They Thought You Were Bond: Tales of the Jaguar

By E.C. Croslin

There have been threats on the Popes life while traveling throughout
the many parts of the world the worse thing that could happen is that
the attempts on his life would happen in one of the countries he often
visits it would cause world wide retaliation politically and socially, as
well. The British Secret Service has taken steps to protect the holly man
in his travels but they fear their agent has other agendas in mind while
the Pope makes his last stop in Spain either to forgo the assignment give
to assassinate either the President of Spain or the President himself
if caught it would bring Great Britain into focus. NSA is called to aid
MI-6 in either capturing or terminating their rogue agent one man is
assigned the mission, John Leonardo Fernardez a.k.a. James Barn
the Jaguar the Latin Agent often mistaken for Great Britains famed
British Agent. With his lifestyle somewhat similar.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469125169

E.C. Croslin

Everett Croslin Sr. is a native of Baltimore attended the city's schools before enlisting in the United States Navy for six years re-enlisting some years later in the United States Air Force servicing in Desert Storm and Desert Shield. He attended Coppin State College where he studied in Political Science later attended Morgan State University in the field of Psychology, Creative Writing as well as Script Writing. After nine months of working for NASA, Croslin soon turned his attention to Law Enforcement serving eighteen years as a Commissioned Officer trained by both the Maryland State Police and Baltimore City Police Department while working as one of Morgan State's Police Officers. Besides his writings he is a composer having arranged as well as performed musical scores for novels he has written. The author's love for adventure and friction writing goes back to his early teens his intentions are to bring more minorities into focus as leading characters as well as have his novels suit his audience dealing mostly in spy thrillers along with science fiction admiring such authors as Tom Clancy, Ian F1amming and Gene Rodenberry having a broader realm of imagination in entertaining their readers.

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Copyright © 2012 by E.C. Croslin.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012906769

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4691-2515-2

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                   Ebook                                      978-1-4691-2516-9

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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CONTENTS

They Thought You Were Bond

No Double O’s (First Encounters)

The Human Godzilla

Priscilla

Dog And Cat Games

Tools Of The Trade

Agent In Pink

Sewer Side Mission

Avenging Angels

On A Wing And A Prayer

Almost Heaven Sent

Old Flames

Up In Smoke

Priscilla’s Wish

Good-Bye Spanish Eyes

About The Author

There have been threats on the Pope’s life while traveling throughout the many parts of the world the worse thing that could happen is that the attempts on his life would happen in one of the countries he often visits it would cause world wide retaliation politically and socially, as well. The British Secret Service has taken steps to protect the holly man in his travels but they fear their agent has other agendas in mind while the Pope makes his last stop in Spain either to forgo the assignment give to assassinate either the President of Spain or the President himself if caught it would bring Great Britain into focus. NSA is called to aid MI-6 in either capturing or terminating their rogue agent one man is assigned the mission, John Leonardo Fernardez a.k.a. James Barn the Jaguar the Latin Agent often mistaken for Great Britain’s famed British Agent. With his lifestyle somewhat similar.

Chapter One

THEY THOUGHT YOU WERE BOND

It is mid summer Pope John Paul stands in a well-protected vehicle, waving to the people of Berlin Germany, with several Germany police cars escorting him. He has traveled through Warsaw Poland, Moscow Russian and parts of Romania, with little or no incidents. His scheduled stops now were Paris France then finally Madrid Spain. The caravan of cars continues along the crowed and noise filled streets, of Berlin. Tactical police line the streets and overlook the precession, making sure nothing happens with his visit in their country. Someone has found a weak link, in their security precautions. Perched in one of the buildings a few blocks from the approaching line of cars, a man works his way inside one of the buildings. With some of the Tactic Police standing on its roof top, a man inside the building holds a high powered rifle, with a scope mounted on it. He waits, staring through the scope, lining up his victim, the cross mark beaming on the Pope’s shoulders slowly working its way to the head of the Holly man.

Just a little more. He says, slowly moving the trigger back.

