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Miami area
The flight from New Jersey to Florida put a significant – but not fatal – dent in the Black American Express card, and Georg did NOT make it worse by renting a top-of-the-list luxury car. He settled for a Chrysler Pacifica SUV instead. He drove it to the nearest used car lot that was not associated with a dealer. Nineteen minutes later, he drove away with a six year-old Silverado and Clara followed him in the Pacifica to a Red Roof Inn, twenty-four miles to the (basically) west, on Rt. 27. They checked in, to the sounds of the semis roaring by on the highway, and unloaded the Pacifica into the rooms.
“We have time to scout the site before we settle in for the night,” Clara said.
“Ya, we do,” Georg agreed. “We take the Pacifica, yes?”
“Of course.”
They drove to Alligator Alley, paid the toll and headed west. In eight miles, the SUV turned into a rest stop and they got out to look at the place. It was a large parking lot with the highway to the south and a canal full of fish, and egrets, and frogs, and other miscellaneous creatures – probably including some alligators, though they were unseen at the moment. Beyond the canal were some taller bushes, which Clara assumed meant some firmer ground, and some occasional smaller trees and typical swamp growth. The canal was about twenty feet wide.
“It’s not perfect, but it’s pretty close,” Clara mused. “It’ll do.”
They headed back west on the Alley – known more officially as Interstate 75. Georg pulled onto the overpass and crossed to the east-bound side of the road. He continued on, passing the west-bound parking lot (which Clara had said would “do”) and pulled over at the first bridge. The canal passed under the bridge, connecting the canals on the two sides of the highway. The Everglades in this part of the swamp is crisscrossed with canals which allowed some drier portions to be raised for roads and rest stops.
“It’s about a mile via canal to get here from the parking lot,” Clara explained. “They will still be searching the contact site and I’ll be getting out of the canal somewhere about there...” [she pointed] “ ... So you should meet me here about 0110. That allows for five minutes of chat and five of swim time.”
Georg shook his head. “No one can swim a mile in five minutes. The world record is almost twelve minutes. And that is in a calm pool, in the daylight, not counting the alligators or darkness. There’s no moon tomorrow; it will be dark. If I am just parked here, it will be suspicious if they pass me by. I will wait at the rest area where the overpass is, until they pass. Then I will follow. You will be unnoticed under the bridge even if you get there early. I will pick you up.”
Clara acquiesced. “That is an improvement. We’ll do it as you say.”
They returned to the motel and turned in early, waiting for 0400 and their call to London.
London, 0930 local time (0430 Miami time)
Female Operator (in a clipped British accent): “Good morning. Overseas Import-Export, Limited. How may I direct your call?”
Electronic Male Voice: “File 1.2.5.9.2.8.2.Baker. Your agent has been compromised. I must be updated personally in the United States at Alligator Alley west of Miami at the parking lot off the west bound lanes 8 miles from Route 27. The meeting will be at 0100 hours local time, tomorrow morning. Park near the three palm trees at the east end of the parking lot. You may send three men. Your point man will exit the car. The others will stay in the car. I will call again in 15 minutes.”
The call was terminated. The operator immediately contacted the on-call officer, who listened to the recorded call, and then contacted his superior. The superior entered 125-9282B into his routing computer, and saw ‘MES’ on the reference field. Accordingly, he called the Middle East Desk and asked for the S-class officer. There were two levels below S-class.
Three minutes forty seconds had passed.
The S-class officer was one of the fifteen senior officers who operated semi-independently and reported to the Minister of MI6.
“Sir, we have a recording you must hear.” The recording of the Electronic Male Voice was played.
‘Clearly, an American, and not one of ours,’ the S-class officer mused. ‘Giving us fifteen minutes is a wild over-estimation of our response time.’ He punched a button on his phone, reaching his assistant. “Richard, I’ll be taking calls from the O.I.E. line directly in...” he glanced at his wristwatch “ ... ten minutes. If something unexpected comes in I’ll dump it to you.”
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