Since I’d been there last, security had been tightened. There were guard posts every fifty yards along the perimeter fence and even at dawn the docks were a hive of activity. Cranes were lined up near the point where the Omsk had been moored and a queue of transporter trucks and trailers was parked just outside the gates. It looked as if they were expecting an arrival imminently.
A few hours later James pointed at the horizon, where a large cargo ship was materialising out of the heat haze. She docked shortly before four and within minutes the waiting ground crew were swarming all over her. I passed the binoculars back to James, to read the name at the stern, written in Russian. ‘The Indigirka, home port Vladivostok,’ he told me. ‘But she could have come from anywhere.’1 We watched as the men, in what was by now clearly a well-rehearsed routine, started to unload the cargo. They were careful but efficient and worked steadily into the night. ‘They’re going to be a while. You had better grab some sleep while you can,’ he told me.
It was still pitch black when he shook me awake. He was dressed in a checked cotton shirt. ‘Borrowed it,’ he said when I raised my eyebrows. ‘I’ve been down to the dock area and managed to get a look at the cargo. I didn’t see any of those sixty-foot tubes you described, but they were taking especial care over two dozen large crates plastered with warning signs. They were being guarded by green epaulettes – more KGB. They seem to be in a hurry to get this first load going before it’s light. We’re going to follow them. I’ve got a vehicle – the driver’s feeling a bit sleepy now, but he should wake up by lunchtime. For God’s sake don’t forget that blasted radio again.’
He’d hidden the Cuban army jeep down a small track. He pushed me into the back and threw me a blanket, telling me to lie down and under no circumstances to move or make a noise. Even in the middle of the night, it was stifling. Within minutes of starting, we’d stopped again, with the engine still running. I heard the jeep door slam, then the rasp and click of a lighter. Gradually, I began to identify the background noises; beyond the steady metallic rattle of cicadas, I could make out a low-pitched whine, followed by a click and a foot stamp, an accelerating engine and then the whine again: the gate opening, a car being waved through with a clicked-heel salute, the gate closing again. It was not far away, and I soon realised that ours was not the only idling engine sound. We must have joined a convoy waiting to set off. There was a low murmur of voices – I think they were talking in Spanish. Footsteps approached and I held my breath. A voice said something to 007, who replied with a grunt, followed by the rasp and click of his lighter again. I breathed out. Then there was a shout, more car doors slamming and a chorus of gunning engines. We were on the move.
Once we had been going for about twenty minutes, I felt a hand on my back. 007 had turned around. ‘You can take the blanket off and lie on the back seat,’ he said. ‘They won’t be able to see you as long as you don’t sit up.’ I unfolded myself and stretched out. I could just see through the side window and in the jiggering light of the following vehicle’s dimmed headlamps could make out small wooden shacks and painted matchbox houses. We were on a small winding road and once, when the convoy slowed to a stop and inched towards a sharp bend, I glimpsed piles of rubble set back from the roadside, where buildings had been rapidly disassembled, presumably in order to allow long vehicles to get around the corner.
After about two hours of slow progress, 007 tapped me and told me to get back under the blanket. He slowed and opened his window. I felt rather than saw a torch light being swung around the jeep’s interior, then 007 was jabbering away in what sounded like Russian and I heard another voice, this time Spanish, raised in reply, before we suddenly accelerated away at top speed. Ten minutes later, he swung to the right and cut the engine. ‘That was close. You can come out now, Moneypenny. We were stopped by the Cuban guard, on the look out for their missing jeep. I managed to persuade them I was Russian, but we’d better be careful.’ He’d switched on his penlight and was studying a large-scale map of Cuba. ‘I think we’re somewhere near here,’ he said, pointing at a town called San Cristóbal. ‘We were heading south-west pretty steadily. The rest of the convoy turned right onto what looked like a new road. There was a tall, heavy mesh fence and armed guards at the gate. I just saluted and they waved me on. My guess is that we can’t be too far from the town, though God knows it looks as if we’re in the middle of nowhere.’
