"Jimmy Olsen, you are not, so be the one you were named; Jamie Lang. Be my journalist for the sake of this paper." The man bellowed out to me. He continued on this tirade of insults while I held onto the drafts of the revised headlines the late afternoon print. It read as Cuban Crisis; Red Phone to speed up direct communications.
"I don't give a darned on what's happening anymore in the Federal Capital, but I need to know who burglarized the First Bank last night. The one where the Guard got shot. " I swore then I could breathe in the cheap after shave that he had on his chin then. "That to me is the news I want on my papers. This town folks need to read that news and no more crappy Cuban .....misplaced cigars issue. I need the gory details. So get out there and earned the dollar I am paying you."
He need not chased me out of the Editor's Room, as I had already had my feet out then at the doorway. The man I was addressing was the owner and editor in chief ( he named himself after reading the comic books of a man in the blue caped. ) John Randolph III, who never understood news to gossips. Well, he did not need to when he had the printing press and the wads of money to buy the paper rolls. Plus the extra to hired me from my stressed out position in the bigger city.
Five years ago, I came down here on the promise of a laid back job; which I had, with the weekend doing my sea fishing on the boat out at the bay. It was all fine until two weeks ago when the man asked for a review of the news. In his exact words; "we are losing sales to the Journal. They have drawn up a series on the army advisers being sent to the far east where a war may be starting."
It was his next statement which spurred me on; "get me the scoop on the Cuban controversy. We are in Florida and right there next them. Our neighbors misbehavior are our news. Give me the gory details." But the leaders were playing poker instead of pulling the trigger to shoot at each other. So without the impending war on the news, Randolph III was getting agitated. He once told me, if not the deaths and killings, who do you think would be keen on reading the news. He also thinks our withdrawal from Korea was a grave mistake of the century.
I did as he wanted; calling up my contacts in NY, DC and even Seattle. I asked James if the Naval are out at sea or still playing those exercises in the Korean Peninsula. All of them gave me some news which I blew up for the Editors. For two weeks, I got the papers to print and ran those articles; that the war was impending. We soon hit the circulation top listing. Then it withered off and readers questioned my sources.
On my red telephone expose, I was told by John to dunked it in the fifth page along with Marilyn Monroe latest gossip. That was the straw that broke my back as I picked up my coat to leave for the yard. My 1959 Monterey two doors hardtop with the red body and 210Hp was my only second pastime to let off my frustration. You could blast at 80 miles per hour, if you think God would be extending a hand out to you when you crashed. I did up to 65 and then let off; I am just too careful.
I drove off down to the stretch of secluded beaches; not that I have anyone with my arms around or was voyeur with a penchant for self pleasuring but my home was in one of those beaches. I have a beautiful single level unit facing the sea with my own kitchen unattended by anyone; I am passionate on my own cooking. I parked my car at the sandy porch and walked into my humble abode. I done some shopping on my way back so it was time to refilled up the fridge and shelves.
"Jamie? Are you back?" I looked up away from the opened fridge, and was greeted by the sight of the lady in my house.
"Yes, I am. Te amo,( I love you in Spanish. ) Alicia." Alicia or Aleesya as was given on her day of birth by her parents. She was younger than my four decades of borrowed time in life, and represent the light of my life then. She was dressed in the yellow blouse and white slacks. She was also carrying her favorite sewing bag although she cannot sew at all. She said its her security blanket.
"Mi cariño, te echo de menos mucho. ( My darling, I miss you so much. )" My love replied, as she made her way towards me. It was not easy to walked on one prothetic leg attached to your right knee. Two years ago, she lost it at sea' that was how I rescued here from the driftwood. She took over two months to recover and then the six months of physical therapy. She reached out with her hands for me, and I gladly took it. She was also handicapped in the sight; partial blindness was another effect of the blinding sunlight during her drift. She could read if only at the short distance.
"Any new on Andy?" That's her brother; her only surviving one who was on the same boat with her. I promised her that I would find him as I worked in the papers. She held onto that hope for the last two years but I had never tried. Its not that it mattered if I had tried, as there was just no way anyone would know as there were hundreds of refugee that arrived by boat.
"Not yet, Alicia. I are still trying but there are still no confirmation." Alicia took my reply as usual, with a whimper and then she would sit herself by the kitchen seat.
"How's the Cuban conflict? I am sad that we are going to war with the US of A. Why can't we just be civilized over it?" She was upset that the crisis had dragged so long. "Is it true that the war planes are searching for the Russian submarines?"
I walked over to her and placed her head against my chest. It was then she broke into her tears. It was then I saw the red dye on her fingers. I pulled her hands up and she told me what she did during the afternoon.
"I cleaned the cupboards including the one at the rear room...." I stopped her there.
"Did you move any boxes?" I had to asked of her. She smiled and nodded.
"They were all light ones, but I did find difficulty moving one. The one in the side of the cupboard." That was the one I marked in red dye. "I finally did and took it to the living area."
