Cigarettes for Two: A Lee Thomas Novel (Spy Dreams Book 3) Read online

  Cigarettes for Two

  Tom Fugate

  This is a work of fiction. Some actual names or name combinations are used as tribute to friends and family. The situations, events and people are all products of the author’s imagination.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Opening bid

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Holding cell

  Chapter 20

  Confrontation

  Chapter 21

  Crazy Ass Stunt or just another Tuesday?

  Chapter 22

  Padre

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Over the Bounding Main

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Set up for justice

  Chapter 30

  Cuba calling

  Chapter 31

  Interrogation at sea

  Chapter 32

  Inspiration

  Chapter 33

  New Intel

  Chapter 34

  The end of the matter

  The following is an excerpt from the next Lee Thomas novel.

  Prologue

  The drink in my hand was strong and smooth. The glass was frosted with moisture pulled from the humid island air by the icy cold glass. The rum was dark and the cola had that sharp bite on the tongue and in the back of the throat that only the original Coca-Cola formula has. It was early summer 1985, the summer of “New Coke”, but not in the Bahamas, not anywhere outside the United States. This was the summer that Coca-Cola “Blinked” and went to a sweeter formula. It had been a very bad move that fortunately had not lasted for very long. I was nursing this drink slowly since intoxication would be a very bad thing for my plans for the evening and therefore it would be my only drink with any alcohol. Forgoing booze was never a problem for me as I could easily live without it. I was sitting at a roulette table in the Princess Casino in Freeport on Grand Bahama Island. This was my first trip into the Bahamas and part of me had been expecting a casino that was more European, more like the movie versions of Caribbean casinos. I had only seen Caribbean casinos in the movies. I think those existed, but only in places like Nassau. The old cities were where the old styles continued on. This casino was little different from any small casino in Las Vegas or Atlantic City. I was placing some small bets, but I was not there for the gambling.

  I was on the island to insure that justice was done. Well, maybe it was for justice, but for certain it was to take a measure of revenge. I was there in the casino with two other operatives and a small group outside for backup. We were waiting for our target to arrive. My seat was where I could see the main entrance doors. I had walked around when I first arrived and scouted the area. I had dropped a few coins in slot machines and was now playing roulette, a game that does not take your full attention when you are not trying actively to win. My partners were positioned where they could see some of the other doors. One of them was at a blackjack table and the other at the slots. The pace of their gambling was also slow. The worst possible luck that we could have would be to hit a jackpot just when things began to happen fast. The three of us managed to keep all of the most used entrances and exits in our lines of sight. Nothing was going to happen in the casino, but sometime after our target arrived we would try to abduct him onto our fast boat and get him back into United States territorial waters. The local authorities were not aware of our presence. This was purely an “unofficial” visit. We were operating on our own with no backup and no hope of official help if we got caught. General Fleming had warned me a few years before about operating “off the books”, but here I was doing it one more time. I had a suspicion that he was aware of what I was up to. He seemed to find out everything, but I knew that I could not depend on any assistance from him. Maybe this was more of a non sanctioned but still approved operation.

  Our quarry was wanted for a laundry list of crimes: drug smuggling and distribution, suspicion of murder, kidnapping, money laundering. He had also tried to kill me and another agent. That type of thing really upsets me. The other agent was alive but would never walk right again. A close range shotgun blast to the knee tends to cause permanent problems. Most of the shooters had not made it out of that airport parking lot unhurt. Most of them never made it anywhere else but the morgue. SWAT teams from three or four different agencies converged after the shooting started. My friend Jacob had put heavy caliber rounds through a couple of engines attached to cars that some tried to use to escape. The sleaze that was our current target had managed to get away in the confusion. A smoke grenade he had set off added to that confusion, especially when he popped a flash bang right after the smoke began to billow out. He kept low and ended up stealing a taxi for his getaway. I was going to bring him to justice; I take it very personally when people try to do me in. I could sometimes still feel the bullet impact on my vest. Melvin Roberts was one of the worst and stupidest types of drug dealers. He had developed a taste for his own product, cocaine.

  The mid 80’s was the heyday of the “Cocaine Cowboys”. Miami Vice was hot on television. Don Henley’s Smuggler’s Blues was a hit song. The popular culture depictions of the drug smuggling underworld were pale imitations of the actual goings on. There is no honor among thieves and even less among those in the drug trade. Untold amounts of money and product were moving through south Florida; drugs by the ton and money in tractor trailer trucks. The times were wild and dangerous for any drug enforcement officer from the local level up through the DEA. Those days were also dangerous for people who happened to be on the wrong street when things hit the fan. There was enough heavy firepower on the streets of several major cities to make special operations guys take pause. The amount of cocaine moving through south Florida was enough to cover a ski slope.

