Monday, September 20

A New Novel

 Operation Morning Expresso

Copyright Alex Hutchins

All rights reserved



 INTRODUCTION

 

Da Zavola coffee house was one of the few places in Paris that specialized in Expresso Coffee, that was also open at 6:00 am, and that provided free newspapers with a purchase of 5 Euros as long as it was La Monde or Le Figaro or Liberation.  Interestingly, one could purchase an Expresso coffee and 2 croissants for precisely 5 Euros every day of the week, except Sunday when Da Zavola’s was only open for lunch and dinner.  Simon Alexander stopped by Da Zavola’s every day for his expresso coffee, two croissants, and a newspaper on his way to work except for Sundays.  

As long as it was not raining, he would drink his expresso, eat his croissants, and read his newspaper at one of the many tiny tables on the sidewalk, always leaving his newspaper on the table for someone else to read if they were so inclined.  For the last 18 months, Simon Alexander has manifested the same behavior if anyone had been paying attention to his habits.  

At the conclusion of his morning breakfast ritual, Simon would get up from his table and walk down the Rue de Bernardin towards the Seine River and after a couple hundred meters, would exist the sidewalk and down a couple of steps where he would disappear into the Residence de Bernardin never to be seen again until the next morning when he would appear at the Da Zavola precisely at 6:00 am and repeat his routine.

 

Simon Alexander, the person, did not exist until he was accepted into law school at Yale University in New Haven, Connecticutt.  Among to the documents, he submitted for his acceptance were his transcripts, indicating he had graduated with honors from the University of Zurich with a degree in Economics.  In addition to his academic prowess, Simon could speak English, French, Spanish, Russian, Arabic, and Mandarin fluently.  He held a Swiss passport that had his age at 30 and after graduation from Yale three years later, Simon was recruited by the CIA as an asset not an employee because of his nationality and posted to the Paris field office after 24 months of accelerated combat, survival, firearms, and explosive training in which he excelled in all as compared to his group of 150 younger recruits.

 

Actually, Simon Alexander was not his real name, but the name given to him by the KGB after graduating from high school; his foster parents knew him as Holden Riverside.   No mention of his birth parents was ever mentioned other than they were Ukrainian, but the circulating rumor was that he was taken away from them shortly after his birth.  His foster parents, who were Russian KGB agents living in the United States in deep cover were posing as American teachers; his foster father taught Political Science at Harvard while his foster mother taught Journalism at North Shore Community College.  


Simon attended the local public school in Boston until the 7th grade when he was shipped off to Fork Union Military Academy in Virginia.  Holden took as many classes as he could each year as well as during the summer and was able to have enough credits to graduate after completing the summer session of his junior year.  However, Holden Riverside never graduated as the police reports indicate that he died in a boating accident on Lake Anna, about an hour’s drive northeast of the school.  While his body was never recovered, he was officially pronounced dead.

 

For the next 12 years, Simon Alexander studied at the Russian Academy of Foreign Intelligence in Moscow, also known as the Red Banner Institute, where he again excelled in cryptography, telecommunications, computer science, and counter-intelligence activities.  It was from this Institute that he applied to Yale Law School and was accepted.

 

Simon Alexander celebrated his 35th birthday by treating himself to a first-class flight from New York City out of John F. Kennedy International Airport on Air France to Paris that was scheduled to arrive at 6:00 am and he could still make it to his first day of work by 9:00 am at the Hotel Miramion on Rue des Bernardins which coincidentally, or perhaps not so, was where the CIA had told him he would be staying until he could find more suitable accommodations.  


By 8:00 am and as planned, he was through customs and was heading out to find the taxi stand, when he saw a man in his sixties with thinning grey hair, dressed like a chauffeur holding a sign that at his name printed on it so he stopped and inquired.

 

“I’m Simon Alexander.”

 

“Nice to meet you Simon,” the man said, “I’m Case Officer Nathan Laslow and I’ve been assigned to your case…  how was your flight?”

 

“You mean, I’m your asset,” he questioned?

