Moneypenny Diaries: Guardian Angel

by Samantha Kate

  I was led to the bridge, where Red Beard was talking to one of the men in black. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded in Spanish. When I didn’t reply, he asked again in English, Russian and French. ‘My name is von Kaseberg. I am a Swiss businessman,’ I told him. ‘And I would appreciate it if you could call off your men, otherwise I will be forced to report you.’

  ‘To who? The United Nations?’ He let out a deep-bellied laugh. ‘You are not in Switzerland now. Tell me what you are doing here. This is a restricted site.’

  ‘I was looking for General Gil. I was told he would be in Mariel and I have a proposition to make to him.’

  ‘What is it then? Spit it out,’ he said.

  ‘Are you General Gil?’

  ‘Whether I am or not is nothing to you. Tell me your proposition.’

  I told him about the early-stage American Hawk missiles3 that I had to offer and he just laughed, ‘I am not interested in such chicken-feed,’ he spat. ‘And now you must prove your credentials.’

  ‘If you would just release me, I could return to my hotel and bring you all my papers, as well as specifications of my wares,’ I said. ‘Then perhaps we could have a civilised meeting.’

  Red Beard – who I now know was indeed Gil4 – grunted and showed his teeth again. He said he was going to do independent research into my identity and in the meantime I should think of myself as his guest. He told his men to take me down to a small cabin on the upper deck and lock the door. Some hours later, I was summoned back up to the bridge, where Gil was waiting with the side-kicks I had last seen at the end of my fist in the Havana hotel. ‘Do you know what we do with spies?’ he asked. ‘Yes, I know who you are, Agent 007 of the British secret service. Sadly I am not going to have the opportunity to show you how spies are generally greeted in Cuba, as I have to go back to Havana on a matter of urgency. So I am going to leave you instead in the custody of my friends from the KGB. I have every confidence that they will take very good care of you.’ With a last flash of his teeth he was gone. The KGB were less vocal. They gave me a bottle of vodka and said they were going to execute me as soon as they had received authorisation from Moscow.

  Monday, 3rd September, Miami

  I woke early this morning and as I was walking along the beach I saw a pod of dolphins gambolling through the ocean, and was seized with the glorious, tangible feeling of being alive. In spite of everything, I loved Cuba – it had a vibrancy and colour that I’ve seen nowhere else. Had I not been insanely worried about 007, terrified that I wouldn’t be able to rescue him, that his life might have been resting in my hands, I would have been strangely happy in that little room at José’s mother’s house.

  For most of the day, I sat on a stool by the window, the transceiver at my feet, binoculars trained on the Omsk, anchored just down the hill from where I sat watching. Once, when I got up to stretch my legs, I caught sight of myself in a small mirror and my first thought was of horror at my dishevelled hair and smudged cheeks. I was about to set to work with a comb and hanky, when something stopped me. I realised to my surprise that I was looking at an image of myself as a child, a person I thought I’d left far behind, and that I didn’t want her to go away. Maybe it was that person – the child who had felt at ease sleeping alone under canvas with the roar of nearby lions as a lullaby – who gave me the courage to see the day through, to put myself in danger to save another?

  If I knew nothing else, I knew I would try to rescue James, whatever the danger. There was no question about it: I was going to do everything I could. I didn’t allow myself to consider the possibility of failure and I’m not sure I gave much thought to my own peril, just to James’s. For a second the thought flashed across my mind that I must care for him deeply, to be prepared to sacrifice everything for him, but I pushed it straight back into my unconscious – it would do me no good to think of 007 like that. Perhaps it was an unconscious effort to purge my latent guilt over the Z affair? I suppose, with hindsight, I should have signalled for help, but I knew there was no chance of instant back-up and every bone in my body sensed that he was in immediate danger; I couldn’t have stood down, whatever my orders. It seemed easier to stay out of contact.

  I watched throughout the day, as they loaded crates and sacks full of sugar. Deck-hands scrubbed and polished. One of the officers drove off in a vast, pistachio-green American car and reappeared an hour later with a crate of bottles, which he held above his head to cheers from the crew. I didn’t see James again, but there was always one man left standing outside a door on the upper deck, as if on sentry duty.

