Moneypenny Diaries: Guardian Angel

by Samantha Kate

  He stopped talking and looked at me. ‘Anything wrong?’ he asked. I attempted a smile and shook my head.

  ‘It’s been a hell of a few months,’ I admitted. ‘There were times when I honestly thought I was going to crack. What with 007 and Zach and my father, and then Cuba and the radio. I feel so guilty about that …’ I felt the tears trying to slip out and blinked them back as he squeezed my shoulder.

  ‘Penny, you’ve been magnificent, a real trooper. Just hang on in there a tad longer. But I’m afraid there is something else. While you were away, I was contacted by that bloody Troop.’ I noticed that the adjective appeared to have become permanently affixed to his name. ‘He was going on about some man he’d seen in your company outside the Office, a Richard Hamilton.’ I raised my eyebrows and told him that it was irrelevant now – R had gone away and I doubted I’d ever see him again.

  ‘Well, if Troop’s right – and I’ve no reason to doubt him on this one – it might have some bearing on what we’re dealing with here.’ I sighed. I didn’t want to hear this. ‘It seems he’s popped up in Berlin.’

  I said I knew that – he was working out there for a firm of architects.

  ‘Maybe, but he’s been photographed on a number of occasions meeting with some men, a couple of whom, at least, we have reason to believe are top Stasi agents.’ He paused. ‘Another fits the general description of Zach.’

  I was temporarily rendered speechless.

  ‘Did you know Hamilton speaks fluent, accent-less German?’

  ‘No,’ I admitted, ‘I didn’t. But then I never asked.’

  ‘We don’t know what they were talking about, of course. It could have been an unlucky coincidence. After all, there must be a few million blond-haired Aryans in Berlin alone, but Troop’s put him on the Watch List and I’m afraid we’re going to have to regard his association with you as potentially suspicious.’

  I put my head into my hands. ‘Oh, Bill, I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry. Perhaps I’m not cut out for this line of work after all. Do you think I should resign?’

  ‘Don’t be an ass, Penny. After what you achieved in Cuba? You’re one of our best men.’ He reached over to touch my hands. ‘Don’t worry. It’s probably innocent and we’ll have it cleared up in no time. I just thought I should warn you before that bloody Troop gets his mitts on you.’

  Wednesday, 26th September

  This is truly extraordinary. My life is being turned in so many directions I’m not sure exactly who I am any more. Not just Miss Moneypenny, M’s dependable private secretary, that’s for sure. On Monday, M received a telephone call from the PM, shortly followed by one from Washington. I don’t know exactly what was said, but as soon as he’d put his telephone down, he asked me to summon 007.

  It was James’s first day at work after his trip to France and I was concerned to see the sadness back in his eyes. However, he smiled when he saw me. ‘Hello, Penny. I’ve missed you. Have you missed me?’ I was about to reply when M came out and by the look on his face, not in the best of tempers. ‘Come in here both of you. Quick quick.’ He put his head around Bill’s door. ‘Chief of Staff, we’re expecting some chaps from Grosvenor Square. Send them straight in when they arrive, please.’

  When we got into his office, M sat down in his chair, then made a big fuss about filling and lighting his pipe, tamping down the burning tobacco into the bowl, before replacing the matchbox in his pocket and tilting his chair back. Despite his air of calm, I could see a small pulse of tension beating high up on his right temple. ‘We’re about to receive a visit from our American friends,’ he said rather unnecessarily. ‘Yesterday, despite some sterling avoidance tactics by Head of Q, it became apparent to the Cousins that we had mislaid their new Delco radio. It transpires that it is one of a new range, developed by NASA for the US space programme. As you know, they are very touchy about their rockets and suchlike, and as you can imagine, they were not best pleased to learn that it had been mislaid in Cuba. Then, this morning, I received a request from President Kennedy himself, which I had been persuaded to accede to by the PM – very much against my better judgement, you understand. But I’m afraid the radio issue has put me in an impossible situation. Your Cuban escapade, as I have made clear to you both, was a mess of unauthorised action exacerbated by inadequate communication, which was only mitigated by its unexpectedly fruitful consequences. You were damn lucky, both of you, to get out alive.’