Slowly the line of car approaches the seemingly dark and empty building, and the man inside waits for the right moment to fire the fatal shot. He is not alone in the building. Another unseen figure slowly works along the dim lit corridors leading to the room, where he is hiding. The assassin continues kneeing and waiting. Just as the escort car passes the building, two shots are fired. The noise from the rifle is heard, but barely, just enough to alert the Police and the special units guarding the Pope. Swiftly the Pope’s car moves out of harms way, as the Germany Police descends on the building and the unit on its roof top storm down the halls. As the officers bust through and into the room, they see a man lying face down on the floor, with a bullet to the head. The smoke from his assault rifle, was still streaming from its barrel. Slowly emerging out of the dark, a man named Sergeant Herman Gostiff enters the room, then looks toward the group of men standing over the dead man’s body.

Good shooting, this would have been embariousing for the Germany people. Looking around the room, then back to the few men who followed him.

None of us did this, sir. One of the men remarks, raising his head upward from the dead man.

There must be someone in the building besides him.

Then I want you to look for this person. Gostiff suddenly remarks. When you find whoever it is, bring them to me. It is bad enough this man got pass us. Even worse that his killer, has as well.

As the search for the man’s killer begins, the figure that had managed to work its way inside the building and prevent the attempt on the Holly man’s life, now stands motionlessly in the dark corners of the building, waiting for the perfect opportunity to exit the structure. The sounds of footsteps echo throughout, the building. Gostiff’s men rush along each hallway of every floor, searching for the person responsible for the assassin’s death. Finally with the building secured, Gostiff assembles his men to find he is one short.

What is Stephen? He asks, looking down the line of men, but there were no answers. Moments later a nude Stephen’s step from the entrance way, holding what is left of his Standing silently in amongst the German Police, the person whom they seek watches as they gather to check for the impostor, who now wears their uniform, knowing it will take hours to find the right person, they slip slowly and quietly from the group and into the crowded streets of the city.

TWO WEEKS LATER, WASHINGTON DC, a man sits in a silver Jaguar XJ6, looking out towards another type of crowd, tourist moving along the streets where over dozens’ museums stand lined in a row. Not only is the foot traffic heavy, but so are the crowds of tourist. He lights a cigarette, then reaching for the button to the driver’s window, allows the smoke to exit. His real name is John Leonardo Fernardez. He was a South American born Indian in his middle thirties working for not only NSA, also working secretly with other agents unknown to even the other Intelligence Agencies. A group known as C.A.T.T, Covert Agent Tactical Team. The creator of the team is no other than the Chief of NSA’s Field Operations, Frank Otterman, known to the group as the KEEPER. His cleaver networking skills help to make this team International. They were highly trained and specially skilled men and women from, different parts of the world and other agencies. Each agent had catlike code names, suited for their specialties.

John is the son of a South American Ambassador, assassinated along with his wife Maria and three of their children, one younger brother of three, older sister of nineteen, younger sister seventeen. John was five at the time and if not for Otterman and Fernardez’s adopted father, Carl Barn. John would be lying along side his real family’s grave in Rio De Janeiro his real home. All though he has vaguely seen the face of his family’s murder as well as heard the name, Indigo Flordell a West Indian hit man still remains in his memory. He glances at his watch, seemingly waiting for someone of something to happen, moments later a he looks up toward the direction of an on coming car, a new model black colored Bentley with tinted windows and British tags, which also seems to be searching for someone or some place to park. It passes once, then makes a suddenly U-turn and parks just three cars down from John’s Jaguar. He continues watching, when a slightly over weight, white man very fashionable dress, sporting a thin mustache, with cane in hand approaches. He stops just at the passenger’s side door, giving John, a.k.a. James’s car the once over.

Jaguar model XJ6, speeds up to 160 mph, belt driven, electrical engineering.

That’s what I was told, when I bought it. Barn replies, as he rolls down the window and snuffs out the half finished cigarette. You are Great Britain’s second, Bulldog?

That’s what they said when I got the job.

Good, I heard you were a punctual person. John, a.k.a. James, glance again at his watch, then looks up smiling. You made it here fifteen minutes ahead of scheduler. Now, I like that. Come on. Let’s take a walk. The air will help this conversion go smoother.