  At dusk, José’s mother knocked gently on my door and beckoned me down to eat, and when I shook my head she brought some fried rice and a bowl of spicy beans up to the room. I was not yet ready to leave my look-out post. I had seen a car full of women in bright skirts arriving at the ship and could hear the strains of jazz music from somewhere in its bowels. It sounded as if they were preparing to give themselves a handsome send-off.

  Over the next few hours, I slipped out a couple of times and managed to find a small gap in the perimeter fence, through which I squeezed to get closer to the ship. The gangway had been pulled up, but I saw a ladder near the stern, leading up to the lifeboats. I went back to the house and waited a few hours – to give whatever had been in those bottles a chance to take hold.

  It must have been nearing midnight when I slipped downstairs again and let myself out – I had to try, at least, to get James off the ship. My heart was literally pounding – I could feel the beats echoing in the back of my throat.

  As I crept up to the boat, I wondered whether I should have brought the transceiver with me. Although it would have been a great hindrance, I hated leaving it out of my sight. Perhaps I could have hidden it in a dustbin on the esplanade and hoped to be able to rescue it before the stray cats decided to investigate? They wouldn’t have had much luck with a radio transmitter, but I’d be in even greater trouble if I were to return without it. Looking back now, from the safety of this hotel room, I wished I had.

  Climbing aboard presented no problem. There was the noise of a party coming from inside, but the deck appeared deserted. I crept around to the room where I guessed James was being held. I couldn’t see the sentry and was just about to approach the door when I heard soft footsteps and a man came round the corner carrying a plate of food and a glass full of what I guessed to be rum. I slunk back into the shadow. He sat down, took his gun out of his waist-band and put it down by his chair and began to eat. I could feel the blood pounding round my head, but I knew I couldn’t afford to let my fear take hold. I grabbed a handful of sand from a bucket near my feet and flung it at his face, and as he got up, startled, I jumped behind him and pulled my scarf around his neck. It was a move I’d practised many times in the gymnasium on that self-defence course that M had insisted we all go on, and it worked exactly as the instructor had demonstrated. ‘Move, and I’ll throttle you,’ I hissed and although he couldn’t understand my words, my intention was clear. I locked his arm behind him and kicked his gun out of the way. He struggled, but his eyes were still streaming from the sand, and I managed to restrain him. Keeping a tight hold of his arm, I loosened the scarf and pushed him back down on his chair then tied his hands with the scarf behind the chair and stuffed my handkerchief in his mouth. Then I retrieved the gun. My hands were shaking as I felt around for his keys. I eventually fitted one into the lock and pushed open the door. And then a large black weight leapt on me.

  The next thing I heard was James’s voice: ‘Moneypenny, what the hell are you doing here? Go home at once.’

  ‘I came to bring you the radio,’ I replied.

  ‘Penny, this is no joke. The guys out there are KGB. They’re waiting for confirmation of orders to kill me. They could be back any minute. Go now while you can.’

  I told him I wasn’t going anywhere without him.

  Outside, I could hear my captive rocking forwards and backwards on his chair.

  ‘Come on, quick,
’ I urged James. But he sat down on the bunk with his head in his hands. It was as though he was deciding whether to come. I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him towards the door. As I did, I heard a loud crash. The guard had managed to topple his chair and, still tied to it, was rolling down the gangway towards the main deck.

  James seemed to click into action. He grabbed the gun from me and pushed me against the wall. ‘Keep behind me. They must have heard that.’

  We slithered along the wall. I kept my eyes glued on James’s back. I saw him tense, raise his gun arm and fire. A volley of shots came back at us. ‘Keep your head down and run in the other direction. I’ll catch up,’ he shouted. I did as I was told, sprinting towards the front of the ship, where I’d earlier seen a lifeboat on a hoist. I was climbing in, when I sensed a hand by my shoulder. I spun around and lashed out at my attacker with an elbow. He grunted and jumped on top of me. I struggled as best as I could while he tried to smother me with his hand. I bit hard on his finger and he jumped back momentarily. As he was lunging towards me again, a single shot rang out and he collapsed as James jumped into the boat beside me. ‘Another form for you to fill in. Come on, Penny, we’re on our way. Grab that rope there.’ I pulled and the lifeboat plummeted down and landed on the water with a tremendous splash. I was thrown forward against the bow.