  Automatic weapons were on the streets in the hands of people so stoned that they were barely functional and so psychotic that they were only marginally members of the human race. Not only were these drug soldiers and dealers coked up, they were also suffering from one of the side effects of prolonged cocaine usage. They were all so paranoid that they were almost delusional. The term that I heard most often was “bat shit crazy”. Several months earlier I had been assigned to be a go-between in an investigation involving DEA, FBI and several local agencies in Florida. The CIA had also gotten involved. After all, my outfit’s publicly stated charter is to act as go between and facilitate cooperation between agencies. The job that had led me here had been at the request of folks high up in the DEA; we are secret enough that most of the people who know about what we really do are at or near cabinet level.

  Robertson’s world was about to crash down very hard. Technically I was on my own time. Which was a good thing since the method of arrest I planned to use was not exactly standard procedure. There would be no extradition hearing for this arrest. You might even call it kidnapping. Well, actually it was kidnapping or as we spook types like to call it a “black bag” operation. Our plan was that he would be found naked, drugged and tied up on a major Florida beach.

  We were planning on the scene looking like some sort of sex
play gone wrong. Some serious sunburn and sand abrasions would be a major plus. We knew that when they ran his prints a long string of arrest warrants would pop up. When the police find a naked, stoned man with no id on a beach they do run his prints. The arresting officers would honestly be able to say that they had no earthly idea how a wanted fugitive found his way to that piece of oceanfront real estate. The trick was to get him onto United States soil. He had too much money and influence in the Caribbean, Central and South America to be extradited. When you have money by the ton, literally, you can buy a lot of influence.

  With his resources he could stay ahead of the long arm of the law for years. The last time he had been this close to the States was a month before when he had been in Cuba. I missed him there, but did take an associate of his out of the drug business. Melvin was only in the Bahamas because he had paid large sums for protection on this particular island and thought that he was safe. Besides he had probably gotten bored with hiding out. When corrupt cops are watching your back you are safe as long as the money flows. His money was still flowing like a river. Drug smuggling is a cash only business. We had shut down parts of his network, but it grew new arms like an octopus. Even taking him out might only slow things down.

  I made some small bets, sipped my drink, watched the doors, waited on my prey and remembered the events that had brought me to this casino on this island on this summer evening. The crowd was beginning to file into the casino after people finished their dinners. I took advantage of the growing crowd to move around some. Staying in a small area where I could see my designated area I roamed a bit. A quarter in a slot, a bet at the roulette wheel just moving around to be part of the background, hiding in plain sight. I was about even or a bit ahead on my gambling but my patience was wearing thin. Enjoying waiting has never been one of my virtues.

  Chapter 1

  It was late August of 1984. I was at our agency offices in Washington, DC. The weather was hot and most of the political types were out of town on recess. The politicos use any excuse to be away from DC in hot weather or most any other time. I had been doing some routine work and some training of various sorts since my last assignment had wrapped up in the spring of that year. After an excursion to Paris I had taken a few days off and then gotten back to work. I was rapidly reaching the point of summertime cabin fever. Paperwork eats away at the soul after awhile; at least it felt that way to me. The training assignments had all been of a very short duration. I needed a reason to get out of the office and out of the DC area. This turned into a case of being very careful what you wish for. The phone on my desk gave the buzz that signified a call internal to the building. I picked up the receiver.

  “This is Lee.”

  “Lee, the General needs you to come to his office. I think something is in the works for you. He has been on the phone with various drug enforcement types for the last couple of hours.” The soft alto voice on the other end of the phone belonged to General Fleming’s assistant Janet Nichols. She was a few years older than me and had been working for General Fleming for quite a while.

  “I’ll be right there.” I hung up the phone and headed for General Fleming’s office. It was just a few doors away from mine. Of course he was the boss and as such had the best location and the most space. RHIP (rank hath its privilege). I think mine was only on the same floor so they could keep an eye on me. Lately I had been getting a lot of routine administrative tasks, tasks that seemed out of place to have a field agent doing them. It was almost as if I was being groomed for something down the road.

  The outer doorway to the General’s office area was protected by an electronic lock. I was one of the few people in the building who always had the combination to that lock, a combination that changed at least daily. Most of our employees had to be buzzed into Janet’s office. I walked into her space. She looked up as I walked in. There was no chance of surprise by me since she had a well concealed monitor with a view of the outer door courtesy of a hidden camera. Not only was there a monitor on the door but a motion sensor signaled when someone got into proximity to the entrance, just in case she was not watching the monitor. The other thing that most visitors never had any suspicion of was that the lady was heavily armed. There was an Uzi in a clamp under her desk and a 9mm handgun locked, loaded and ready to rock near her right hand. I had seen her qualification scores. She was very good with both weapons.

  “Go right in. He’s waiting for you.” The lock on the leather covered doorway into the General’s office buzzed. I pulled the outer door open and then pushed the inner door open and went into the inner sanctum.