The two men walk in the direction of the Washington Monument, they stop just for a few minutes, when the man who has introduced himself as Brigadier General Charles Cromwall turns to Barn. Mr. Bond. How long have you been working for Chief Otterman?

Well first. James said, raising his hand. "My name isn’t Bond… it’s Barn. I know if can be confusing. The way it sounds, but it’s Barn. Without the E, on the end. I’m not another one of your British super Spy. Cromwall lifts one eyebrow, shrugging off his mistake.

When people hear the name. They expect a white man in some kind of formal wear, packing a Walter PPK. That’s not me. John turns briefly outward, then back again.

I carry a Smith and Wesson, with a round ammo clip. I like to wear casual safari type jackets or sports wear. Formal, when I have to. The second answer is. I have been with the agency for over ten years, now. Why do you ask?

John served a brief tern in the Navy five years under the name, James Barn. It was good that he did. His adopted father Carl knew he had to be naturalized as a citizen of the US, and like most aliens, serving five years in any branch of the service would make that so, it was a way of covering him, in case he was ever found out about and saving him from deportation

I take it that, that you have worked in his special group, for that number of years as well?

No, the Chief enlisted me some five years ago… but what has this have to do with our meeting like this? Otterman said you needed help on some assignment, something you didn’t want the other agencies to get in on.

You are right about that. Cromwall slowly set himself on one of the park benches, holding his cane in front of him, then letting out with a soft sigh. Since you know what the team does, and why it was created, you may have some idea why this meeting is important.

Yeah, the team was made to get agents who are given up for dead be their agencies, that’s one reason. James set beside his British contact, then turns to face him. That other reason it to get them out of seemingly impossible jams, when the country can’t afford to get involved, either militarily or politically.

Well old boy, this is what we have. The United Kingdom along with other countries, have been keeping other eyes on the movements of the Pope. This is one of his good will missing. So far things have been going as planned.

Okay, so what is the problem? He watches as the General removes a pouch of pipe tobacco and a hand crafted Italy made pipe, with bent mouth piece. Charles stuffs it. Some moments later the sweet smell of vanilla, fills the air.

Your Chief has given you compliments. He said you are good for pulling agents out of harm’s way.

That’s not an easy task General, that are channels that have to be pass through. Now what and who is this assignment? That’s the original question I asked.

Let me start with telling you about the assignment, GUARDIAN ANGEL.

GUARDIAN ANGEL, what kind of name is that for a mission? The General removes his pipe, then continues explaining.

For the last few months of the Pope’s travels, we have had an agent monitoring his movements, protecting him for assassination, thus the name GUARDIAN ANGEL. He’s due to visit Rome in a few months.

Okay, then what? James asks, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it. But before you answer that, I have a question for you. How do you know about the Chief’s little organization?

For God’s shake man. Frank and I go back some years, serving in the military together. We thought up this idea together. Not even the Queen knows of my involvement in this network of skilled spies and other local and federal agencies. There are few of the agents that I know in your agency, like wise for Frank. Protecting the identities is the reason of cause. He leans on his cane, then looks outward. There are, I guess. Five of your yanks that, I know. The rest are merely cat names in my book.

So, whom I in your book of who’s who?

"Your James Barn, that much we have already established, your code name is the same as that fancy car of yours… the Jaguar.

James was now taken back, Otterman’s organization was indeed a networking team of agents, Cromwall then explains his code name, Churchill’s Bulldog or just the Bulldog, since it was the symbol for the UK. Okay General, now that we have some understanding of what I’m dealing with, or should I say whom I’m dealing with. What about this GUARDIAN ANGEL thing?

We not sure exactly when he’s to visit the President of Madrid Spain, but some time after Rome he’s due there. There is a group of Terrorist agents, who are said to be out to assassinate him. It’s possible both he and the President, since the opportunity to do so it there.

James leans back on the bench, his arm over the edge. So you want me to baby-sit the Pope. That’s what this GUARDIAN ANGEL mission is about? General, my wings aren’t with me and I make a piss poor baby-sitter.

We have an agent doing that, dear boy. Cromwall puffed on his pipe several times. His reply was calm and casual. The agent working on that was once a member of our Tidy Team, now working as a field agent.

Tidy Team? James’s eyes grow wide. He springs forward, glancing at the General.

