This week on Baracoa. Not so far from Haiti
The big white and red bird (read: Air Canada flight 34) backed into the airport traffic, and taxiied toward R90 - to gain rotation and circle around the Toronto skyline before heading south to la Habana.
Triple Agent Rosa Elena ("Tare") was returning to Havana with the diplomatic bag from Canberra. Burgess/Wormald was still selling vacuum cleaners: "the Atomic Pile" from the partly built department store complex in the Old Town. The store opened early in the 1950s, to pacify the private equity investors who were then hunting for tactical advantage from the delays. They were not to know that the 'soft opening' [not an anatomical term] was all there was going to be, since the fire of '47 burnt the city block to the ground, and the Revolution interposed the chaotic years. Castro said, to a million people in Revolution Square - 'no more department stores, the internet is here!'
Nevertheless, as a front for Canberra's Havana bureau, ASIO had selected well. The rent was cheap and the turnover rent uplift was not to kick in until 2019.
Wormald's rent was not prohibitive even for the genuine business, but when he added in the stipend from Canberra, the sub-sub agent commission for Lopez, his cagey assistant, and now with Tare to assist - in more ways than one it has been said - the bureau was self sufficient.
Rosa Tare, with her facility for the 'Spanish Tongue' had become indispensible. Even whilst still in the Pearson Airport in Toronto she was able to eavesdrop on the Cubanos, ascertaining their respect for her luggage carrying capability. The Yankees too, came in this way, 'the back door' - and as Lopez said "they are not welcome Mr Vormol - his tortured attempt at 'Wormold'.
They were naive as usual, still learning geography by sending their ignorant ones to far off countries to start war. Wormald fed them, too, the large fish of the Caribbean; cod.
Sub Agent Tare studied the intrepid tripnotes so she would know in which bar Wormold would be sheltering from the tropical storms, or dry time, or any part off the day; would it be the Tropicana, with their dancers and pornography, or the Cave, or just the seedy corner bar where the authors, like Hemmingway, drank the sorrows of the blocked mind. The "Floridita" -- yes that would be the haunt where Wormald would be discssing taxonimy with the German herr Doctor - but more of that later.
Tomorrow was Friday. He was due to meet the Secret Police Captain, Seguda, to re-register his visa and passport. His re-entry now was cut to 30 days. Did they suspect?
Friday would see them all rendered from the sweltering tropical weather. A storm was predicted for the afternoon. Siesta it would be before the full exploration of the Archipelago began.
Triple Agent Tare marked "Guantanamo" with the pink pencil on the chart. No,not that type of pink pencil). What was of interest? Commander Jack Nicholson was still in charge, still having breakfast within binocular reach of 5000 Cubanos, all of whom wanted him dead. "You can't handle the truth!" the kids shout at each other in the dusty streets of Santiago, where they play "Yankees and Cubano". Wormald would soon pick up that phrase and introduce it, after putting it through his scrambling machine, to ASIO in Canberra. What would they make of it in this new era, with our own Australian fighter aircraft busy showing attachment to the soft American underbelly so far away, in Syria? Wormald knew they would lust for more information, and his stipend would be doubled due to the risk.
"If it is worth 25 pesos, it must be very important, so you must be underpaying me", he mused as his debit card travel account was due to be refilled. He thought, briefly, of putting some money away to repay the recent fraud, but as the insurance claim was still pending, he saved his concerns for that far off rainy day. The thunder out on the Malecon was ominous.
After all, Che was dead, wasn't he?
Day 7 of the Intrepid Tour proudly indicated they would be put in Che's mausoleum. Well, not literally 'in' like he was..
Triple Agent Rosa Elena ("Tare") was returning to Havana with the diplomatic bag from Canberra. Burgess/Wormald was still selling vacuum cleaners: "the Atomic Pile" from the partly built department store complex in the Old Town. The store opened early in the 1950s, to pacify the private equity investors who were then hunting for tactical advantage from the delays. They were not to know that the 'soft opening' [not an anatomical term] was all there was going to be, since the fire of '47 burnt the city block to the ground, and the Revolution interposed the chaotic years. Castro said, to a million people in Revolution Square - 'no more department stores, the internet is here!'
Nevertheless, as a front for Canberra's Havana bureau, ASIO had selected well. The rent was cheap and the turnover rent uplift was not to kick in until 2019.
Wormald's rent was not prohibitive even for the genuine business, but when he added in the stipend from Canberra, the sub-sub agent commission for Lopez, his cagey assistant, and now with Tare to assist - in more ways than one it has been said - the bureau was self sufficient.
Rosa Tare, with her facility for the 'Spanish Tongue' had become indispensible. Even whilst still in the Pearson Airport in Toronto she was able to eavesdrop on the Cubanos, ascertaining their respect for her luggage carrying capability. The Yankees too, came in this way, 'the back door' - and as Lopez said "they are not welcome Mr Vormol - his tortured attempt at 'Wormold'.
They were naive as usual, still learning geography by sending their ignorant ones to far off countries to start war. Wormald fed them, too, the large fish of the Caribbean; cod.
Sub Agent Tare studied the intrepid tripnotes so she would know in which bar Wormold would be sheltering from the tropical storms, or dry time, or any part off the day; would it be the Tropicana, with their dancers and pornography, or the Cave, or just the seedy corner bar where the authors, like Hemmingway, drank the sorrows of the blocked mind. The "Floridita" -- yes that would be the haunt where Wormald would be discssing taxonimy with the German herr Doctor - but more of that later.
Tomorrow was Friday. He was due to meet the Secret Police Captain, Seguda, to re-register his visa and passport. His re-entry now was cut to 30 days. Did they suspect?
Friday would see them all rendered from the sweltering tropical weather. A storm was predicted for the afternoon. Siesta it would be before the full exploration of the Archipelago began.
Triple Agent Tare marked "Guantanamo" with the pink pencil on the chart. No,not that type of pink pencil). What was of interest? Commander Jack Nicholson was still in charge, still having breakfast within binocular reach of 5000 Cubanos, all of whom wanted him dead. "You can't handle the truth!" the kids shout at each other in the dusty streets of Santiago, where they play "Yankees and Cubano". Wormald would soon pick up that phrase and introduce it, after putting it through his scrambling machine, to ASIO in Canberra. What would they make of it in this new era, with our own Australian fighter aircraft busy showing attachment to the soft American underbelly so far away, in Syria? Wormald knew they would lust for more information, and his stipend would be doubled due to the risk.
"If it is worth 25 pesos, it must be very important, so you must be underpaying me", he mused as his debit card travel account was due to be refilled. He thought, briefly, of putting some money away to repay the recent fraud, but as the insurance claim was still pending, he saved his concerns for that far off rainy day. The thunder out on the Malecon was ominous.
After all, Che was dead, wasn't he?
Day 7 of the Intrepid Tour proudly indicated they would be put in Che's mausoleum. Well, not literally 'in' like he was..
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