  A knock on the door interrupted the lecture. At M’s bark, Bill showed two tall men into the room. One I recognised as Ambassador Bruce, who greeted us both warmly. ‘Commander, Miss Moneypenny, I’d like to introduce you to Calvin Petersham. He arrived this morning from Washington, as the President’s personal envoy.’ His part in the meeting clearly over, the Ambassador sat down and transferred his attention to Petersham.

  ‘We’d like to thank you once more for the excellent job you guys did over in Cuba, the small matter of the radio aside,’ he began. I was surprised. I hadn’t been led to believe that it was a small issue. But then, the pay-off began. ‘We were very interested in your description of the cargo being unloaded from the Russian vessel in Mariel.’(He pronounced it Mary-L.) ‘We’ve spent the last two weeks attempting to identify its content, both through high-altitude photography from our U-2 surveillance planes and from a human mission. Unfortunately, adverse weather conditions have so far prevented the success of the former, while the task group we sent over from Miami was picked up on arrival and sadly, we have reason to believe, executed that same day. We have to conclude that security at our operations base has been compromised.’ He stood up and starting pacing up and down the room.

  ‘It’s imperative that we find out whether the Russians have sent attack missiles to Cuba. At present, all we have to go on are your descriptions and a whole lot of rumour and conjecture. To this end, President Kennedy has commanded me to ask you whether you would be prepared to return to Cuba to track down that Russian cargo and bring back photographic evidence to determine what exactly it is. I cannot sufficiently stress how imperative this operation is, not only to the future security of both of our countries, but to that of the world. It’s only with knowledge that we can decide what steps, if any, we need to take. Perhaps it’ll prove to be the agricultural machinery and short-range weaponry that Secretary Khrushchev has maintained. But if it’s the nuclear missiles that Chief McCone has been warning us about, then we’re all in deep shit – if you’ll excuse the expression.’ M nodded, still looking grim, as Petersham continued.

  ‘I realise that this mission is not without its dangers, but you’ve proved yourselves before to be the only people capable of penetrating the Cuban defences, and the President would sure be grateful if you’d try again. It would also give you an opportunity to retrieve the radio,’ he almost leered in his unctuousness. ‘This, I must stress, is an earnest request, not an order. Your Chief here has already told us that he’s not happy about it.’ He turned to M, who impaled me on his gaze while addressing the American.

  ‘I consider sending an untrained woman into the field as lunacy. Plus 007 has only just returned from Cuba, where his cover was compromised. It goes against every rule of espionage. But the Prime Minister is urging me to accede to your President’s wishes, and I’ve told him only that I will ask them; I will not order them to go.’

  He looked at us through the pipe smoke. I wish I could have read his wishes, but his grey sailor’s eyes remained impenetrable. James was the first to speak. ‘I would be prepared to go,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think it would be a good idea for Miss Moneypenny. As you said, sir, she is not trained for this type of mission.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, sir, if you will allow me, I must go. I am the only one who knows where the radio is hidden and I couldn’t live with myself if it were to be found by the Russians.’

  Petersham seemed to take that as settled, as he gave us a broad grin, held out his hand and wished us good luck. ‘I’ll be taking the first plane back to
Washington and will convey your answer personally to the President. I know he’ll be very grateful.’ After they left, M returned to his chair and picked up his files. It seemed we were being dismissed.

  ‘Penny, we need to talk about this,’ said 007 as we got back into my office. ‘Don’t be foolhardy, I beg you. You can tell me where the radio is. I’ll be better off out there without you to nanny. It’s not too late to change your mind.’

  ‘Me to nanny! Have you already forgotten the position you were in when I rescued you from the KGB? In any case, I don’t know if I could describe how to get to José’s mother’s house, and even if I could, I doubt she would let you in.’

  He shook his head again. ‘It was very fortunate for me that you came. But you shouldn’t have and now I’m urging you to stay behind. In fact, it’s an order.’

  ‘Under whose authority, may I ask? Do you think you’ve more power over me than the President of the United States? You’re an old-fashioned chauvinist, 007, and I’m coming to Cuba whether you like it or not.’