Dawn had just broken and already I could feel the damp heat smothering us, as heavy as the blanket I had just put aside. We were parked on a rocky track in scrubby brush-land, interspersed by the occasional palm-tree. To each side, I could see shadowy round-topped hills, but no sign of anything that looked like a missile site. ‘It’s a good spot as far as camouflage goes,’ said 007, as he got out and stood on the bonnet of the jeep, sweeping his binoculars steadily from east to west. ‘But it must be hellishly hot working outside all day. Come on, let’s try to find the town and get settled somewhere, then I can take a look at the base this evening.’
San Cristóbal was little more than a cluster of painted one-storey houses around a pretty central square. As we drove in, I immediately recognised the maraca rattle of the dried pods of the flamboyant tree, as they waved in the early-morning breeze. I got a flash of Kenya, where the blooming of the flame-trees marked the end of the wet season. Cuba too must look spectacular in the spring when they are in flower. We drove slowly around the plaza – past a handful of shops bordering the main road on the eastern side, a church on the west, a large ceiba-tree2 in the centre. I was conscious of being watched by a hundred pairs of eyes – old men sitting like statues on benches outside their houses and in the square, nothing moving except the suspicion in their eyes.
007 waved merrily at them, then took the southern road out of town, over a metal bridge spanning a wide river; along its banks I caught sight of clusters of shacks beneath mango- and avocado-trees. He turned sharply down a track and pulled to a stop by a mid-sized house, painted pea green, with two rocking chairs on the porch. ‘This looks a likely spot,’ he said. We got out and knocked on the door, and through a combination of sign language and proffered dollars, were shown to a room at the back, dominated by a large brass bed. ‘Don’t worry, Moneypenny, I’ll take the floor,’ James said drily. ‘Just don’t let the lady of the house know that we’re not married. They still tend to be rather religious once you’re out of Havana.’ Once I’d persuaded him that I was perfectly capable of sharing a bed without taking advantage of him – and that I wasn’t tired anyway – he lay down, put his gun under his pillow, still attached to his hand, and promptly fell asleep.
I spent the rest of the morning wandering around the town. The suspicious eyes soon lost interest when I smiled but didn’t bother them. I found a small cafe, serving excellent coffee and the creamiest ice-cream I have ever tasted – a welcome respite from the stifling heat. It was a quiet, peaceful town and I was relieved to be away from 007’s – admittedly thawing – disregard. Despite the danger that I knew we were in, I was enjoying myself; given different circumstances, I could have been on holiday. It was a strange thought and I had almost to pinch myself to remind me of the very real and urgent nature of our mission. The first objective had been successful, but we were far from out of the woods. Only once did I see an army jeep speed in. It screamed to a halt in front of the bodega and a large blond man went into the shop, watched by the entire town, and emerged minutes later lighting a cigarette. It was clearly not a regular occurrence; they couldn’t be using the town itself for provisioning.
I was sitting on the porch outside our house when James emerged, refreshed and back in his Russian civilian disguise. ‘You wait here while I go and recce the base.’ I refused.
‘I’m coming along, James,’ I said. ‘I’ve come this far and I can recognise those missiles, if that’s what they are.’
He shrugged and we were soon driving through the dusk. He stopped short of the gate and we crept around the fence for what felt like miles, until
we found a stretch that didn’t appear to be guarded. He quietly snipped a hole in the wire before turning to me. ‘Now I must order you to stay here. I’m far safer on my own and I need you to raise the alarm if something goes wrong. If I find the tubes, then we can make plans to photograph them. But if I’m not back by midnight, drive into town, signal M with the co-ordinates of this place, then make your way to Havana as fast as you can and get on the first plane out of here.’ This time, I put up no resistance. We synchronised our watches and I sat under a palm-tree to wait.
As the hands of my watch crept past eleven, I felt the first prickles of fear creeping up my arms; by half past, I had a hole the size of Kimberley in my stomach. I checked my watch incessantly, bargaining with myself for reasons to wait longer than midnight. At five minutes to twelve, I was lying by the fence, trying to catch sight of James through the hole. I watched as the hands of my watch crept towards midnight, looked once more through the hole, then closed my eyes tight, willing him to arrive before I had counted to a hundred.