Look General. Our mission in the organization, is to secretly save agents that have this slight problem of being MIA’s. With the help of their country, or agencies. The person you’re talking about, is someone who makes things look like accidents… or that someone else did it. They’re the dangerous kind.

That’s why this agent was selected… who else can do the job we’re asking them to do? They’re good and we don’t want to loss them. Both men sit quietly on the bench for a few minutes, before the General turns again. Let me ask you this Barn, who were the worse people you encountered on any mission? James pauses then lets out with a sigh. He turns again to Cromwall.

I would have to say there are two people in my life right now, whom I wouldn’t want to encounter again, Ingrid Van Dorne and Alphonso Godenso, both members of an organization named WASP.

What is the meaning of this organization?

World Alliance of Secretive Patriot, an organization Van Dorne created after the death of her master spy boyfriend. He turns outward again, watching the people walking through the park.

I know the Chief must have told you about her and Godenso.

He did mention something about your assignment dealing with them, which is one of the reasons he recommended you.

Crashing out his cigarette, Barn explains what happened on the assignment. Ingrid Van Dorne.

I know of her… . Swishish woman, wears a patch over the left side of her face.

Yeah, and I was the one whom she blames for that, she like a situation where you’re put in a pit twenty-five foot square and twenty-five feet deep, then suddenly a bull comes charging out and the only way out is up or death… the only true choice is death.

She sounds like someone you surely would want to, deal with. So what’s her angle as far as, you’re concern? Why is she so dangerous to you?

I was assigned to Turkey at the time, working as a regular agent for NSA. Their government asked us to intercept a group of nine Terrorists, later Identified as WASP agents. They had made several strikes on the Turkey government buildings, and were planning to destroy the warehouse where they held their meetings and stored their data. I think British Interpol call the operation, HEAD HUNTER.

Yes, that’s correct. Cromwall replies, tapping out his pipe, then replacing it in his pocket.

The CIA called it FOX HUNT. Your CIA called it FOX HUNT. Now if I am correct on this, the warehouse was found and destroyed, along with the data and the terrorist.

No, all of them died General. Ingrid Van Dorne was one of those who made it out, after the explosion. To make it short and sweet, if that’s possible, this is what happened that night.

Barn when on explaining the mission and the events that lead up to he and Van Dorne’s revengeful death wish for him. Ingrid was twenty-eight years of age, old model with the world looking on her as one of her country’s prettiest imports. Her future was bright. He explains her meeting with German Pilot Rudoph Kellinski, once a pilot for a NATO command Unit, in 1973. Later, Kellinski worked for an airline in Europe. Lead to their close relationship, evenly a love affair and her involvement in espionage. So how did you exactly get involved, Barn?

Captain Sherhon, of the Turkish Special Task Force unit, got in touch with me. Kellinski had been watched closely by some of the members of Interpol. I happen to catch the same flight he was piloting, that’s how I happen to be in the same place as he. Sherhon and I continued surveillance on him. We were waiting of for Kellinski to make his move. Three days later he did.

How did she get involved that night? James turns and motions for the two of them to start once again their walk. His legs were going numb, which was one of the reasons he wanted to continue walking.

General, I don’t know exactly how she got there, but she was. They both entered the warehouse together, along with eight members of the group, that’s why when they reported finding nine bodies, I knew she had gotten out. He slowed his pace, allowing Cromwall to keep up.

Kellinski was still in his flight uniform. His men were dressed in dark clothing. Even Van Dorne was dress the same. We watched as a small truck approached the building, in it was crates of explosive material, we wait well until all of the members were inside, that’s when Sherhon and I lead the men to the warehouse. As the fighting took place, I found Kellinski planting a device in one of the storage room, we fought, we struggled, the gun went off sending a bullet through his head.

And Van Dorne?

I couldn’t disarm the device in time. Sherhon saw that to and ordered his men out. I gathered up what I could. I was ready to leave, Van Dorne unexpectedly and silently stood behind me, over Kellinski’s body. She held a gun in her hand and was aiming at my back. He pauses with his head down, before looking skyward.