  When I got home that night and the indignation had faded, I was forced to face up to my decision. Was I running away again from the situation at home? Probably. In doing so, was I putting the Office at additional risk? Possibly. But the thought of the radio kept haunting me, and I couldn’t banish the memory of the state 007 was in when I found him locked in that sweltering cabin on the Omsk. He seemed resigned to death, almost to be choosing it. Yes, he kicked into gear when he was forced to, but it was as though he was on automatic pilot, driven by the need to get me home safely. Perhaps I could protect him again? I fear he’s lost the taste for adventure and the overriding belief in the justness of the fight. ‘I just want to lie on a beach and swim in the ocean with a good woman beside me, Penny,’ he said when we were in Miami. ‘I could have done that with Tracy, and with Vesper, maybe even with Tiffany. Now I can’t face the tedium of that cycle of flirtation, capitulation and retreat. Oh, Penny, what I need is a woman like you.’

  I wish he wouldn’t say things like that.

  Saturday, 29th September

  We fly to Miami this afternoon. It seems as if no one thinks I have made the right decision. Bill tried to remonstrate with me and M has been positively icy, even for him. When he gave us our last orders, he addressed every word to 007. In an instant, what I had regarded as bravery crumpled into foolishness. Perhaps, if I can recover the radio, he will forgive me? It was only when he shook my hand that I detected a slight softening in his eyes. Could it be that the OM is feeling some sort of inexpressible concern? About me?

  October

  I wonder now whether M would have allowed my aunt to return to Cuba had he known the true strength of the Soviet military force out there. From the end of spring 1962, when Khrushchev conceived his plan to ‘throw a hedgehog at Uncle Sam’s pants’, until Aunt Jane and Bond’s return in October, a total of 41,902 Soviet troops were shipped to Cuba. They were accompanied by an extraordinary arsenal of weapons – missiles, guns, tanks and fighter planes – as well as the services necessary to support them. In September alone, 66 Russian cargo ships made the 7,000-mile crossing to dock in ports less than 100 miles from the Florida coast.

  That Uncle Sam failed to detect the spines advancing on his nether regions was testament to the successful employment of maskirovka (deception). Operation Anadyr, as it was named, was conducted under conditions of absolute secrecy. The Soviet troops were told that they were going on strategic exercises. Many believed they were headed to the Arctic and packed accordingly; to support this myth, trains carried loads of sheepskin coats, boots and fur hats to the loading docks. All Party and Communist Youth League cards were confiscated on embarkation, and contact with the outside world was prohibited. On their first evening on board, each soldier was issued with civilian clothes – a lightweight suit, a checked shirt and a hat. For most of the 18–20-day journey, the several thousand men were confined below deck; at night, groups of 20–25 men at a time were allowed out for air. The more fortunate soldiers were billeted on a luxury liner, the Admiral Nakhimov, which, according to a Georgian newspaper report, was inaugurating a new tourist cruise line to Cuba.

  Even the ship’s captain had no prior knowledge of his destination. Minutes before casting off, he was handed a large sealed envelope, tied with brown ribbon. Inside, there were smaller envelopes, with instructions that they should be opened in sequence at particular co-ordinates. Only in the last one was he told to proceed to a designated port in Cuba – after burning the contents of the envelopes.

  On arrival in port, the ships were greeted by officials from the Cuban Ministry of Agriculture. It generally took two to three days to unload one ship; military equipment was unloaded by night, then stored in sheds or moved directly to the military bases via back roads, accompanied by a Cuban guard detachment and Russians dressed as Cubans. Only Spanish was meant to be spoken. There was total radio silence ; all communication between field units and Havana headquarters was oral, and Soviet troops were not permitted to address their commanding officers by rank.

  But, still, it is impossible to conceal that number of foreign soldiers. Eyewitness reports described phalanxes of identically dressed blond men goose-stepping along the waterfront, while the centre of Havana ground to a halt as hundreds of Soviet military vehicles sat bumper to bumper, unable to move. It was essential to the success of Operation Anadyr that information of this kind did not leak out to the West. Any spies that were identified were imprisoned or executed. Cuba was theoretically sealed from the outside world.

  Sunday, 14th October

  Looking back over the last two weeks is almost like trying to replay a dream; so real at the time, it crumbles into dust when you try to pick out individual events. We made it: that is the punch-line, the part where fantasy and reality converge. On several occasions I feared we might not.

