The Peruvian Candidate

BY G CONNOR SALTER

The Manchodo. International Waters. One Week Before the Meeting.

The Agent was running low on supplies. Sometimes he used the portable kettle to boil seawater, but he had to wait until no one was in the storage room. The Superiors said it was always vital to avoid security risks.

The Agent could not risk taking more provisions. The one jar he had permitted himself to take from the ship’s storeroom was running low. He held up the jar and tapped the bottom. The orange residue trickled halfway down the jar’s side. Enough for two days.

He had not expected to like the contents when he stole the jar. When he first removed the lid and sniffed the contents, the sweetness took him aback. Years of military rations had not prepared him for anything so sweet. Weeks of living on it never removed his craving for more. He did not know if he could locate more at his destination. Every lick would have to be treasured.

His fingers traced the label. He read the letters aloud, remembering Abuelita Lucia’s spelling lessons.

M-A-R-M-A-L-A-D-E

***

The Compound. Peru. Six Weeks Before the Meeting.

“You trust such a young agent to join the London branch, Colonel?”

Colonel Meshka lifted one burly hand to the matchbox on the table’s center. Few luxuries were permitted in the Compound during the training season. But the Staff recognized that even exceptional Marxists require occasional rewards.

Meshka struck the match and lit the one Cuban cigar he was permitted per week. Commander Oso turned his eyes away from the smoke. Meshka resisted the urge to sneer. He did not like having a Latin Marxist direct him, especially not a Peruvian. Anyone but a fellow officer from Moscow was an insult to him, but at least the Cubans were sophisticated. Peruvians were too provincial for his taste. But the Superiors believed local administrators were essential for best results. It would not do to aggravate Oso.

Meshka leaned on the table and exhaled cigar smoke in Oso’s direction. He prepared to extend his sibilants, a trick he had seen dons in his Oxford missions use to put opponents in line.

“Yes, Commander, this agent is young,” Meshka answered. “However, he also has everything we require. You are aware that the London branch needs someone young but capable, and he is very capable. After all, Lucia has been training him from birth. He is not only young, but also small. He seems helpless, with the kind of face that Westerners find innocent. All of these factors mean that no one will suspect him. Not until it is too late.”

Oso pawed away smoke from his face as he reached for the folder on the table. “I dislike gaps in our record. Why are his birth and parentage unknown? We don’t know anything—his parents, their party membership?”

Meshka tapped his cigar ash into the glass bowl with the Japanese fighting fish on the bottom.

“His birth date is not listed because even he does not know when he was born. When Lucia’s handlers found him in the mountains, he did not even know his name. After she interviewed him thoroughly, she established he came from one of those communities ruined by the last earthquake. During his training, we confirmed from other sources that no one else in that community had survived the quake. Of course, he did not know that. He still does not know. Our clinical team says if he recalls his parents’ death, the memory is buried so deeply that he cannot acknowledge it even to himself. He is our blank slate, if you will.”

“But the pain is there,” Oso said. “We cannot be sure that it won’t affect his judgment.”

“True. His pain does mark him. We have seen in training that it leaves him craving company, hence the special connection with Lucia. But you must see that is precisely what makes him valuable. The craving to belong is what makes him superior to those expensively-trained sociopaths that Moscow keeps praising when they send us their progress reports. No, this fellow is not as ruthless as they are, but he is far more loyal. This agent will serve us for life.”

Oso closed the folder. “We shall see how his first assignment goes.”

***

The Manchodo. International Waters. Six Days Before the Meeting.

The sound of footsteps woke the Agent.

He checked his personal perimeter. The four objects in the lifeboat prow—kettle, bush hat, suitcase, marmalade jar—were precisely where he had placed them. The canvas was still stretched taut over the lifeboat. The left corner he had loosened to enter the lifeboat, looked exactly as taut as it had looked had when he’d gone to sleep. All was correct. He had not been discovered.

The sound became louder. Two men. One wearing shoes that squeaked on every other step. Sailor 1. Sailor 1 came down here every other day.

The second set of footsteps was slower, softer. Sailor 2. Sailor 2 checked the storage room and cleaned it every seven days. Sailor 2 sometimes stopped at a shelf behind the lifeboat. Whenever Sailor 2 visited that shelf, noises would follow. Canvas rustling, a cap unscrewing, sighs and belches. Sailor 2 rarely finished his cleaning after making this stop.