I rushed off to the living area and saw my box opened with its contents displayed to another who walked in. There was my typewriter but it was no ordinary one. It had the letters fixed to type symbols instead of letters to made the words. It was my intelligence tool given by the Colonel of my section. I am a spy for the Russians; the last five years assigned to Florida to report on naval activities. The last week, I was doing what may had amounted to seditious reporting, flaring up the news on the crisis. As a journalist, I have accessed to a lot of materials and places.
"Is there anything wrong, Jamie? Did I do any damages on your machine?" Alicia asked as she made her way over to the living area. I had packed up the machine and restored it into the original box.
"No, darling. You did fine." I replied.
I walked over to the study table in the living area. I opened the last drawer, and removed the gun. My orders were explicit; terminate anyone who may compromised on your tasks. She won't be the first but she may be my first victim that I actually loved.
"Alicia..." I spoke to her with my back to her.
"Yes, Jamie. Where are you?" She tried to pinpoint my position but I was checking the gun for its load.
"The Cuban crisis could be over soon. The Russians and the Americans are coming to a compromised. Cuba role may be over soon." I spoke to her as I clicked the safety off.
"I hate wars. People get killed or misplaced from their loved ones. I guess we are blessed to have this war averted........" Alicia replied while I closed my eyes to prevent the tears from falling down. I turned around and pointed the gun at her.
Alicia fired first. The bullet hit me on the chest; not once but twice. I fell down on my knees still holding onto my gun. I looked up and saw Alicia making her way over. I would had shot her then but I was too tired to raise my hand. She found me with her left hand and felt my face.
"Alicia, why....." I gasped out from my voice.
"Jamie, you saved my life, and I loved you. But I loved my country more. When I found your box, I saw the sign..."
"But we are lovers..." I heaved out in pain to bring the words out.
"Lovers do not placed their loved ones and friends into the fire zone. My family, friends, and more my country would had suffered if the war was started. That I cannot afford. Not for all the love you can offer. Goodbye, Jamie."
I did not die that day; I was a lot tougher than. Fifty years it took me for the courage to meet her again; sitting on the bench in the park at Washington DC. She still wore the prothetic leg and held the cane. She had retired years ago from Intelligence and now lives on her pension. I hobbled over on my weary legs and sat next to her on the bench. She did not acknowledged me while listening to her portable box with the wires over her ears. I was to get up when she spoke to me.
"Hello, Jamie. Or shall I addressed you as Mikhail. I heard you survive the shots, and went back to Europe and then Far East. So what is the honor of having to come back here now?"
"You, Alicia. Or is it Marcia Brown now. I read your file but I still remembered you as Alicia." She laughed at my statement.
"You, Alicia. Or is it Marcia Brown now. I read your file but I still remembered you as Alicia." She laughed at my statement. "And you are a bad shot. You missed the vital areas. "
"Blame it on my sight. Anyway the gun you gave me was a pea shooter; PPK? Who in their right mind would ever use that in our line?"
We both laughed' adversary, lovers and now old friends. We were on the opposing sides and never was to know until we decided to do a shoot out. The Alicia I fished out of the sea was thought to be a refugee, turned out to be a Intelligence Officer who had to swim for safety. Me, the journalist who was also an Intelligence Officer who had to fish for naval activities. Both unknowingly lived together for two years, comforted each other and came to an end over a silly box with red dye.
"Our nations once locked horns and then walked off without fighting but little do they knew that two of their agents fought it out, with one side winning the bout." Alicia laughed at the thought. "We did what our leaders could not do in person. We are the misled loyalist who shot the first shots."
"Thankfully, it ended there and none was fired since then." I replied to her. "Do you that the Cuban crisis was the first time both our nations came to the brink of war? Never was it ever repeated again since then. Maybe the red telephone did work."
"Nope, it was not the telephone. The operators were smart to sort it out before the Presidents speaks." Alicia spoke out. "We taught them the lesson never to shoot first."
We both laughed as former Intelligence Officers. That was also something they never taught us too in the fields then and now.
1963: A “hot line” is established between the White House and the Kremlin. Now, the leaders of the two most powerful
nations on Earth can communicate quickly in a crisis. In the wake of the Cuban missile crisis, which brought the United
States and Soviet Union to the brink of war, it was recognized on both sides that the lag time in communication between
President Kennedy and Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev had contributed to the escalating situation in Cuba. They were
obliged to talk with each other through intermediaries, leading to delays and misunderstandings as events unfolded.
Determined to prevent this kind of situation from arising again, Kennedy suggested the establishment of a “hot line”
between Washington and Moscow. The Russians, who referred to it as the “red telephone,” readily agreed.
The original hot line was, in fact, not a telephone but a teletypewriter, typically found in telegraph offices of the time. There
were still intermediaries — messages had to be translated, then typed and transmitted by operators — but at least the process had been sped up.
The Cuban Crisis was also considered the most likely event that could had triggered off the first Nuclear War on Earth. Fifty year since then, we have averted such an event from repeating.
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