I’d just girded myself to go back to the car, when I heard the slightest rustling of grass. I opened my eyes to see a shadow slithering through the fence. I’ve never been so relieved to see anyone in my entire life. I put my arms around his neck and hugged him as hard as I could, tears coursing down my cheeks. ‘Hush, Penny, it’s all right. Come on, let’s get out of here. We’ve got work to do.’
As we drove back, he told me what he’d seen – a construction site on a grand scale. There were multiple command and support buildings, lines and lines of two-man tents, even a laundry and a bakery, as well as a helicopter and rows of fuel trucks, bulldozers and armoured tanks. At the centre, he found huge concrete slabs, surrounded by earth embankments topped with rolls of barbed wire. ‘I’m pretty certain there were missile-launchers anchored to the concrete,’ he said, ‘but everything’s been well camouflaged – it’s all covered with netting. I think I saw your tubes too, Penny, beside the launchers. I couldn’t get too close though, the place was crawling with Russians. It looks like they’re working night and day to get this place ready. We’ve got to send a signal to M right away.’
Back at our lodgings, I had a makeshift shower (a bucket of water over my head) as he composed his report. Then I punched it into the Triple X, plugged the keyboard into the recovered Delco and prepared to transmit. ‘Mark it “Most immediate – urgent response required”’, James said. ‘The Russians are bound to have sophisticated tracking equipment scanning the air waves – my guess is we’ve only got a day or so before they pick up our signal, realise it’s not one of theirs and come looking for us.’
‘But what about the photographs?’ I asked.
‘Impossible, from the ground anyway. I told M I couldn’t do it – they’ll just have to take our word for it. Come on, Penny. After you’ve sent this, you’re going to bed. I’ll keep an eye out for curious Russians and wake you when the reply arrives.’
It seemed only minutes later that I was being shaken awake. But the sun was streaming through the window and I was bathed in sweat. Another bucket of water over my head and I got to work on M’s brief response:
EXMAILEDFIST MOST IMPERATIVE YOU GET PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE REPEAT PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE OF TUBES DESCRIBED STOP REPORT DAILY STOP
I looked at James. ‘I’ve got to get that helicopter. It’s the only way,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have to do it in daylight. It’s not going to be easy and I’ll need your help. If they don’t already know someone’s out here, they will soon and they’ll increase security. We need to go in today. Let me think.’ He paced up and down the porch, while I sat in a rocking-chair trying not to think about what he was plotting. Then he looked at his watch. ‘It’s nearly midday. Come on, let’s go.’ We carefully wrapped the radio in my silk scarf and hid it in the garden under a hibiscus bush behind the house. I picked up my equipment bag and followed him to the jeep. We drove back through San Cristóbal and this time the watching eyes appeared to regard us with something closer to welcome.
We parked in the same spot near the palm-tree. It was a sweltering day, with no clouds to shelter us from the beating sun. My thin cotton dress stuck to my back. Mosquitoes circled our ankles and ears, landing softly when they thought we weren’t paying attention. I felt drips of sweat running down my forehead and spine. I vowed never to complain about English winters again – if I was lucky enough to live until the next one. Once James had explained the plan, the thought of snow and clouds became even more attractive. ‘You don’t have to do it, you know. I can go alone.’ I shook my head. ‘No, James. I’ve got this far and I’m going to complete the mission.’
