CIA Deputy Director of Operations Musgrave watched the hyperbolic Comandante with Belinda Cooper on an HD monitor in his private meeting room. The prim and proper veteran agent was a rarity in the CIA’s top echelon – a careerist from academe in a normally appointed post. That is, the president could never remove him, at least easily.
That was a compromise struck between the opposition-led Senate and Belling in exchange for confirmation of Bill Taylor as Director of Central Intelligence (DCI). Musgrave calmly sipped a cup of black coffee with cream and sugar – an old habit from the innumerable and boring faculty meetings at Tufts in another life – from a fresh pot he brewed himself and propped his head up with his left arm as the public show ended. He flipped off the transmission from Havana and then clasped his hands together. “Is Project Hermes compromised, Belinda?” “Two agents in four months and now this failed putsch,” she replied thumping her black ink pen on her binder labeled PROJECT HERMES – TOP SECRET. “Someone at CIA tipped them. I’m certain. The Cubans knew exactly how, when, and where to defeat the rebellious troops. There is no doubt in my mind.” “Still the President must not be told about this project,” he said draining the remainder of the caffeinated liquid in his blue-patterned decorative porcelain china. “Make sure it stays that way.” “Yes, sir,” she replied to Musgrave. This man is so brave, she thought. He cleaned his lips with a yellow linen napkin. “Hermes is the Company’s own private operation to do what this president does not have the courage to do.” “And so it shall be.” “Is Cade ready for his next assignment?” “Yes. And if our sources are correct, it could be a blockbuster.” The bespectacled director grinned with pleasure at what he heard. _____ At the same time, Cade made his way to the Havana seaside. Always observant, he stopped to check a stylish hat in a hard currency shop. Well, not really. In the mirror reflection he saw two plain-clothed secret police agents milling about outside. “Señora, hay salida por detrás?” Cade asked and quickly scooted out to the rear of the shop onto a cul de sac. One goon was in hot pursuit from behind. Surely, the other must be headed to block his escape. Cade was still wearing his tourist sandals which made running more difficult, but obviously his cover had attracted attention. Dammit! Or their amigo in Washington had tipped them about Cade just like his friend, Agent Echeverri, before him. Sure enough, a hulking thug was about to greet him at the end of the passageway. Cade gave a running karate kick and knocked him out of the way. The goon fell to the cobblestone and as his buddy arrived, both started chasing Cade who narrowly had crossed the wide avenue with honking horns to the Malecón, Havana’s iconic waterfront promenade. The normal nighttime party crowds were just starting to gather and perhaps he could use them to his advantage. Cade blended with a knot of partiers and started sucking up a piña colada from inside a delicately carved pineapple. One security agent passed by, but where was the other one? “Señor,” Cade heard the other one call. “Tengo algunas preguntas para Ud.” Cade hurled his drink squarely at the head of the agent and leaped over the seawall. Fuck he thought. That water looked deep. Splash! He disappeared into the night treading water as he had learned at the YMCA several years after his boating accident. Cade was a helicopter pilot from the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq before joining the Company, a real daredevil, not a world-class swimmer. When he was ten, Cade and Grandpa Forrester went fishing for bass in Enid Lake outside Oxford, Mississippi. The cold did not matter. Cade and his grandpa always had a ball together. Tragedy struck when Cade fell overboard trying to help haul in a feisty three-pounder smallmouth. He fought the murky water without his life preserver – a cardinal sin in that situation.
He slipped under the frigid water and touched bottom with horrible thoughts coursing through his mind. He surfaced a minute later and Grandpa pulled him back into the boat – his biggest catch that day!
