CLOAK & CORKSCREW: 35) REMINISCENCE

My Saturday Evening Post: A Novel of Intrigue & Lunacy

71.

Josh Penner lay in the large comfy bed of his sumptuous Willard Hotel suite, sleeping in, if not actually sleeping well, his mind racing.  What had ever possessed him into cooperating with the CIA?  Wasn’t life full enough as a famous movie star, with access to anything and everything, and no end to whatever material things he desired?

Penner took his thoughts back to his first contact with the CIA.  He had played a role in a spy movie.  On location in Washington, with CIA’s permission, they had filmed interiors in the agency’s headquarters.   And the director had hired a former CIA officer to consult and keep the storyline and spy methods real.  Out of his chat with the consultant came a tour of CIA’s private museum, and a brief meeting with the director, who mentioned, in passing, that maybe, in his various travels, Penner might be able to “ask a question or two” of political leaders he sometimes met—questions provided by CIA.  And pass the answers back to the agency.  Penner had politely welcomed the director to stay in contact.

And then a month later, an unexpected visit from Charles Mulberry, who appeared at his production office without an appointment, but carrying an “important” message from the CIA director:  When visiting Cuba a month hence, as Penner had planned, would he, if he met Fidel Castro, ask El Presidente two questions, the answers to which would be of maximum interest to CIA.

Penner reasoned that it wouldn’t hurt.  After all, he was an actor.  He knew how to act naturally.  And, for the man who had everything, well, not everyone could become a super-spy for the CIA.  Why, he might be able to turn his missions into his own movie, starring himself, about himself.

Ego satiated, Penner had agreed.

After visiting Cuba and spending eight hours listening to Fidel Castro over “dinner,” Penner returned to the United States with more intelligence about the Cuban leader’s current health than any other source.

The CIA complimented his skills and stroked him, as celebrities like to be stroked.

He had been exhilarated by the experience, and soon found that he longed for another assignment—that the thrill of secret work was somewhat addictive.

 The ring of Penner’s cell phone interrupted his trance-like reminiscing.  He answered.

 “It’s me,” said Jose Hernandez.

Penner’s heartbeat increased, recognizing the Venezuelan’s voice. 

“I have good news regarding your request,” Hernandez continued.  “Enough said?”

“Got it.”

“Let your friend know.  Green light.”

Penner got out of bed, showered quickly, and excitedly phoned Special Agent Jenny Jones, still in Washington, albeit at more modest digs than The Willard.  As instructed for telephone communications, he told her only there had been a development.

72.

State Department traitor Jack Woodward tried to steady his nerves.  He had not discerned any actual surveillance meeting Penner at the Round Robin Bar.  But he intuitively felt the world closing in on him and that enlisting Josh Penner may have been a mistake. Options.  Options.