JAMES H. BIRD

CHAP 1 EUROPA
On this particular morning Dean stood before the consulate, United States, West German and Bavarian flags furled in light breezy puffs. He received brief instructions yesterday, one-line memo straight to the point: ‘Wait outside front entrance, 6:45 A.M. End.’ It was sent from his boss so didn’t bother to question the strange instruction. A government sedan sped around the corner and stop abruptly, someone from the inside of the car opened the rear door. Dean slid onto the backseat dragging his briefcase behind him. Before he could settle in, a black hood was pulled over his head. 
“Hey! What the…” Dean began to protest.
“Be quite, Mr. Spalding! We’re going for a ride.”
Dean was shoved to the floor as the car sped off. The assailant tied Dean’s hands behind his back. His struggling subdued by a foot on his neck. He had read about the frequent kidnappings and Dean figured it was his turn, but why. Usually they were high level politicos or the wealthy for ransom. He panicked and breathing came hard, sucking the fabric of the hood in and out like a convict on the scaffold.
Too many turns in irregular order for Dean to count. The engine in high hum suggested a long stretch of highway or Autobahn. The car slowed followed by more confusing turns. A bump then tires squealed their objection to the rapid deceleration. The door was snatched open and Dean felt four arms grab him and snatched him up and out of the car. He was led through a door, down a hall then another door and down a flight of stairs, a landing, more stairs. Metal door this time, he was propelled down a long linoleum hall floor. Dean was halted and turned right. He heard what sounding like the clicking of high heels.
“Stand here Mr. Spalding,” said the same voice from the government car. 
“Is this him?” A female voice asked in a slight Mediterranean accent. Dean couldn’t identify which country.
“Yes ma am,” Dean’s assailant said.
“Good. Carry on. Kline is waiting.”
Dean heard someone knock.
“Yep, come,” a steely voice said, an American voice.
Dean’s kidnappers escorted him into the subterranean room. One snatched the hood off while another unbound his hands. Another tossed his briefcase at his feet. Dean breathed long and deep. He coughed and blinked his eyes. 
Retired Army Colonel Ed Kline Deputy Director of Information and Political Affairs sat in front of him. Dean never met him and strangers make him uneasy. Colonel Ed Kline a clean-cut rawboned thick man around six feet tall with large hands and round shoulders. He had the look of someone who might have played linebacker in college. He wore a high and tight haircut his silver hair stood at attention and had the look of being brushed with a wet towel. He had a square face and piercing hazel eyes that projected command and no nonsense. 
He sat behind standard issue gray metal government desk on a wooden swivel chair. The only furnishings. His legs crossed, and sitting sideways to the door, reading. A black beret with no insignia lay on his desk. Kline wore a military style black sweater and dark gray pants. He did not get up nor extend his hand to Dean. Kline’s austere office looked like a temporary arraignment to Dean. Unlike consulate offices furnished with quality wood desks, tables and comfortable chairs.
Colonel Kline continued sitting while looking over papers clearing his throat, he did not smile. With his left hand, he motioned Dean to come closer. The room grew warm, causing Dean to loosen his tie. He tried not to fidget and keep his composer.
“Why am I here?” Dean said in an uncertain tone. “I mean… I didn’t know… is part of the consulate?” his voice was hoarse. “Um… I… I mean I didn’t know anything…” His voice trailed off. 
Kline continued reading without speaking.
“… and I’ve been working at the consulate for nearly a year,” Dean exclaimed, looking around wide-eyed.
Kline did not look up when he spoke. “There are many things you don’t know Mr. Spalding. This building has nothing to do with the consulate.”
“Why am I here?” Dean said in an uncertain tone. “I mean… I…I… who… who are you?” his voice sputtering.
“This briefing is your first. I will provide you with as much information we consider necessary for you to complete the current phase and to keep you alive.” Kline looked up at inexpressive Dean. 
“I was opposed to you for this work … but others in Bonn thought you better cover.”
“Cover?” Dean said and gulped. He opened his mouth to say something but no words came out.
Kline returned his attention to his papers, “You are a twenty-six year old graduate student about to go on a pilgrimage and should not draw attention. … You’ll be able to move around northern Spain with ease.” 
“I am a doctoral candidate in Government and Political Science and a history major,” Dean said a bit boastfully.
“Your education is a plus but not overly important. Your recent work for the embassy and here at the consulate has been noticed. You have a keen sense for detail and work with poise under pressure. … I’m told you are dependable.”
