlemen well know. But I did not travel halfway across the world to divulge idle speculation.’

  Kennedy turned to McNamara. ‘You remember, there was concern after those two men died over there a couple of months ago. I asked the Agency then whether this source of theirs was bona fide. When they insisted, I was still a little uneasy, and turned to our friends over the pond for assistance in double checking. I didn’t tell you at the time. It was the President’s personal wish.’ He turned back to M. ‘Thank you, sir. We’re grateful to you for coming all this way to tell us this and we would welcome any further intelligence on this matter. The ramifications, as you no doubt have realised, could be serious indeed. Castro is a loose cannon and I’m sure the Russians find him irresistible. I will apprise the President of this development. I’m sure he will want to discuss it further. You’re staying in town a bit longer?’

  ‘Yes, at the Embassy. I’ve prepared a full briefing on our latest Cuba intelligence for you. I have also brought one for the Director of the CIA.’

  The Americans exchanged glances. ‘Admiral, sir. I would be grateful if you could hold off giving it to them for the moment, please,’ said Kennedy. ‘Let us talk to the President first. He’s in Chicago until tomorrow, and I don’t want to trust the information over the telephone. You will hear from us within the next day or two.’

  Wednesday, 22nd August, Washington

  I have met the President. I had a high opinion of him before, but he still managed to surpass those expectations. I’m not sure I have ever been in the same room as someone who exudes such charisma; you can almost touch it. He managed to make me feel like the only woman in the world for the two seconds or so in which he held my hand in his and looked me up and down. Even the oo agents could learn something from JFK about how to treat women.

  M was only slightly slower to be bowled over. At first, I saw him eyeing the President’s youth with a degree of scepticism, but within minutes it was clear that Kennedy was on top of the situation – he knew every detail of the events and operations in Cuba and had thought through the implications of Caballo’s treachery. ‘Look, we have some kind of mess to clear up with our friends at the Agency. Lansdale’s6 busy planning Course B of Operation Mongoose and who knows how much is dependent on compromised information? I had an uneasy feeling about this Caballo guy all along – that’s why I asked Bobby to get you guys in to help. I had this feeling that perhaps we shouldn’t have trusted him. But that’s in the past. Presumably you have a man in Cuba that you can trust?’

  M nodded his assent.

  ‘I don’t need details of who or where he is, but I would like to be kept up to speed with what he discovers as soon as you know yourself. Is that a deal?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I want to know what the hell Castro’s up to now and how the Russians are involved. I don’t trust Khrushchev.”7 He’s denying any aggressive intentions, but that doesn’t mean anything. Meanwhile, he’s dangling Berlin over our heads.

  ‘Now, Admiral. I’m in a somewhat difficult position. I didn’t tell the Agency about our double-checking operation on Caballo and I don’t think they would be best pleased to learn about it now. Obviously, we have to let them know right away that Caballo is a dud. I’m afraid that’s just going to make them and the service chiefs even more hungry for battle, but we must be cautious. Less than two weeks ago, McCone warned that the continued Soviet aid and assistance in Cuba would present what he called “a more formidable problem in the future”.8

  ‘I’m only telling you this so that you’re aware of the sensitivity of the situation we are now in. I hope you will honour me by keeping our discussions today entirely confidential.’

  ‘Of course, Mr President,’ M replied.

  ‘I would very much like your continued help in this matter. What I am about to propose will keep
you away from your organisation for a few days longer. I know you’re a very busy man, but you also understand that the implications of this for the whole world could be potentially catastrophic?’

  M inclined his head and pulled his pipe out of his breast pocket and started to fill it. The President’s Chief of Staff and personal assistant exchanged looks of horror, but the President merely smiled.

  ‘You would be doing me a tremendous personal service if you would agree to go down to Miami to the JM/WAVE HQ to meet Brigadier Lansdale and his team. He needs to be briefed about Caballo. If you wouldn’t mind, it would be much the best if he thought the impetus behind the collection of this information emanated from you. In addition, I would sure appreciate your input on the whole operation. Can you do that?’

  ‘I’ll have to consult my minister of course, but I can’t foresee any opposition,’ said M.

  ‘Great news. I look forward to hearing your man’s reports. Thank you again, Admiral, and good afternoon.’

  Sunday, 26th August, Miami, Florida

  A day off in Miami and I’ve been to the beach. It’s extraordinary, miles of white sand on the fringe of a big city. We flew down on Friday. M had spent the previous day at CIA HQ,9 but he said that I wasn’t required, so instead I walked around Georgetown. What a beautiful place. The streets are lined with perfect brick houses, each with primped lawn and painted shutters. I stayed in a pretty cottage on S Street with Gloria Goschen,10 who, naturally, was keen for news of London. She took me out for dinner one night, to a hamburger restaurant. It was like a rabbit warren – a series of underground caverns, full of diners and people slotting money into juke-boxes. It seemed very relaxed – most of the men wore blue jeans, and the women casual cotton dresses. ‘Is this where the students come?’ I asked Gloria. She laughed. ‘No, this is a Georgetown power-dining centre. Look over there,’ she pointed at a man with razor-short hair and heavy-rimmed glasses. ‘He’s a White House counsel, very close to the Kennedys, while he,’ she pointed at another table across the room, ‘is the President’s chief speech-writer.’ In England, these same people would be smoking cigars in leather armchairs at Blades.