THE KOSTENIUK DOUBLE BLUFF – Part 1 of 2

By Bob French

The small windowless room was hot and stuffy. A tall elegant woman sat cradling an ice-cold bottle of water.  She said nothing for a few minutes as she stared at the short muscular man with Grecian features, who stood against the air-conditioning unit that hung on the wall, its best days long past.

“So let me get this right Bazyli, the British were not interested in hearing your side of the story regarding your last two performances, and as such were not prepared to share the intel from them or the CIA?”

Bazyli Demetriou, Head of Station for the KYP; the Greek Central Intelligence Service for Cyprus, shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head, but said nothing.

The woman quickly glanced down at her notes.

“The explosion aboard the Italian millionaire’s yacht…. caused by the incompetence of Benni, who accidentally set fire to the galley and the death of the Egyptian tourist, who you were certain was part of a Hamas hit team sent onto the island.”

Still, Bazyli said nothing. She was right.  If only Benni had followed orders. He thought.

The woman slowly stood and moved around the desk to stand directly in front of Bazyli. As he looked into her eyes, he caught the smell of her flowery perfume.

“Who is your contact with the British?”

“Freddy Baxter, Chargè d’affaires at the British Embassy. He’s been out here for years and knows everyone.”

“Then I suggest you start to impress him with how brilliant you and your team are so that he and the American’s think that the KYP out here is capable of not only being a useful ally in the fight against terrorism but is worthy of being a partner to the sharing of intel that goes on. Do I make myself clear?”

“You ask a lot, especially if I have to baby-sit that arrogant little shit, Benni Skassoss.  Is there any way you can replace him?”

The woman smiled at him and he noticed that it never reached her eyes.

“No.  You know that it was part of the deal made with the Director.  His son gets to play at James Bond; we get our funding.  So, fix it Bazyli or you will end up as a stationery clerk in Kazakhstan.”  With that, she left.

That evening as Bazyli sat on the roof garden of his apartment contemplating the day, Uri, his Comms Officers called to see if he was going for a run.

“No thanks, but I could do with having a chat tonight if that’s possible?”

Within minutes Uri, a very fit young woman who wouldn’t look out of place in an Olympic athletics team quietly closed the door to the roof garden and headed for the fridge, took a beer, then came and sat down opposite her boss.

“So Bazyli, how did your chat with Adda Galanos, our illustrious deputy director of EYP go?”

“It would appear that our leaders at National Intelligence Service Headquarters think we are incompetent.”

“Don’t tell me. It’s because of Benni’s screw-ups.”

He nodded and took another swig of his beer.  “I have a plan that will impress not only the Brits but the Americans as well, but only a few of us will need to be in on it.”

“As long as it does not include Benni, I’m listening.”

“What if we tipped off the Brits that there was going to be a suicide bomber in the heart of Dhekelia?”

Uri stared at her boss.  “Did Marco give you this?  Did he get it from White Beard?” There was concern in her voice.

“No.  I just started to think about the plan tonight. There is no way Marco would ever expose his agent White Beard, He’s been running her out of the RAF Signals Station at Troodos for a couple of years now.  No, we groom a young person, pretend that we are from Hamas and then plan the event, but at the last moment, we tip off the Brits about the bomber’s time and place.  They will be on hand to intercept and arrest the bomber and give us the credit for saving many lives.

Uri finished off his sentence. “And we are given access to the intel from the Brits and the CIA, clever Boss, very clever.”

The following morning, Benni was sent off to the docks in Famagusta to meet a shipment of supplies.  After he had left, Bazyli summoned those who were going to be part of his plan.  A man in his twenties called Toni who had infiltrated the young and rich scene on the island, Uri who would run covert comms throughout the operation, and Marco, who was an expert at running agents and be on hand with advice and support.

After the briefing, the room emptied leaving Marco and Bazyli alone.

“What do you think, will it work?”

Marco glanced back at the open door, then spoke quietly. “It would be good if you could move the site to Famagusta instead Dhekelia to coincide with the arrival of an American frigate.  That way you kill two birds with one stone as the saying goes.”

“When is it due?”

“According to White Beard, the tenth of October.”

“Umm, that doesn’t give us much time, but I take your point.  It is best to involve both parties rather than just the Brits.  OK let’s do it.”

“There is a problem though. White Beard is getting restless and is talking about retiring and going back to England. And to compound this bit of a bombshell, she has started to drink.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was staying up at Kyrenia last weekend when I heard a rumpus in the bar opposite my hotel.  When I looked down into the street, I saw the owner of the pub forcibly ejecting her from the place.  Before I could get down there, the owner had sent her on her way, and yes, White Beard was drunk.”

“Has she done this before?”

“Not to my knowledge, but I don’t watch or get close to her as you know. We only meet up when we have something of importance.”

“When are you meeting her next?

“I have put a request in her dead letterbox for a meet next Sunday.  I will get to the bottom of what’s bugging her and report back.”

It was Friday night and the seafront down at Paphos was crowded with the young set.  The beer and wine was flowing and the loud music was dragging everyone out onto the streets to dance.  Toni had recalled Bazyli’s briefing.  He was given a free hand to set up things for his part of the operation. 

As he sat outside the Blue Dolphin Bar supping his beer, he went over his plan again and worked out how to get the person needed for Bazyli’s plan, but persuading them was going to be another matter. After about an hour he approached a group of youngsters from the University of Nicosia who he knew well.  Using his Southern American drawl, he joined them by sitting down between two of the bikini-clad beauties on the beach.

“Yo, How youal’ doing?”

His arrival brought a cheer of ‘Hay Toni.’ In response. After his usual quick-fire round of jokes, he notices that the conversation was a little subdued.

“Nothin’ happenin’ then huh?  Come on guys, it’s Friday night, there must be a party goin’ on somewhere?”

Nancy, a young local girl studying Performing Arts at the University stood up.  Toni looked up at her with admiration; her rich black hair and eyes to die for always made his heart miss a beat.

“Yeh, Over at The Boat Yard.  Andreas is launching his latest boat.  Come on, guys, let’s move it.”

Within twenty minutes they had gate-crashed the party which was heading for an all-nighter.

It was around two in the morning when Toni and Nancy found themselves on the bow of the new yacht.

“You still doin’ your acting course Hun?”

“Yes, but the chances of me getting on screen here on the Island are virtually zero.”

Toni leant against her, smelling the cocoa perfume in her hair. “What if I told you that my boss wants me to make a short tourist film for a Brit company. Think you cun do it?” 

Nancy slowly stared up into his eyes. “What’s it going to cost me?” 

Toni lent down and kissed her gently. “Nothin at all Hun.  If yo’are good as you say yo’are, you got yerself a job and maybe a ticket off the Island.” 

“When do I get started?” 

“All in good time Hun, all in good time.” 

Sunday was an overcast day and Marco had stood at the bus stop waiting for the bus. Hopefully, White Beard would be on it and they could start their clandestine meeting. 

It arrived ten minutes late. ‘not bad for a Sunday’ he thought as he climbed onto the busy bus and came and sat behind a woman with short blond hair, in her forties wearing dark glasses. He did not speak to her as the bus trundled through the countryside. 

The bus stopped opposite the seaside attractions at Paphos Beach, and they both stood to get off the bus.  White Beard stepped into the aisle in front of Marco and touched her left ear.  This was the warning that she thought that she was being followed. Macro knew that they would now have to meet at the second meeting point forty minutes later.  All of a sudden their innocent meeting was starting to look dangerous.

 

Copyright Bob French