“Thank you sir.”
“The Berlin incident to name one. Furthermore, your work with the counter terrorism desk on the Bahder-Mahouf, ETA and Red Brigade problems. However, what has been reported in the popular press and your briefing material is incomplete.” Kline’s voice softens, “some in Directorate of Operations have called you a man for all seasons. You’re going have to prove it.” 
Dean rocked back slightly but kept his expression placid. He could feel his blood pressure rise, he struggled for a response. Man this guy is up the chain. That’s compartmental classified information. Dean suppressed internal voice, speak less speak best.
“Oh that yeah thank you, pretty basic stuff sir.” 
Kline ignored Dean’s remark, “Over the next six months we will train you certain skills and techniques. We will send you to Las Palmas on the Spanish Canary Islands; we’ve got a training facility there.”
“Yes sir. I’ve always wanted to visit there.”
“You will improve your Spanish. You will learn more in depth analysis concerning the political and economic situation in Spain,” he clasped his hands. “We will train you in survival, evasion, resistance, and escape. You will learn and abide by Army code of conduct.” 
“Yeah, things are a bit shaky since Franco croaked,” Dean said in a weak attempt at lightening the mood. He failed, miserably.
Kline turned over a page and cleared his throat, “Mr. Spalding,” he looked up again, “foreign affairs is serious business. This is not Saturday night at the frat house nor a vacation to an island paradise.”
“Yes sir. I understand.” No I don’t…
“Oh, do you? Tell me what you know of Spain,” Kline said in a condescending voice.
“Yes well … I…” Dean, unprepared for an oral presentation, bumbled along in a meandering narrative reading from his notes and papers that had acuminated in his battered lawyer style briefcase.
“Franco’s political party Falangism is widely associated to a fascist ideology. Franco believed Spain’s "national love for law and order" due to Germanic Visigoth tribe heritage. Falangist regime respected Nazi Germany discipline. Franco ordered Spanish archaeologists to demonstrate Spaniards were Aryan race through their Visigoth legacy. Some have suggested this admiration for Nazism and Aryan race shaped Franco’s political philosophy.
“Spain, in 1978 is in turmoil and shaping up to become bloodiest year for Euskadi Ta Askatasuna commonly known as ETA translated as Basque Homeland and Freedom. This group is an armed Basque nationalist and separatist organization in Northwest Spain and Southwest France. I have been watching this group closely.”
Dean dangled the pages by his side and pushing his hair back, “Why am I telling you this? Like you said earlier, this information is widely known. Would you rather here what we are doing?”
Kline looked up, “Perhaps Mr. Spalding. What else do you know?”
Dean frowned at Kline and rubbed his jaw. 
“Let me see.” He said, delaying to look where he left off. 
“This Law for Political Reform tested Suárez’s political shrewdness. Not only did he have to work with diametrically opposite parties, military and church, the new prime minister needed to bring the dangerous situation in Basque Country under control and contend with treacherous ETA,” Dean let out an impatient huff and shuffled his feet. 
Colonel Kline held up his hand, “That’s enough.” He cleared his through and said, “Ok Mr. Spalding, anyone could find that in countless publications. Your research would make a sufficient sophomoric academic paper,” He swiveled his chair, it squeaked. “We have an assignment for you.” 
“Yes sir,” Dean said and straighten up.
The Colonel spoke in a guarded tone, “Spain is not yet a NATO member.”
“Yes sir, I know.”
“We need it to be. … More on NATO in a minute,” Kline said, he waving his hand as if swatting a gnat. He picked up a paper from a desk drawer. 
“Here is a list that explains what we wish you to observe and report while on your hike. It’s the usual. Ships, trains, military equipment. It’s on your list. Let us know immediately if you see troop movements or suspicious military-like behavior. Take a few moments and look it over,” Colonel Kline said, flatly like he was handing Dean a grocery list. He began tapping his finger on his desk. 
“Uh? I thought I was…”
“Changes Mr. Spalding. They are as inevitable as the sun. Any run of the mill tourist could take pictures of buildings and chat with the locals.” 
“Yeah, I guess.”
“No guessing in this game Mr. Spalding …. In addition, you will learn how to provide detailed hydrographic features description and accurate charts showing water depths at all points, reefs, rocks, shoals, and peculiar currents. Anything a danger to navigation. Likewise, tributary streams and channels. We want you to observe and record but there are some things you must know. Things not on your list,” Kline said. “Things that may cause you trouble.”