At one point, Cade thought he would not survive cold, shaking, and smelling of fish. No training later as an army grunt or pilot totally eliminated the fear of deep water from his mind. A light patrol craft made a quick pass scanning the muddy waters with a searchlight. Nothing. --- After a half hour Cade figured, dodging the patrol, he crawled back onto nearby rocks to return to the seaside concrete seawall drawing the stares of partygoers, but luckily not the secret police. Bedraggled and slowly drying in the cool windy conditions, the surrounding air filled with the aroma of deep-fried chopped ham, pork shoulder, cheese and pickles. Cade returned to his original destination - a cyber café across from the Malecón. “Una caña de Cristal, porfa,” he ordered a taste of local ale. “Baño?” The uninterested proprietor gave Cade a strange look and motioned to the back as he returned to reading the worthless state-run Granma newspaper and took another hit of a Cohiba. A ceiling fan barely circulated enough air to stir the thick aromatic clouds of billowy smoke. Yuck, disgusting, Cade thought. The former track star, winner of multiple awards for the 4 x 400 relay and 5,000 meters, ambled into the shoddy closet-sized room labeled “Señores.” The door wouldn’t lock, so he removed the lid of the commode anyhow and extended his leg backward to close the door. He inspected the inside contents and noticed the small plastic bag hidden at the bottom of the water tank.
Without thinking, he reached with one hand to retrieve it. The note inside simply read – “Palacio de la Revolución, fiesta, 8pm, 2 days.” Cade loved parties.
Havana Dawn Trailer
Check out a quick clip on the total scenario of the gripping spy thriller!
She kneed her attacker in the groin as he cupped her floppy breasts and met his gloved hand gripping a dagger with her stylish red-colored nails. “Frank! Frank!” The two combatants struggled as the sharpened edge moved closer to her throat. Where was Frank?
Barb was not strong enough, especially after that passionate moment, but stuck fingers from her left hand into the eye holes of the mask. Her attacker yelled “you bitch!” She felt the blade from the assailant in total black wardrobe finally slide from one side to another of her throat. The attacker’s soft brown eyes grew to the size of saucers as the knife completed its task.
Then, a half-dressed Frank ran and jumped on his back. The attacker, gripping the knife, turned around and impaled him against the sharp edge of the boulder and hurled three punches into his stomach. The killer rushed him with a knife, but Frank kicked him back with his muscled legs and the intruder fell to the ground dropping the knife somewhere on the sloshy mud beneath their feet. Shit! Frank launched himself in the air and the two rolled around the muddy terrain, over tree roots and fallen limbs from the storm, in a vicious contest of strength.
Frank grabbed the ski mask, but the killer kicked him backwards hitting his head on an overgrown tree root. Then the attacker landed a left hook to his chin and delivered a flurry of swift blows to Frank’s stomach leaving him bent over on his side gasping for air.
The masked attacker scampered back to the Jeep, stumbled over a fallen tree branch, losing his balance, and falling down. His wallet spilled onto the wet park ground, but he grabbed it and made his escape. _____
“Comrades, tonight was an important victory for Cuba and total defeat for the American pigs who plotted yet again to destroy our beloved Revolución,” Comandante Arroyo crowed addressing a carefully-selected group of Avispas Negras at a hastily-arranged conference room in his command compound on Live Cuban TV. Arroyo, with his Makarov pistol proudly holstered on his right side, stuck up two fingers in a V-sign.
“Even as I speak, the traitors and their American pig conspirators are being rounded up. Here is my promise to you, comrades. Cuba will repay the American scoundrels. I guarantee these cowardly acts will not go unpunished. Socialismo o muerte! Socialismo o muerte!” The assembled crowd of soldiers and apparatchiks joined and amplified the chant to fill the hall.
Arroyo lingered to bask in the glory with the guests – always the gracious host – while Interior Minister Juanjo Raúl Lazlo paced the floor with hands behind his back as he patiently waited for Arroyo in an adjoining office. Thankfully, he thought, his great comrade Arroyo, a Beijing-educated geologist, made much shorter pronouncements than previous Comandantes.
Havana Dawn Trailer
Check out a quick clip on the total scenario of the gripping spy thriller!
When Frank finally arrived, Barbra straddled a large rock and had taken off her blouse and bra running through the park woods. He ran up to her and immediately cupped her breasts and pulled down her pink silk panties.