  ‘James, the radio. Back on the shore.’ I felt another shot race past my cheek and embed itself in the wood beside my face. James pushed me over the side into the water and when I surfaced I could hear him shooting. I started swimming for land and he was soon beside me. We clambered out and I started running towards the town. He grabbed me by the back of my shirt. ‘Don’t be stupid, Moneypenny? Do you want to get us killed? Forget the radio.’ As I started to protest, he gripped my hand and pulled me in the direction of the small marina where I’d landed that morning. James was ahead of me, looking at the boats for a likely escape route. He’d just jumped into one and was fiddling with the ignition when I heard a motorbike come up behind us. As I was about to shout a warning, James shot. He must have caught the petrol tank as it instantly burst into flames. He pulled me sideways into the motor boat and within seconds the engine was up and we were speeding away.

  My last sight of Cuba was of a man in flames running screaming along the dock.

  Sunday, 9th September

  Back home and I’m up to date with this diary, at last. Transcribing the scribbles I made on the road, I’ve relived the adventure: Miami, Cuba, the boat, James, our escape and eventual return to London to face the music. I think I was more nervous about explaining my actions to M than I’d been at any point in Cuba.

  I can remember little about our speedboat journey back to Miami. Within minutes, I started shaking and collapsed on the back seat. I slept most of the way. I don’t know how James got back on his own, navigating by the stars in an unfamiliar boat. I remember at one point I woke up to see him sitting tall at the stern, his hand on the tiller. ‘Go back to sleep, my guardian angel,’ he said when I groggily offered to help. ‘We should be there soon after sunrise.’

  The two days in Miami were essential recuperation time. I slept a lot and tried not to think about the rock-fall of worries that have been piling up inside my head over the past few months. James was wonderful throughout – I got to know a different side of him, one that had been trying to worm its way out since Tracy’s death, but which, I suspect, he finds hard to embrace. He’s a kind, thoughtful, generous man, as well as strong and extraordinarily attractive. I may have to reconsider my previous opinion about Kennedy. I’m certainly happy to spend plenty of time in the considering.

  He came into my room on our first evening, while I was writing, and it was only sleight of hand that prevented him from catching me in the act. He was in better spirits and whisked me off to a wonderful restaurant called Joe’s Stone Crab5 on Southern Point, just across the road from the small park where I’d waited for his boat not to arrive. I showed him the jetty. ‘I was so worried about you,’ I told him. ‘I thought your ship was never going to come in.’ ’Well, it has now, my Penny,’ he replied.

  We sat for hours wearing plastic bibs, eating stone crabs with the melted butter dribbling down our chins, while he told me about his last visit here, the night before his first encounter with Goldfinger.6 For a time I could forget what had come before and what I had still to face on our return to London. I couldn’t bear to think about the radio; the consequences of having left it behind were too enormous to consider. I think he sensed my anxiety, as at one point he put his hand on my arm and said, ‘Don’t worry, Penny. I’ll see to the Old Man.’ And at that time, in that place, I would have believed anything he told me.

  As I caught the lift up to the eighth floor on Tuesday morning, my stomach was scrunched into a knot of terror and guilt. I was convinced that my chair had already been filled; even old Fletcher seemed to have a sympathetic look on his gnarled face. I prayed I hadn’t lost my job – yet I couldn’t see how they could keep me: I had flagrantly broken so many rules. To my surprise, as I was walking into my office, I saw James leaving M’s room. He gave me a wink as he passed. ‘You can come in now, Miss Moneypenny,’ M said. ‘Sit down.’ I sat facing him on the straightbacked chair that had almost moulded to my contours over the course of the last five and a half years. ‘What you did was beyond the scope of your experience and orders,’ he began. ‘You could have been badly hurt, not to mention compromised an operation and risked the life of an undercover agent. On top of that, you left behind a top-secret radio transceiver. If that falls into enemy hands, we’ll be in deep trouble with the Americans – and that’s the last thing we need now,’ he added, almost in an aside. ‘They’ve not asked for it back yet, and with luck we’ll be able to stall them for awhile. This kind of headstrong behaviour cannot be tolerated by untrained operatives in this service.’ I just looked at him; I knew what was to come.