“Trouble?”
“If you don’t want this assignment then I’ll send you back to that piss ant clerk job,” Kline barked at him. 
Dean looked at Kline then down at the list that identified things to look for while hiking in Northern Spain. After he skimmed Kline’s list he shrugged his shoulders.
“This looks simple enough. I’ll do it,” Dean said, “I might get delayed some though.”
“How?” 
“I dunno, going down to ports and stations. Things like that.”
“Take binoculars or use your camera lens. We will teach you these things.”
“Good point,” Dean felt foolish. I should of thought of that. He lamented.
Colonel Kline stayed silent for a few moments then dropped a bombshell that would change Dean’s life forever, “Have you heard of the … Gladio?”
“Gladio?” Dean put his fingers to his tilted forehead, “No. What is that?” 
“It’s Italian for a short, wide, double-edged sword used by gladiators in ancient Rome,” Kline sat back and folded has hands in his lap. His expression solemn and sad. He let out a long sigh then began speaking slowly. 
“This Cold War is tricky business. Spain in particular, Left and Right extremists fighting for control. You know this from embassy briefs,” Kline said, he crossed his arms across his chest and shot a glance at Dean with narrowing eyes. 
“Today I will give you a little background. You will be given more information during your training … and during you work on this assignment.”
“Um … OK?” Dean said, more of a question. He felt his pulse quicken he shuffled on his feet and fidgeted with his ear lobe. What the heck is this about?
The door opened and someone walked in behind Dean. He didn’t reveal himself nor offer an introduction. The door shut and mystery man stood his hands clasped behind his back. He wore a dark business suit. He had a featureless round face and very short dark hair and maybe little over weight. He was a big man as tall has Dean. He did not make eye contact, looking instead over Dean’s head.
Kline went on, “Gladio generally is a network of secret army that exist in Italy and other NATO countries. The CIA’s covert warfare section coordinates this activity through the UN. These armies were set up by CIA and British Secret Intelligence Service MI6 after the war. They fight Communist.”
“I can see why secret armies were kept under wraps. Who pays for this?” Dean said, taking a step closer. 
Colonel Kline unfolded his arms and leaned forward, “I will tell you what you must know and that is all.”
“Yes sir.”
“In each country these secret military services operate their anti-Communist army in collaboration with CIA and SIS. MI6 recruited for the CIA and SIS stashed caches of weapons. These operations are unknown by parliaments and populations. … However, most government leaders are involved,” Kline said, paused for a minute reviewing his notes while tapping his pencil. “In Soviet Russia there exists a samizdat an under…”
“A what?”
“A samizdat is a Russian word for an informal underground network that prints and distributes clandestinely government-suppressed collected works. We collect a lot of data that requires vetting. ” The Colonel shows a slight smirk, “You’ve been added to the mailing list.”
“Ok.”
“The secret army’s commanders modeled their armies after the British Special Operations Executive. During the War Operatives parachuted into enemy-held territory accessed hidden weapons buried by partisans and fought behind enemy lines.” 
“I parachuted once, back in the states … it was static line, it was cool man,” Dean said with his shoulders back with a little grin.
“We know,” Kline said, briefly clenching his fist. He looked at his paper.
“Yes Sir.”
“If the Soviets and their Warsaw Pact forces invade, the secret Gladio agents or armies under NATO command will form a stay-behind network. They will operate behind enemy lines and take on the dictatorship’s and communist’s governments.” 
“They are a hard bunch to grasp and the west will never trust them. Churchill said about Russia … they are a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma,” Dean said.
“That’s correct.” Colonel Kline said. “That is why it is crucial to keep tabs on their proxy armies. Most of the NATO forces can at least slow a Soviet invasion then rely on stay behind partisans to cause trouble. This brings me back to Spain. They are vulnerable and the Soviets know this. We have evidence that the Russians are using local sympathizers as proxies to act in the same stay-behind capacity as the NATO operatives. 
“Stay-behind? …. Umm …. NATO?”
“Yes. They would stay home when the Soviets and Warsaw Pact forces invaded. They would act as a resistance force in Spain.”
“Like the French during the War…”
“Yes like the French and Italian resistance. … During the war Western Europe had underground resistance forces and networks formed after the Nazis invaded.” Colonel Kline looked at the man by the door. 