“Ravage me, Frank,” she called out as his lips focused on her sending pulsating vibrations through her body.
She savored the silky air from the now heavier rain splattering from the tree tops over them, the smell of moistening trees, and the rumble of thunder above. Barbra quickly loosened his workpants and fished for his member, feeling a patch of bush. She kissed her way down his smooth, toned gym abs through his T-shirt and swallowed his stiff member all the first time. Frank had never experienced that since college.
“Get naked, Frank!” she commanded, while moaning and coming up for air. The raven-haired medium-build 6 foot tall former basketball star forward at Maryland slid out of his remaining clothes. After a few minutes of savoring his sausage, the 5 foot 3 inches nymph stood up again and turned her bare backside to him. From behind he caressed and licked her velvet ivory skin and fondled her forbidden zone between her legs. “Oooh, Fraaank.”
Completely hard and desirous of her body, he bent Barbra over the rock and teased her from behind with his medium-sized member. Barbra didn’t care about his size at that point though she preferred larger men. She spread her legs for him and awaited her prize.
As Frank eagerly entered her after applying a condom, the uninvited guest driving the Jeep crept ever closer to the party and watched them intently. The soaked ground muffled any broken limbs that might be trampled on and crack and thus alert the couple dallying in the storm. Frank obviously came quickly and surprisingly soon disappeared leaving Barbra to rest on top the boulder.
The burly figure leaped from the edge of the obscure knot of bushes with an object in hand which appeared pale in the moonless conditions.
“Frank, you want more of me so soon?” Barbra cooed laughing and flipping back her long tail of hair which stopped midway above her buttocks. She tossed her head from side to side in anticipation of another round.
She felt a different touch and turned around. Terror showed in her eyes as the masked marauder gripped her voluptuous body and covered her mouth so she could not scream. A rush of self-preservation and her training kicked in.
Read parts 9 and 10 of our serialization of the first chapter of Havana Dawn, my debut international espionage thriller. Read the next series of two parts right here every two days.
“Vance, we already have numerous defense systems capable of protecting the Homeland. Do your homework! I want to assure every American tonight that their safety is first and foremost in my mind as Commander-in-Chief.”
Belling decided to attack and skip the role of victim using the “damsel in distress” defense when a man questioned her, a favorite tactic when asked an unpleasant (read difficult) question. Belling had been around the block and always gave more than her critics could handle.
“What Vance really is mad about is that his stock in Wetherford Electronics. Wetherford is a key supplier for the Zeptran-A Laser project. He’s just worried he may not get richer than he already is.
"So, Vance, you see, we do need to invest wisely in our people. This is not about making your buddies, fat cat defense contractors, and you rich from sucking on the government teat. I’ll make sure the Zeptran-A Laser project does not get funded beyond this budget year.
“I challenge you, Vance, to sell all of your stock in defense contractors because you have a conflict interest pushing more defense spending which you will profit from!”
Vance Bimbaugh looked down at his dais and shuffled his papers and tried to appear unruffled from Belling’s tongue lashing.
A rising roar of applause broke out in the audience. Candy allowed it for a couple of minutes, but she wanted more camera time, too. “Ok, folks. Please hold your applause until after the debate.
"Mr. Bimbaugh, can we get your promise here tonight to sell your stock in defense contractors?”
“Candy, are you an advocate for the Belling campaign? You allowed clapping which is against debate rules. You keep cutting me off when I’m midway through my vital points. Look at this, my fellow Americans. Official Washington ganging up on an outsider – me - who threatens their power.
"Candy, you should be ashamed.”
“Fiddlesticks, Mr. Bimbaugh," she retorted casting her narrowing steel blue eyes at the popular radio host turned presidential candidate against his old nemesis for years, President Belling. You could almost see steam flowing from her ears. “So for the record, you did not answer the question. Now, let’s turn to…”
Havana Dawn Trailer
Check out a quick clip on the total scenario of the gripping spy thriller!