I urged her to leave, but she refused. The only thing that saved me, was the explosions outside the room. It gave me a chance to dart pass her, to freedom. When I got outside and turned back, the warehouse exploded with flames jetting out of it. I thought no one could live through that. I was wrong. She appeared again, on my following mission. That’s when I saw the results of when had happened and again. I barely escaped with my life.

What about this Godenso fellow, what makes him so dangerous to you? Barn laughed, but it was not the type of laugher that was taken lightly.

Godenso… he’s not a real thinker, but he is her right hand henchman. He did most of her physical dirty work. He’s strong, muscular and a fire breathing menace.

He could see he had the General’s full attention, now. The word fire-breathing seems to have help. John stops and turns. There was a slight glow on his face, followed by a soft chuckle.

I call him Alpnonso Godzilla. It’s this way General. He was a strong man in an Italian circle. He also was a flame eater. In one his performance something went wrong, I don’t know what exactly, but it burned his vocal cord and now he has to use a voice box. He does have this way of removing those who would disagree with him.

How is that? James held up his pack of Selems.

He swallows a small vow of flammable liquid, then lights his cigar and blows the flames out toward who ever is the unlucky one. I have seen it a dozen time, with some pretty nasty results.

Both he and the General were standing next to Cromwall’s Bentley. He opens the door and retrieves a large file size envelope, then hands it to Barn. Open it Mr. Barn, this is your assignment that we were talking about. In it were several photographs.

Okay, what am I looking at? I see a fat bald headed man, surrounded by what looks like bodyguards, with a beautiful woman hanging on his arm. James continues thumbing through the file and the pictures inside it, until he comes across a second photo, showing the same people watching some kind of parade. There was a woman holding on to the man’s shoulder. The third picture showed the same group climbing into a lime, followed by yet another. It was the next picture, that caught, James’s attention.

Shit! He said, looking closely at the photo. What happened to him?

What do you think, Mr. Barn?

Fernardez. I don’t know, an ambush I would imagine. Who was that guy and what became of the woman?

The picture showed a grim view of the limo, engulfed in flames with two badly burnt corpses, with the fat bald headed dead man lying faced up on the ground. The General went on to explain it. One person did that, the agent we want off the GUARDIAN ANGEL assignment. There’s a contract one them, their cover is blown and we want them out before they reach Spain.

If this person is one of your so-called Tidy Team, I can see why their life is in danger, this is some awesome work their do.

Now from the information Otterman and I got, it’s someone in your country, who has blow their cover and we don’t know who just yet. We want agent, Personia off this assignment.

Okay… but there is two things I need to know, what this guy Personia looks like, the second is. James pauses, then looks up from the photos. What kind of name is Personia… . Italian or Spanish? Cromwall pulls out two more photos, the first one showing a close-up of the balding man, his right eye blown out from the back of his head, by some large caliber handgun along with several bloody holes in his chest. It suggested the mobster had been shot in the back, while running for safety. Even worse, shot in some gangland style assassination.

Oh hell, I can bring this guy Personia back, if I can persuade him not to kill me. I still need to know what he looks like, he’s not in any of these pictures.

Oh but yes she is… the woman you saw in the photo with the dead chap, Mr. Corby Montell, knew International hit man, is Priscilla Personsia. She’s a native of Spain, trained by some of the best men we have, to do just what you see there.

James stared down on the picture of a lovely woman, dressed in a white stunning low cut formal gown and a diamond studded necklaces, draped around her throat. She worn a pair of white colored elbow length gloves. The woman was slender built and from the close-up Fernardez could see her eyes clearly. They were light brown, with heavy eyebrows coming fine tapered ends. Her hair was light brown and cut in a shag. The woman had a teasing tan to high light her apparel. There was no doubt in his mind she was of Espanic blood, which, which was why he loved the idea of finding her.

She is very skilled Mr. Barn, and is very dangerous. If she knew you were trying to take her off this assignment, she may just try to kill you and prevent that. Barn looks devilishly at Cromwall, with a smile as big as Texas. Really. He looks again at the picture.

Mr. Barn I am warning you, she is not one to trifle with. She will not hesitate to kill you, which means you will be considered killed in action yourself… something I would rather not see.

Hey, believe me… I would hate to see that happen to. But just think, what a way to go.