“When Germany was defeated, NATO used the term 'Fifth Columns' to designate the Communists secret armies. However, secret warfare experts criticized the West's for letting Communist Fifth Columns operate in its midst. Hence NATO with CIA and MI6 help created counter Left secret armies. … Like I said, they have operated continuously since shortly after the war. When Franco died they popped up in Spain.”
“Would there be some sort of Vichy government if they succeed against NATO. Like Pol Pot in Cambodia? He had little respect for human life and dignity.”
“Perhaps, Pot is a butcher,” Kline said. He wiggles his pencil between his fingers, “There’s spies everywhere planted by these Fifth Columns.”
Dean looked down at his briefcase, “And the Stasi in the east?” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder.
Kline did not say a thing for a few moments, “Yes, except they work for the KGB… Bonn, London and Washington elements keep an eye on them.” The colonel became quiet then said, “You will learn more about the KGB on Canary. Remember Gladio is who you need to worry about.”
Dean pondered this news a few moments. Secret armies from both the east and west in Europe with hidden weapons, ammunition and explosives caches. His legs became restless causing him to shuffle. “This clarifies my clearance upgrade. Nobody would explain the elevation but I didn’t give it much thought at the time. The papers came across my desk and I signed them. I thought it was routine.”
“There is not much that is routine in this business,” Kline spoke nonchalantly while he looked at a paper on his desk. 
“Why didn’t the media or rival politicians rat these criminals out?” Dean adjusted his briefcase shoulder strap that he had specially made. “I mean governments murdering their own citizens who pay taxes. None this makes sense to me.”
“It’s called a strategy of tension. Only a few perhaps one percent of the world population know this strategy. Mostly military and intelligence officers and a handful of journalists … We don’t trust Spain’s military. Some are Francoist and they are extremely upset over this communist issue. They suffer from limited ammunition and fuel.”
“The same as before Guernica.”
“Correct. Their mission is to strengthen and set up local resistance movements, evacuate shot-down pilots and sabotaging supply lines. They prepared communication networks, escape routes, stockpiled weapons, and sabotage plans.” The Colonel flipped the paper over. “Warsaw Pact forces will destroy military production and command centers with explosives or with other means,” Kline said. 
“How large are these armies,” Dean said while holding up quotation marks on ‘armies’. 
“We don’t know that’s your mission,” Kline said. “Not large we guess.” After a long pause he continued, “They will commit terrorists’ activities normally against political Left wing opponents. Part of their agitprop and psychological warfare propaganda campaign.” Kline paused for a moment. 
“Ok.”
Colonel Kline continued, “Another problem I alluded to earlier. We don’t trust Spain’s military. Some have Francoist leanings and they are extremely upset over this communist issue possibly taking over. They are suffering from limited ammunition and fuel. This was Franco’s old practice and continues today. Probably the only holdover from Franco’s regime. He did this preventing them from staging a coup, ironically ammunition shortages is how he gained power.”
“Yes, I know.”
The Colonel narrowed his eyes, “They consider themselves a superior political force empowered to monitor government decisions and intervene in some way. We hope they will act professionally stay out of politics and focus on their respective branches.” 
Unidentified man cleared his throat. The Colonel gave him a quick glance. 
Kline continued, “Some diplomats think if Spain were in NATO, its armed forces would leave politics to politicians. Spain’s military command is resisting joining NATO. The older commanders in the army and navy aren’t comfortable with restructuring commands at their age. They fear a modernized NATO leads to civilian control over forces.”
“Maybe they should retire,” Dean said.
“The government in Madrid worries about the costs to modernize armed services. They want the United States to foot the bill. The king and Premier removed a rigid Francoist vice premier, the defense forces director. They replaced him with Lieutenant General Manuel Gutierrez Mellado, a professional soldier. We think he will accept change.”
“They are a monarchial democratic country now.” 
“Mr. Spalding your biggest problem is the police. Ten thousand or more Guardia Civil, a paramilitary rural force, roam Spain. The Policía Armada the city riot police numbers around 34,000, and 10,000 plainclothesmen. These guys mainly eliminate leftist elements. They all carry submachine guns. Their constant vigil on city streets makes Spain look more like a police state.”
“Sounds like everywhere I turn I’ll be surrounded by heavily armed cops,” Dean said. 
“Oh yeah,” Kline said with authority and certainty. He nodded his head in earnest. “You must be extremely careful when dealing with police. If you say something stupid or blow your cover you will spend the rest of your life a political prisoner rotting in a Spanish jail … or worse rewarded by a stint in a labor camp and exile. We will not be able to get you out and you won’t be able to go home,” Kline said grimly and looked Dean in the eyes. “I had to tell you that.”