Sailor 1’s footsteps stopped. Sailor 2’s footsteps stopped.

The sound of matches igniting.

An outline of an arm fell across the canvas. A smack. A cigarette case rested on the canvas. Directly above the Agent’s head.

Spanish words followed. Sailor 2 said that Sailor 1 must remember to take the cigarettes with him when he left.

Sailor 1 laughed in response. He said that Sailor 2 sounded like the captain. He did not like the captain shouting at him for smoking below deck.

Sailor 2 called the captain a peasant word for a female donkey. Sailor 2 said they had to be careful because the trip may be over soon. At breakfast, the first mate had mentioned that the ship would reach London early. One of the navigators had said the ship might arrive three days early. Sailor 2 said if the ship arrived early, they had to be ready for inspections far sooner than they planned.

Sailor 1 said that he did not care about inspections if the ship brought him to London quickly.

Sounds of feet grinding against the floor.

The sounds of footsteps receded.

The Agent permitted himself to stretch out his legs. He crept forward two feet and stared at the outline of the cigarette box on the canvas above his head.

***

The Compound. Peru. Five Weeks Before the Meeting.

“You have no questions about your equipment?”

The Agent fingered the bush hat. He enjoyed hats, but was not used to this one.

“How long must I keep this hat?”

“Do not question the Colonel.” Abuelita Lucia’s voice was soft but carried across the room.

The agent bowed his head. “My apologies.”

Meshka looked at Abuelita Lucia’s seat in the room’s corner. He looked back at the Agent. “No need to apologize, my boy. Still, you must keep the hat as long as you can. I know it has no practical value. You can remove the codebook from the brim once you have settled into Windsor Gardens. But the key value is our field research indicates the hat does more than hold codebooks. It prompts surprise and pity. It is not a popular style in London, so targets will notice it, and find it strange. They will especially find it strange when you wear it. The English associate the hat with jungle explorers, which hardly fits your manners. You will confuse them, and then explain why you wear such a thing. Tell them that a deceased relative gave the hat to you. In fact, the hat kept you alive in a near-death situation. Once they hear the story, targets will find the hat sentimental, charming, and then they will project those feelings onto you. You will appear strange, yet likeable.”

The Agent pulled the bush hat down on his head.

“I have no further questions.”

“Good. Now, Lucia has given you the full details about the Family. I will not repeat them. Simply remember your mannerisms. Windsor Gardens is a small, unassuming neighborhood. If you appear helpless and kind, you will easily ingratiate yourself with locals.

“The same point applies to meeting the Family. We have mapped out their typical routine. The day you will arrive, their child will arrive in London by train for the summer months. You know from the dossier where to meet them at the station.”

Abuelita Lucia shifted in her seat. “The father will probably notice you first. You will not ask them directly for shelter. Seem helpless, and the mother will sympathize once you tell your story. The father will capitulate to her desires.”

The Agent ran a paw down the train schedule in his dossier. “If I miss the meeting day. How do I tell the Englishman that I am delayed?”

“The money inside your codebook will cover calling from a public phonebooth to place an advertisement in the Telegraph,” Meshka said. “The Englishman will see the message in the evening edition and have his team find you.”

“You must arrive at the station on the proper day.” Abuelita Lucia’s voice was no longer soft. “The Family has been carefully selected to aid your work. You may not get a second chance to insert yourself into their lives.”

The Agent raised a furry hand to scratch his face. “How will I contact the Englishman once I reach Windsor Gardens?”

Meshka exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke. “Do not contact the Englishman. It would damage your work. The Englishman has cultivated a reputation for hating newcomers, so people will find it strange if you become cordial with him. Instead, settle into the neighborhood. Become well-liked. Then arrange an event where the community will visit the Family’s home. The Englishman will appear, as if selfishly seeking party favors. Once he has arrived, you will do something to embarrass him. Break his watch. Get food on his trousers. Somet action that fits your bumbling persona. Then he will say something that appears to insult you, perhaps suggest that you are unsuitable for the neighborhood. His statement will have the code we discussed. Only after you receive the code will you begin passing messages, discreetly.”