  ‘So I suppose we’re just going to have to send you on a series of training courses.’ I didn’t know what to say; that wasn’t what I’d been expecting. ‘007 has given me a full report of what happened. He assures me that had it not been for your bravery and willingness to take the initiative, he would have certainly been executed by the KGB. In addition, I understand that you and he have gathered information about Russian activities in Cuba that could turn out to be of extreme international importance. He told me that you had no option but to leave the transceiver in what he assures me is a safe place. We’ll have to find some way to retrieve it. In the meantime, this afternoon both of you are to meet with the American Ambassador7 and Agent Scott, as well as the Minister. I want you to describe everything you saw during your time in Cuba. Make the necessary arrangements, then bring in the morning signals.’

  The next three days seemed like an endless, exhausting string of meetings between here and Grosvenor Square. James and I described and drew the tubes we had seen being loaded on to the transporter vehicles, as well as the insignia on the epaulettes of the officers. A changing guard of Americans listened, asked the same questions again and again, but made no comments on our actions. Fortunately, they didn’t mention the radio. I was usually dismissed at this point, while James had to undergo further interrogation about his dealings with Caballo. The CIA, in particular, were still reluctant to admit they’d been duped.

  Saturday, 15th September

  It’s extraordinary how news spreads around the Office. My Cuban escapade was meant to be top secret, but somehow by Monday night everyone seemed to have heard about it – when I went to powder my nose before leaving, the entire room burst into applause. I had to fight back the emotion. Since our return, I keep almost crumpling in tears. Shock, I suppose, a delayed realisation of what might have been – that we might so easily have not made it back to this familiar building.

  ‘I look forward to your demotion to the seventh floor,’ said Mary with a wicked glint in her eyes. ‘It’ll be a privilege to serve oo-Moneypenny.’ Everyone laughed.

  ‘Don
’t be ridiculous,’ I said. ‘I just found myself caught up in a series of circumstances that I couldn’t control. Now that I’m back, it’s business as usual.’ But they carried on ribbing me and eventually insisted on taking me off to Bully’s, where they tried very hard to extract details of what it had been like to work alongside 007. I’m not sure if it was the work aspect that they were interested in, but I managed to keep my counsel.

  Tuesday, 18th September

  It’s taken me the best part of ten days to catch up. M disappeared on the Monday after we got back, for what remained of his regular two-week fishing holiday on the Test. Once the Americans had finished with him, James took ten days of leave. Bill told me that he’d gone to France, on his yearly pilgrimage to Royale-les-Eaux to visit Vesper’s grave.8 ‘This time, he’ll have Tracy to weep over 100. I just hope he doesn’t put all his pennies on red; the way his luck’s been going this year, black will come up every time.’

  Last night, Bill took me for supper to a cheerful French bistro near his flat in Earl’s Court. ‘I wanted to bring you up to date,’ he told me. ‘’Fraid we’ve had no luck confirming our suspicions. We just don’t have enough to go on. Have they tried to make any contact with you? … Thought not. They’d know you’ve been away, of course. But that wasn’t exactly a secret in the Office. We’ve tried to track down your friend Zach. Either he’s disappeared into thin air, or he’s not living under that name. I think we can confidently assume it’s a false identity and that he’s changed it again. We ran all the information you gave us about his past through our records and checked with CID and immigration, but they’ve no record of any David Zach entering or leaving the country in the time periods in question. Certainly no mention of any trouble he might have got into in the past. The photo-fit you gave us rang no bells with the Watchers either. So we’ve come to a dead end on that particular alleyway.”