“Understood sir.”
“You will never associate with any political party, friendship society, or other organization considered favorable to Franco’ services or any other foreign entity,” the Colonel warned. 
“Any problems with me being a diplomatic mission employee?” Dean asked. 
“No they will respect your diplomatic immunity… maybe. Remember you are on a religious pilgrimage, the reason we recruited you.”
“Ok, good.”
Kline began reading from a document, “You will have dual roles. You will act a clandestine courier and as reconnaissance specialist. Report telegraph lines and wireless telegraphy resources. Look for coal, repair facilities, land transportation, electric plants, food supplies, water supply, and hospitals. Harbor conditions steamers, wharves, docks, and water service. Gather and report the population information such as secret service, professions and occupations, naval and military forces. Existing defensive locations as much information has you can gather.”
“I highly doubt there will be defensive positions on the Camino,” Dean said.
“Just keep your eye open son. We need this information to develop situational awareness and commander critical information requirements,” Kline said then looked at Dean, “Again, we will teach you how to accomplish with efficiency.” The Colonel handed Dean another a file, “Here these documents are classified they will provide with more detail. They cannot leave the grounds.” 
“Yes sir.” 
“Questions?”
“No sir.”
“Good. Ok, since Franco's death the Guardia Civil and the Policía Armada are following instruction from the government. They have been actively putting down leftist and provincial demonstrations, usually brutally. They will attack any civilian groups, whether partisans or bystanders. We know off-duty policemen have joined roving gangs, terrorizing Basque towns. Where you will be traveling indecently.”
“Ok, yes sir, I got cha. Sentence first, verdict afterward,” Dean said letting out a long sigh.
“Exactly. Stay away from any crowds, especially demonstration, for safety stand back and photograph the scene. Be careful, I don’t want some consulate flunky calling me saying they’ve got your boy,” The Colonel said this as if he were delivering a threat. 
“Yes sir.”
“Report immediately if you hear or see anything concerning the military regaining or asserting their political power. They are an extremely secretive bunch… Like I said, they like the changes, fear communist rule and think the king is weak. He’s not of course. If you military type huddled over a table make note of it and let know the details.”
“Yes sir.” 
Dean contemplated what just Kline had just laid out. Right-wing groups targeting political opponents would mean carrying out terror attacks against their own people using stashed weapons caches. Assassinating politicos and Left wing group leaders associated with KGB. Strategy of tension that targets helpless populace emotions. A terrorist attack in a public place, such as a railway station, a market place, or a bus, is the preferred technique. He had read about these attacks from internal embassy briefs and press reports. After attacks secret agents who carried out the crime blame it on political opponents by removing and planting evidence. 
Targeting civilians would frightened people into demanding more security. Governments would reduce civil liberties in state security interests. The heart of psychological warfare. Often carried out by a group other than the one blamed. They would infiltrate the enemy, then carry out atrocities in its name. This fits into their anti-communists narrative. He began to piece it together. Spontaneous combustion. Many hidden bodies in an underground war.
Dean continued, “I’ve read the reports. I think these groups spring out from the extremely poor class … you know the lumpen proletariat. … Complicated man, I know.”
“What do you know? …. Man?” Kline said mockingly, lowering his chin.
Dean ruffled through his hopelessly unorganized leather lawyer style briefcase retrieving his notebook. “I’ve got more on I think.” Dean dug back into his briefcase, “Here… nope that’s not it. Ah! The Red Brigades, another Leftist group created by Renato Curcio and Alberto Franceschini in 1970.” Dean grinned, “I think I butchered his name…. Anyway …. They sought to create a revolutionary state. And the Red Army Faction the umm … Baader-Meinhof Gang. They get quite a lot press.”
“They all want press. They sow dragon’s teeth to create fear,” Kline said amused by Dean’s file and retrieval system.
“Yeah, they were a far-left militant group too. Started around 1970 by Andreas Baader, Gudrun Ensslin, Horst Mahler, and Ulrike Meinhof.” Dean started digging around in his briefcase again. 
Dean then tossed his notebook into his case, frustrated, “Yeah, but what does this have to do with Spain!” 
“We talked about ETA threats.”
Dean started digging around his case again.