You may not be Bond, but in some ways you’re not far from it. I would urge you to think about your actions. Cromwall reaches into the coat pocket, removing a smaller envelope, inside plane tickets and small photos of the agent he is to find.

You’re to be at the airport at 2:15 p.m., Thursday. One of your fellow agents will meet with you. I must make this clear. This will be handled by the sub-agency. No help from NSA is to be expected. Bring Peronsia back, safely. If possible. If not…

Cromwall pauses for a mere split of a second. Well, I don’t have to go into that. You know what it means.

Where do I go first? James asks, stuffing the envelope in his back pocket.

All of that will be explained to you, when you are on your way. The General slowly climbs inside his Bentley, as Barn stands watching as the car slowly pulls off. He stands with his hands in his pocket, something he normally does, like some kid hanging on the corner, with no place in particle to go, watching as the General’s car makes the next bend.

Something was not right with this arrangement, something he couldn’t put a finger on, Cromwall had failed to fill him in on something and it wasn’t until James set for a moment in his car, that it came to him. He knew whom to find, but how would he protect her from people he didn’t know, he was a man in the middle of two situations, a lovely assassin and a group of terrorist, with the chances he himself would be a target of some kind. He had been in some pretty tight spots, physically, but that was in the midst of foreseen danger, in this case there were dangers not yet seen.

For now there was nothing he could do, the ride back to his Columbia ranch styled home, was less than thirty minutes away, he would have some preparing to do and packing. He was in no way like his British counterpart, there were no fancy high tech gadgets, although the agency did have some pretty special equipment, no fancy equipped car with guns shooting out of the headlights or ejection seats and wheel cutting rims, just pure common sense and the training he received from some of the best Navy Seals and Special Forces members in the agency.

Chapter Two

NO DOUBLE O’S (FIRST ENCOUNTERS)

It was the morning of his departure. Sunlight shines through the sliding glass door on the balcony level of Fernardez’s second story home. He spent the few days before getting things in order and playing what little tennis he could, before loosing the precious time he had left. He lies there in bed, fighting to open his eyes, as he turns over to the night stand, to check the time. It was 6:46 a.m. He then decides it was time to get up, for his regular routine of showering and shaving. Not long after walking into the kitchen, James, as we will call him, prepares coffee. Still in his towel and sandals, he hears the phone, and allows it to ring several times. On the fourth ring the answering machine clicks on.

Hey bro. The male caller says, in a New Yorker’s accent.

He had heard the voice before, but for some reason could place a face to the voice. It was a deep tone, indicating the person on the other end must have been someone big in size, but not necessarily, calling himself Lynx. Just called to wish you the best of luck. Look. Say hello to all those Spanish hot tamales for me. I may be over there in about three or four weeks… can’t say much more, so I will see you soon. Just then the machine clicks off, leaving Barn scratching his head.

Who the hell was that? He whispers to himself. There was nothing leave to do now but to get dressed, grabbing one of his favorite suits, a navy blue, doubt breasted suit with matching pants and tie, he reaches for the black Samsonite briefcase and a small travel bag, the two things he continues to check, as if his life depended on it… for which it did.

The only special thing about his briefcase was the fact it was lined with an inch thick plate of lead, top and bottom of the case, servicing as a shield against small caliber weapons. Something he needed when he as not wearing his bullet resisted vest. His small travel bag contained a host of different survival equipment. His shaving cream contain, that was divided into two sections with plastic explosive, hair spray with enough aerosol to light a match and create a torch. These were the only fancy devices he had to use, beside the small field glasses that fit inside his pocket, his Cannon camera with night vision lens and his pocket pen to detect bugging devices.

His side arm was another story, it would have to pass through customs and the metal detectors, this time he would have to use a special weapon, one that was made for just that purpose. Breaking down his weapon, he places some of the parts in a large radio with hidden compartments of surrounded by light weight lead material, a fake battery section conceals the clips of ammunition and the inner working of the radio conceal the plastic frame work of the special made Smith and Wesson. With bags in hand, James walks out of the front door to the car pad several feet from the house, then begins packing his thing in the back seat of the Jaguar sedan.

"Good