  We got to Cuba without incident. After a night in Miami on the way, we set off in a US Coastguard motor launch just before midnight on 3rd October. About ten miles from the Cuban coast, the engines were cut. 007 went to the back of the boat, unlocked the huge crate that had been sitting on the aft deck and swung open its doors. I’d no idea what he was doing; since trying to prevent me from returning to Cuba, he’d virtually ignored me, as much as that is possible when sharing the same space of about eight square feet on a plane. Frankly, I found it childish. When I tried to ask him to brief me on the mission, he waved me away as if I were a mildly irritating insect. It was only on the boat, with the lights of Cuba almost in sight, that he addressed his first words directly to me as he beckoned from the boat’s stern.

  ‘Time to go, Miss Moneypenny. You’re ready?’ I nodded.

  ‘How are we going to land?’ I asked. ‘I thought the coast was heavily patrolled.’

  ‘That’s why we brought Bugsy,’ he said, pointing to the open back of the crate. ‘Meet Q Branch’s latest toy.’ I walked into the crate and gasped. In front of me was what looked like a giant mechanical beetle, with a ‘body’ of spherical metal, rounded wing-like ballasts to either side and two thick portholes, one at the front and one on top. ‘Isn’t she a doll?’ said 007 wryly.

  I must have looked a little puzzled, as his voice soon developed a tone of exasperation, not dissimilar to the one I have heard Head of Q using on him when trying to explain the workings of a new gadget. ‘It’s a miniature two-man submersible. It was developed by a crazy Czech, who had some idea of searching for the wreck of the Titanic. But then he ran into a spot of trouble with our navy and we got custody of little Bugsy. Q Branch has been having fun adapting her. This is her maiden mission under a new flag. I spent the day before our departure in Portsmouth learning how to operate her. Hurry and strip off into your swimmers, then hop in, if you’re really coming along. We need to make Mariel before dawn.’

  Bugsy wasn’t exactly spacious inside; comfort had been sacrificed to miniaturisation in accord with Q Branch’s latest mania, but I managed to slide into a bucket seat behind 007.
At one point, his proximity would have been thrilling, but in his current mood I was more afraid of catching frost-bite. Once we’d been lowered into the sea and descended to our cruising depth of a hundred feet, though, I forgot his churlishness and began to enjoy myself. Bugsy was fitted with an infra-red spotlight and shoals of fish swam frequently through its beam. We were approached by a school of hammerhead sharks, their bizarre, widely spaced eyes peering through the porthole as they passed. Apart from the dull hum of the engine it was so quiet: the calm before the storm.

  After an hour, 007 switched off the spotlight and cut the engine. ‘We’re about a mile east of Mariel, 500 yards from shore. I’m going to anchor, then surface her. We’ll have to swim in from here and should land near the beach you described. Are you ready?’ I unbuckled my seat harness and grabbing the watertight container which held my clothes and equipment – a hairbrush camera, strangely incongruous in our current situation, a lipstick torch and a Triple X encoder – I slithered up to the exit hole. It was a dark night, cloud covering the stars and moon, but mercifully warm. ‘Get into the water and wait for me,’ hissed 007, ‘then follow me to shore.’ As we swam, I tried not to think of the sharks.

  By the time we reached land, my eyes had become accustomed to the dark and I easily found the path out to the road. ‘We need to get that radio and find somewhere with a good view of the port,’ said 007.

  I told him that José’s mother’s house was on the hill just outside the militarised zone – with binoculars you could see everything from there. We walked in silence, 007 half a step behind me on the roadside. At one point, we heard a car approaching and he pushed me into the undergrowth until it had passed.

  We arrived at the house just as the sky was beginning to pale. José’s mother opened the door warily to our knock, but appeared delighted when she saw me and quickly pulled us both inside. Through sign language, I managed to ask her if we could use the small upstairs room again, and when she disappeared into the kitchen, I rushed upstairs and went straight to the bed. The relief was extraordinary: there it was, the Delco radio, wedged into the corner under the bed where I’d left it. I went back downstairs with a lighter heart. José’s mother emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later with the inevitable bowls of fish stew, beans and rice. We ate them watching dawn break over the port. I felt the excitement flood back into my veins. It was 4th October.