  “You ready to get back out of the office?” The slightly gruff voice greeted me as I entered the room. I guess the best description of the voice is a bit like Bogart. Think Bogart with a slight southern accent and a bit of huskiness that might be the result of years of whiskey and cigars. Of course, the huskiness might also be the result of years of yelling orders. He motioned to my usual chair as he spoke.

  “I’m always ready to avoid doing paperwork,” I smiled at him as I stepped to the chair in front of the large oak desk. Sitting down I settled into the expensive leather upholstery. He knew how bad I could be at routine office tasks. He leaned forward and handed me a folder.

  “DEA, FBI and Florida State Police have requested some help. One of the FBI agents asked for you specifically. I believe he met you when you did spring break in Florida.” His face was stony. That specific spring break had been my first mission and it had gotten really ugly. The final body count had been nine and I had been responsible for eight of those. We did not talk about that week too often.

  “Drugs?” The question was almost unnecessary. Parts of Florida were a war zone in the mid 80’s. Some parts still are.

  “Yes, they are after a particularly nasty drug importer with ties to the Columbians. This will be the first time back in south Florida for you since your first operation. Is that going to be a problem?” His face showed concern and yet still had a look that reflected a certain kind of hardness. General Fleming is a professional and expects no less from his people. If he had really thought that I would have a problem then I would not be having this conversation with him. He just would have told them that I was not available.

  “I will probably never be over that week, but it will not affect my ability to function,” I think I was certain of what I was saying.

  “Good, they asked for us to assist so that they would have someone that they absolutely know is clean. They have had some serious problems with information leakage. The type of leakage that gets people killed. Drug money can have that effect. Read through the information and draw any materials you need. You can get together with John and arrange a planning session with the interested parties. Get Henry to get you an additional set of license plates for the Porsche and use it. A car like that should fit into the Miami area just fine. One other thing you really need to know is that our friends at Langley are also interested in this operation. They mentioned Cubans and Russians.” Great Russian agents were getting into the drug trade as the cold war was winding down, as if the free world did not have enough problems. “I do not know if the Langley contingent will help or hinder. They do have a habit of letting things slide if they think someone is a useful asset.”

  “Anything else that I should know before I leave?”

  “No, nothing that is not in that folder,” he pointed at the file folder in my hand, “except that this could be a bad situation. Lee, try not to die.” This was a phrase that he had used since World War Two when sending people into harm’s way. He might do many things, but he would never knowingly use one of his people as an expendable asset if there were any way around it. If he had to sacrifice people he did not do it callously. The odd thing this time was that something in his tone was softer as he told me to try not to die.

  “I will do my best, sir.” I stood and started for the door. Then he did something unusual for him. He began to speak again so I stopped and turned toward him.
Usually once you started for the door the conversation was over. He had said everything he needed to say before you got out of the chair.

  “Lee, be very careful, these smugglers are much more dangerous than they were just a few years ago. Their own personal lives have been swallowed up by their business. Some of them use more product than most of their end customers.”

  “I understand General. I will be as careful as is possible,” and I would be but sometimes this job is dangerous on a good day and extremely dangerous if the day is not so good. I left his office and returned to my own.

  I decided to read through the file before seeing either Henry, our documents man, or Sgt. Major Sam Johnson. The Sergeant-Major was retired United States Army and had served many years with General Fleming. Going through the material would make me more informed on what I would need for the job. I wanted to start out as ready as possible. Already in my past I had had instances of things going very, very wrong. You do not have to be paranoid for this job but it helps. As someone once said, if I knew who I would give them credit, “The question is not whether or not you are paranoid. The question is, are you paranoid enough?” When you deal in extremely dangerous situations there is no such thing as over preparation.

  The material in the file was very typical of the type of work that we do. Our official public mission statement is to “mediate between government agencies and individuals.” We are the people agencies call when they need to put aside arguing about who gets the credit. The GIA (Government Intermediary Agency) is very shadowy. We do not testify before Congress, we do not fight for budget increases. Our budget never shows up in any appropriations bill. We just do our job the way we have been doing it since long before our current director, General John Fleming, or most of his predecessors, had been born. The name had changed through the years but the mission had remained fairly constant. We made sure that groups played nice with each other and that all parties got credit for their work. Sometimes the job was simple management and liaison, but if I or another field agent were involved it was more hands-on. We tended to be “surgically applied brute force”, another one of those great lines whose source I do not remember. Usually in the circumstances where our help was needed there was something very wrong in one of the agencies involved. Many a corrupt cop or Federal agent had been caught up in our operations. We might best be described as a current incarnation of the Untouchables. After all, how do you bribe and buy people who seem not to really exist? How long had our agency been around? I was not yet privy to that information, but I did know that our outfit was nearly as old as our country, maybe older. The name had changed many times, but the business at hand went on. There are things that need to be done that ordinary people do not need or want to know about.