CLOAK & CORKSCREW: 19) CHARLES MULBERRY REAPPEARS
My Saturday Evening Post: A Serial Novel of Intrigue & Lunacy
39.
Charles Mulberry perused the help wanted ads in The Washington Post, so sure was he that his CIA career would end that day.
Mulberry was in Georgetown, instructed to stay away from headquarters as Seventh Floor bigwigs at Langley managed Sophie Gunderson and Josh Penner’s sojourn to Geneva. All he knew, sitting in Starbucks on M Street, was that it wasn’t going well. Russians were now involved. Gunderson and Penner had gotten separated. What the hell? Wasn’t Gunderson chosen to woo Penner away from Jenny Jones of the FBI? He had learned about these developments that morning after which superiors told him to take a few hours off and await further instruction.
Mulberry counted his teeth for the 17th time that day before sticking his nose back into the classified ads.
40.
Less than a mile down the road, Jack Woodward, sitting in his State Department office, could not understand why Josh Penner had not called him back. Had Woodward not made it clear that time was of the essence for the meeting he wanted with Hugo Chavez? And that he would make good on his threat to have the movie star prosecuted for violating the U.S. boycott of travel to Cuba? Woodward picked up the phone and keyed Penner’s number…
Josh Penner had just taken his seat, next to Tom Richardson, on a late evening train from Geneva to Zurich when his cell phone rang. He expected Sophie Gunderson to phone, so he answered.
An irritated voice scratched his eardrum. “This is Jack Woodward.”
“Hi,” said Penner, caught off guard.
“I’m not waiting any longer,” growled Woodward. “My next call is to the assistant U.S. Attorney-General.”
“Calm down,” said Penner, glancing at Richardson. “I’ve been busy but I’ll do it, okay?”
“Not good enough,” snapped Woodward. “I need confirmed arrangements. And a letter from you to me inviting me to join you for a meeting with Chavez.”
“I’m traveling,” said Penner.
“I don’t care. I need everything confirmed plus a letter within 24 hours. No more warnings.” Woodward clicked off.
Penner turned to Richardson. “No wonder you don’t like the U.S. Government anymore.”
“Who was that?” asked the rogue spy.
“Someone from the State Department trying to blackmail me over my visits with foreign leaders the U.S. Government doesn’t like.”
Richardson chuckled. “So Sophie told you about my material.”
Penner grunted, his mind still on Woodward.
“Which parts did she like best?”
Penner took a breath, thinking how best to deflect. “The overall drama of a spy on-the-lam,” he fudged. “Kind of like what we’re doing right now. Spies lurking in the shadows, trying to track your movements. Foreign police arresting you, trying to steal your secrets.”
“You mean in France?”
“Uh-huh,” Penner nodded.
“But I haven’t written that part yet.”
“Oh.” The movie star shifted uncomfortably. “Sophie must have gotten that from somewhere else.”
“Where else?”
“A newspaper or magazine?”
Richardson shook his head. He enjoyed being playful. That’s why he had sought a career in intelligence, the intellectual stimulation of game-playing.
“Well, then I don’t know.” Penner flushed, staring straight ahead. “I could use a beer.”
41.
Back in Washington, Charles Mulberry’s cell phone rang. He answered. Tyler Dixon’s secretary. Could Mulberry please get his butt to Langley as soon as humanly possible?
Mulberry disconnected, quickly re-read three help wanted ads he’d circled and counted his teeth. He glanced around. Maybe I should apply for a job right here in Starbucks?
An hour later, Mulberry arrived on the seventh floor of CIA headquarters.
“Sit down,” said Tyler Dixon, beckoning Mulberry to face him across his desk.
Mulberry resisted a compulsion to count his teeth as his anxiety increased. Maintain, maintain. They can only fire me. Starbucks will be great.
“Josh Penner is in Zurich,” said Dixon.
Agency sleuths had tracked him to Dolder Grand Hotel where he had taken two rooms, one for himself, the other for Tom Richardson.
Continued Dixon. “We need you to go straight to Dulles and catch Swissair’s flight.”
Dixon further explained what he wanted Mulberry to do upon arrival in Zurich.
42.
Meantime, on an entirely different front, Venezuelan intelligence officer Jose Hernandez was alarmed to see that, all of a sudden, the FBI was everywhere. Worse, they weren’t even trying to hide themselves. They had switched gears into overt surveillance and, clearly, they wanted him to know they were watching his every move.
Hernandez cursed quietly in Spanish as he peeked through the curtains of his living room window at the parking area below. Two black cruisers with full antenna, two dark-suited men in each vehicle.
What were they smoking in Caracas, associating me with Josh Penner? Don’t they realize I have a far more important task to accomplish?
A task now made much more difficult with 24-hour in-your-face surveillance.
Hernandez had no choice but to chill. And that’s what he would cable headquarters next morning from his office. Their plan to exfiltrate Jack Woodward would have to wait—at least until the heat died down.