Sand whirled down the street, making breathing difficult despite the setting of the intense sun. The moon was full and bright, illuminating the streets. Good, Harrison thought, a little light was always welcome when traveling unfriendly streets. He wore baggy khakis and his shirt was unbuttoned down his chest – despite night falling, the heat still affected him. On top of it all, he was nervous. Their contact, Ernesto, hadn’t shown up on time, and he knew things were going sour quickly. This operation was only supposed to take three days, and he had other obligations at home. His wife was going to be pissed.
He slinked through the alleyways of Havana, stepping gingerly over vagrants and the trash they treated as home. Grippd lightly in his right hand was his silenced USP .45, held tightly against his thigh as he moved swiftly towards his destination.
His paced slowed as he made his last turn. Creeping down the alleyway, he could smell Ernesto. Harrison put his back to the thin wooden wall beside the doorway to a small shack. He could count three separate voices inside – including his contact. Ernesto’s voice was angry, and he feared that perhaps he’d been captured, however, a telltale smell confirmed that his contact was safe. The pipe tobacco, a favourite of his that Harrison had brought with him from back home, flowed smoothly from the doorway – sultry and smooth. If Ernesto was safely smoking his pipe here, why had he not shown up to the meeting? He quietly thanked the American CIA for their actively surveillance of Ernesto and his movements – else he’d be making a call back to Legoland to report mission failure and contact lost.
“The British Agent thinks I am to meet him tonight,” Ernesto murmured through his pipe stem.
“Where, then? Perhaps he has information that is useful to us?” chimed in a second voice.
“No, no, I don not think that is prudent. He trusts me; he never thinks I would betray him.” Ernesto paused to puff his pipe. “I cannot let him think it is me who has given him over to the Dirección de Contra-Inteligencia Militar.”
“What if he comes looking for you?” a third voice said.
“Then we’ll have to take care of him.” Ernesto replied. “This document that he requested details our interests here in Cuba.”
Harrison listened intently, wondering what the Cuban counter intelligence agency would want with him – perhaps squeeze him for information about American persons of interest in Cuba? Regardless, he’d heard all he needed to. Checking his weapon, he quickly stood and pushed the door open. Pulling the trigger of his weapon twice, the quiet cracks of the silenced weapon firing, one of them reared back in his chair, two holes in his forehead. Harrison swung around and fired another two bullets into the chest of a burlier man reaching for an AK47 leaning against the wall.
Harrison leveled his weapon at Ernesto who had his hands in the air. He was smiling through his dark, bushy beard.
“Ah, Bernard,” Ernesto addressed him with his fake identity. “I thank God you arrived when you did!”
“Are those my documents, Ernesto?” Harrison asked quietly.
“Yes of course, these men jumped me on my way to the drop point, and I-“ Ernesto was interrupted by two more silent cracks, one in his chest, one in his forehead. He slumped in his chair, his last breath hissing through his clenched teeth.
Harrison quickly searched the bodies, pocketing their identification. He leafed through the documents Ernesto so graciously provided to him. They accurately outlined the military movements of the Americans on the outskirts of Cuban waters, as well as named dozens of American Agents within the country. This is exactly what he’d been looking for.
He quickly hooked his weapon on his belt against the small of his back and slipped out the door into the warm dark Cuban night.