 

“At least for a while,” he offered curiously then added after a brief moment of awkward silence, “my rotation is almost over, and I’ll probably finish my career at Langley.”

 

“It was fine,” Simon said with a smile.

 

“Fine?”

 

“You asked about my flight,” explained Simon “and it was…”

 

“Gotcha,” he interrupted.

 

“I slept most of the time,” Simon added.

 

“You’re lucky,” Special Agent Laslow replied, “I’ve never been able on those night flight.”

 

The drive to the Hotel Miramion took about 40 minutes and after parking on the street, and after being told to leave his luggage in the car that he would arrange to have it taken to his room, the two men entered the main lobby of the hotel and headed for the elevator, taking it down one floor.  At the basement, Case Officer Nathan Laslow led Simon down a small dark corridor that ended at a wall.  Nathan rotated his right arm in a counterclockwise motion over the surface of the wall and as if by magic the wall slide to the right, leaving an opening into which they entered.  


Once inside, the wall closed and Nathan lead Simon down a flight of stairs that again ended at a blank wall.  This time there was a palm reader attached to the wall along with a retinal scan device into which Nathan put his right hand and placed his right eye respectively.  Immediately, that wall slide opened and both men stepped inside.

 

After adjusting his eyes to the light, Simon scanned the room from left to right and his first impression was that he was inside what he might imagine to be NASA ground control.  There will literally dozens of computer monitors sitting on table with people looking at those monitors.  Still in awe, Simon barely heard Nathan explaining to him that this was the CIA’s Global Command Center that monitored activities in Europe, Russia, China and Asia, and the Middle East.  


Nathan explained to him that there were two other access points for this center other than inside the Hotel.  The first was an Antique Shop about a half block away with a similar setup as the one inside the Hotel.   The second was a rather large tunnel that opened up on the sidewalk directly beside the Seine.  There were self-operating trams inside the tunnel that would bring people to and from the Command Center.

 

“How big is this damn Command Center,” asked Simon with spectacular curiosity?

 

“A little over 1 acre of land or approximately, 100,000 square feet.”

 

“Impressive,” replied Simon, still looking around in awe.

 

“This command center is operational 24/7 and we have 4 shifts of 25 people which includes a swing shift.  If necessary,” Nathan went on to say, “we can house, and feed all 100 people for 6-8 weeks.”

 

“Bathroom and showers,” Simon asked?

 

“We have both for male and female.”

 

“Rooms,” asked Simon?

 

“Male and female dorms.”

 

“Eating area,” Simon inquired?

 

“We have a cafeteria with a fully equipped kitchen along with a first aid station and other stuff which we will get to later…  but first, let me show you around.”

 

“Before we do that Nathan,” interjected Simon, “I saw you wave your hand a couple of times and…”

 

“A door opened,” interrupted Nathan, “I wondered when you were going to ask about that.  I have an implant in my right forearm.  And, before you leave today, you’ll be getting one as well.”

 

At the end of the tour, Simon was told that he would actually spend very little time inside the Command Center, that the only time he would be brought into the Command Center would be for briefing before an assignment or debriefings after an assignment if applicable.  Simon was informed that information would be passed to him at an expresso coffee shop each morning.  


He was to go there as soon as it opened, order an expresso and something to eat and receive a free newspaper.  Inside that newspaper would be his instruction.  This is also how he would be receiving document from his contacts that he would be passing along to the CIA.  Whatever he wanted the CIA to see, he would leave inside that newspaper and just leave it on the table and walk away.

 

Simon Alexander had a promising career with the CIA until an untimely car accident left him paralyzed and in a coma a decade later.  Miraculously, he awakes from his coma, 10 years later at the age of 57 and cannot remember who he is but he is no longer paralyzed.  After 12 month of excruciating physical therapy, Simon is discharged Bethesda Naval Hospital with a new suit, shirt, tie, under garments, and shoes and given a plane ticket to Paris, France and a letter confirming an appointment with his former employers in 72 hours along with a confirmation number for a corner suite at the Hotel Miramion…

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