To my surprise, he grabbed me and kissed me hard. ‘Good girl, Penny. Put on some lipstick and I’ll see you on the other side. They’re not going to harm you. Just stick to your story and keep that radio well away from them. Then make your way back to Havana and wait for me at the Hotel Sevilla.’ I sat under the tree for an hour. Then I went back to the jeep, slowly drove on to the main road and turned left. I soon found the track leading to the compound gate, took a deep breath and turned down it. At the gate, I was immediately approached by the guards, who jabbered at me in Russian, then circled the jeep, looking closely at the number plates. I talked straight back at them in English, relieved when their faces registered no comprehension. ‘I’m delivering the vehicle,’ I said. ‘General Gil told me to bring it here.’ There was no flicker of recognition even at the General’s name, so I talked on, firmly, louder and louder, asking to be taken to their commander and they continued to ask me questions to which I could not respond. Already, we were drawing quite an audience.
Eventually, they decided that they’d have to take me to their superiors. First they beckoned me out of the jeep, and searched both it and me. I silently gave thanks for James’s insistence that I left the radio behind at our lodgings. When they found nothing, they ushered me back in, one of the guards jumped into the passenger seat and, with our growing escort trotting alongside, directed me across the camp, towards the northern boundary. As we passed, I caught sight of the helicopter, then quickly turned away, pointing at a building in the opposite direction. They started talking together, each eager to explain what it was. If these boys – for that is what they were, none of them long into their twenties, with sunburnt faces and sweat-drenched shirts – hadn’t been Russian, they would have been almost appealing. Contrary to what I’d expected, they were friendly, like puppies desperate for someone to play with them.
We drew up in front of a small concrete building and the guard got out and knocked on the door, before entering. He was followed out minutes later by a well-built man with a small moustache, younger than I’d expected, wearing dark-grey trousers and the inevitable short-sleeved checked shirt, tucked into his belt. He looked at me intently with pale-grey eyes, then held out his hand and said in broken English, ‘How do you do. My name is General Igor, agricultural adviser to the Cuban government.3 Welcome to our experimental farm.’ It was so preposterous that under other circumstances I might have laughed.
‘My name is Jane Grey’, I told him, using the name on the passport that Q Branch had supplied. I’m a friend of General Gil’s. He asked me to deliver this jeep to you.’
‘But we did not request a jeep from the General – why would he be wanting to give one to us? We have been alerted by the Cuban military that one of their jeeps was stolen, while under the temporary use of my compatriots. The, er, farmer’s clothes were taken by the thief.’ I did my best to look innocent and as I was clearly not wearing men’s clothing the Russian let it pass and started questioning me about my purpose there. He was still speaking when I heard the unmistakable pulsing whirr of a helicopter propeller building up speed. I grabbed his hand and started towards the inner door of his office. ‘Please, General, I am feeling rather faint… The heat…’ He followed me and closed the door behind us just as I heard a shout coming from the direction of the helicopter. I held on to his arm and made my knees buckle. H
e appeared unsure as to what to do with me. ‘A glass of water, please.’ I gave him my most beseeching smile, as the shouting outside continued. There was a sharp rap on the door and a young man burst in, clearly agitated, and spoke in rapid, breathless Russian. The General removed my hand from his arm. ‘I am sorry. We have had an accident with some of our, er, farm machinery. I have to go. Please stay in my office and we can talk when I return.’ Then he almost ran for the door.
I looked around. Laid out across his desk I saw what appeared to be blueprints of missiles, and maps. I smiled at his secretary and asked again for a glass of water, miming drinking it, then, as she turned to get it, I sat down on the chair opposite the General’s desk. I put my bag on my lap and got out the hairbrush camera and, turning towards the secretary, started brushing my hair, talking loudly to cover up the soft click as I pushed the shutter down on each stroke of the brush. I put the hairbrush away with some satisfaction. Now I had to get away quickly, somehow.
I stood up and walked over to the window. There seemed to be hundreds of men running in every direction and pointing at the sky. I watched as several of them started tearing back camouflage nets to reveal small surface-to-air missiles. ‘Hurry up, James,’ I said to myself, as I heard the first blast of machine-gun fire coming from the other side of the building. I decided to take my chance to escape; the decoy work had been done. I flashed a smile at the secretary and headed towards the door, muttering General Igor’s name. She seemed unsure, but didn’t know what to do as I slipped out.
Moneypenny Diaries: Guardian Angel Page 19