The Agent placed a paw on the dossier.

Bumbling persona. After settling in at Windsor Gardens. Embarrass the Englishman.

The Agent closed the dossier. He folded both paws on top of it.

***

The Manchodo. International Waters. Six Days Before the Meeting.

The sound of Sailor 1’s footsteps returned. Sailor 1 was walking toward the lifeboat.

The Agent lifted his feet. He pulled them into the defensive kicking position. Abuelita Lucia recommended aiming for the chest or the groin.

Sailor 2’s voice appeared. Sailor 2 was telling Sailor 1 to get the cigarette box quickly before the first mate came down to get supplies from the packing crates.

Sailor 1’s voice appeared. Sailor 1 was saying that the first mate was… a lewd Spanish word for a female feline.

The Agent lifted the marmalade jar. If Sailor 1 removed the canvas, surprise would give him perhaps 10 seconds. Enough time to kick Sailor 1’s chest. Sailor 2 would react, and the noise would indicate where to throw the marmalade jar. He could be out of the lifeboat in 30 seconds. If Sailor 2 fled, he could be across the room in 60 seconds.

It would have been better if only Sailor 1 had come. Bystanders were harder to kill. But Abuelita Lucia had told him the key was acting quickly. The best killings were not foolproof. They were simple and merciless.

The footsteps stopped. The shadow of an arm appeared against the canvas.

The arm’s hand picked up the cigarette box.

The hand and arm and cigarette box receded from view.

Sailor 2 spoke. He said that they needed to leave.

Sailor 1 called Sailor 2 a peasant word for a brainless grandmother.

The sound of footsteps receded.

The Agent lowered his legs. He waited 5 minutes to check for noises.

Then he unscrewed the marmalade jar and permitted himself one lick. A reward for reacting according to training.

Then he considered the problem.

The ship was arriving early in London. The Family would not be at the train station until the day after the ship arrived. They would not be ready for him.

***

The Compound. Peru. Four Weeks Before the Meeting.

The room was colder than usual. Abuelita Lucia did not seem to notice. She stared at the ceiling light, barely blinking. She had been staring at the lamp since Meshka had left.

Abuelita Lucia had said nothing except reviewing the mission. Yes, he knew to pretend he could not understand English and to misunderstand what others told him. Yes, he would keep the code book inside the bush hat until he reached the Windsor Gardens house.

Abuelita Lucia looked at the Agent.

“How is your Stare?”

The Agent drew himself up. He prided himself on this maneuver. The Compound took pride in how carefully it taught the Stare to people. The conditioning, with all of the doctors giving blunt directions about the signals and the practice to perfect the signals, had been exhausting. Several of his classmates had broken down during practice sessions. But the Agent had persevered. The Conditions had rewarded him the best marks in the class.

He held the Stare for five minutes. Abuelita Lucia did not blink.

She turned away and wiped her eyes before she picked up the notebook on the table. She began reading.

The Agent looked down.

“That was good,” Abuelita Lucia said. “Your best time in the course was under four minutes.”

She took a pen from the table and wrote in the notebook. She stood.

“You have been my best student. You know your assignment exactly. Follow orders carefully and no problems will follow. Improvise only as needed.”

“I know, Abuelita,” the Agent replied. “I will not fail you.”

Abuelita Lucia did not look at the Agent as she left the room.

***

The Manchodo. International Waters. Six Days Before the Meeting.

The Agent surveyed the area.

The engine room was empty, and the schedule indicated it would stay empty for the next hour.

The engineer had placed some pleasure items—magazines, several paperback espionage novels by someone named Fleming—on a side table with a bottle of rum. The Agent cleared the side table and pushed it toward the engine. He stood on it and looked at the dials and switches.

Abuelita Lucia had given him a plan of the engine room. Turning the internal pressure gauge and smashing the glass took less than five minutes. Once he finished, he poured rum over the engine’s face. Once he had moved the side table back, he scattered the books and magazines under it and poured the last of the rum over the table top. Before he left, he took the cigarette package from his pocket and placed it on top of the refuse. He threw half the cigarettes around the room for good measure.

No one saw him return to the lifeboat. He checked the canvas twice before he lay down to sleep.

***

Soviet Surveillance Home. London. Two Days Before the Meeting.

It was time for breakfast, and the Englishman could not stomach anything. The shipping forecast had contained no news about the Manchado. Nothing in the morning newspapers had mentioned the ship either. The wireless was only giving football scores. No hints that anything had gone wrong. But he had been doing this work long enough to always expect complications.

It was worse when the Englishman had to meet rely on unknown factors. He did not like trusting agents he had never met to handle complicated missions affecting his station. He especially did not like when the missions involved teams he had never heard of before. He knew nothing about the Peruvian division. He had begun storing new clippings about Peru once he had received the mission plans. The political news gave him some ideas what the Peruvian agents were doing to help the Soviet cause, but not enough information to know their tactics. Not enough to know the typical Peruvian trainee’s strengths or weaknesses. Not even a tenth of the information he wanted.

The Englishman stood and strode to the window. No cars were moving down the street.

Do not appear sympathetic to the Agent. Establish animosity as soon as possible. Collect the message. Then provide secret aid.

The Englishman had not worked with a deep cover agent in three years.

***

Paddington Station. London. The Day of the Meeting.

The Agent surveyed the crowds. A few passersby surveyed him in return. First they started, then they looked away as if embarrassed.

Appear helpless. Pitiful. Shortly after meeting the Family. Cause an accident to engage their sympathy

As Abuelita Lucia predicted, the plan to leave the docks had worked perfectly. The Agent had exited the ship immediately after it arrived in the port. Tossing the suitcase onto the dock had given him a cushion as he jumped from the ship.

As he rolled from the suitcase onto the dock, he heard someone singing. He picked up the suitcase and scurried behind a line of crates.

A man stumbled toward the crates and leaned against the first one. A man reeking of cigarettes. The man called the captain a peasant word for a female donkey. The man said that no one could prove he had broken anything. He said that no one should be in the brig for six days.

Sailor 1.

Sailor 1 lowed his head and heaved. Then the man raised his head and stared into the shadows.

The Agent took one step forward. He stared into the Sailor’s face.

“Do you know the way to Paddington Station?”

Sailor 1 rubbed his mouth and pointed to the dock’s customs office. He slurred something and waved his hands.

“Thank you,” the Agent replied. He adjust his hat and stared into the man’s face. “You look very tired. You should go somewhere and rest, sir.”

Sailor 1 tilted his head. Then balked and spun on his heel. The Agent watched Sailor 1 until the man walked to the ship’s gangway. Then the man slipped and fell to the ground, snoring. Sailor 2 appeared from the ship’s door and kicked the sleeping man.

No one else saw the Agent as he moved through the dock. The sun was rising by the time he walked onto the streets. He passed a man dressed like a police officer and asked the way to Paddington Station. The police offer had stared and asked what he wanted at the station. The Agent had said he was following an aunt’s instructions. The police officer pointed to the next street, but did not follow him.

Appear innocent. Use the Stare whenever necessary, but always appear innocent.

At Paddington, the Agent had taken a piece of paper from a garbage receptacle and written a note. He followed the dossier’s instructions exactly. A plea for help. Then gratitude for any generosity.

The Family would arrive at the station within fifteen minutes. The Agent pinned the message to his coat.

***

Soviet Surveillance Home. London. The Day of the Meeting.

The Englishman was deciding whether to make a drink for elevenses when he saw a cab appear at the end of the street. He watched the cab stop at house number thirty-two. The homeowners exited the cab. The husband spoke to the driver, who made angry gestures. The husband rubbed his head with one hand and reached for his wallet.

The couple’s two children left the cab as the husband paid the driver. A small figure followed them. It wore a bush hat and a dark coat smeared with food stains.

The wife guided the small figure to her house’s door.

The Englishman inhaled deeply.

The Agent had arrived in Windsor Gardens.

Addendum from MI6 records: The trading ship Manchado arrived in London from Peru on October 13, 1958. Following the ship’s arrival, a series of secret agents’ businesses and homes in London were damaged in apparently unrelated incidents involving a bear wearing a bush hat. When threatened, the bear was reported to either apologize or offer a stare which overpowered people with feelings of embarrassment.