“Hold on Mr. Spalding. I have more information than you possibly find in that … that whatever is in that bottomless pit of press clippings you’ve collected.”
“I have more in the skiff back at the office man,” Dean said and pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “I have collected material mostly on Italy. They have been suffering terrorist attacks since 1969 mostly against conservatives. The Leftist group Red Brigade, but something doesn’t add up.”
Colonel Kline huffed, “Because, we believe at least, the Red Brigade didn’t do it. They took the fall for attacks but sources tell us the responsibility lies with others. The brigade’s primary political enemy is Italian Communist Party, they carried out the attacks.”
“Then blamed the Red Brigade. Wow!”
The Colonel set down his papers, let out a heavy breath, reached over and picked up a second file. 
“Are you following me so far Mr. Spalding?” 
Dean tilts his head, “I think so sir.”
“Ok, you will have a chance to go through this depth on Canary. … You know about the Peteano attack on May ‘72, when three members of Italian paramilitary police, the Carabinieri were killed.” 
“Yes, again blamed on the Red Brigade.”
“Correct. However, Catholic neo-fascist Vincenzo Vinciguerra, a militant anti-communist, carried out the crime.”
“The Catholics think communism is godless and be eradicated from the planet … apparently by any means necessary,” Dean said, crossing his brow. 
“You are correct again. Vinciguerra is a member of a private Italian fascist organization, Ordine Nuovo or New Order, which has established close relations with the Italian military intelligence service.”
“Since they’re anti-communists they would be on our side.”
“Yes. We do everything possible to support them.”
Dean stood with his head tilted and pursed his lips. “Umm … yeah I guess but what does any of this have to do with Spain? … Huh? … There’re not NATO members like we said,” Dean said he loosened his tie again and rubbed the back of his neck. 
“I’m getting to NATO … that’s where you come in.” 
“OK,” Dean tried hiding his confusion and anxiety but is lousy at poker. He feigned a smile. He wished to sit down and have a cool drink.
Colonel Kline took a minute reading over his notes slowly rocking his chair. Like most government chairs, it squeaked. The Colonel cleared his throat.
“OK, here we go … here it is. Spain’s Gladio version we believe is something called Estocada but we haven’t been able to confirm this. Look out for it. Especially around San Sabastian but along the trail too. They use it to move around as a sort of cover.”
“Like me.”
“Precisely. As I said earlier, record everyone you meet,” Kline looked back to his notes. “Spain after the 1936 elections was slipping into Socialists, Communists in the grip of anarchists and church-burners. Three years later Franco installed a military dictatorship.” 
“The International Brigade gave ‘em a run.”
“Yep, that’s right. The battle was long and intensive because large segments of the Spanish population took up arms against Spanish military. Because the International Brigades formed spontaneously helping Republican resistance to Franco. They were hopelessly disorganized. Idealistic young men and women, from more than 50 countries around the world with little formal training. They never had a chance.”
“Hemingway,” Dean said thoughtfully.
Kline gave Dean a blank look and continued, “Some elements survive today and we have reports they are organizing.” Kline opens a folder and pulls out 8 x 10 black and white photographs. “These satellite images showing Italy and Spain particularly Northern Spain given to us by the NSA we use for tracking their movements. We have been tracking individuals and equipment movements from Rome across the Tyrrhenian Sea to Barcelona on Costa Brava. You will see more classified aerial photographs in time.” Kline said thoughtfully, he scratched his chin. 
“Ok.”
“Anyone mentioning a fifth … Do you know what a Fifth Column is?”
“Yes sir. It’s a term describing the fight against the Communists in Europe.”
“Actually it originated during the Spanish Civil War. Franco had four columns approaching Madrid and he had a general broadcast that a secret fifth column is hiding inside the city.”
“Uh, sneaky,” Dean said, chuckling.
“Yeah here put this with your files. You can read up on it,” Kline said and handed the document to Dean. 
“Thank you.”
“We have come up with a cover name for you and the proper documentation. Use it all times henceforth.”
“Yes sir.”
Kline opened his lap drawer and laid a passport, international driver’s license, Georgia state driver’s license, government ID card, student ID card, social security card and travel orders. Kline slid these across the desk.
Dean picked up the passport. It was worn and had customs stamps from many countries in Europe and the Americas.
“You need to sign it on page two with tour new name.”
“I know.”
Kline huffed, “You are now known as Dirk Thomas Wilson to strangers or anyone for that matter that you meet. Practice signing that name so comes naturally.”
Dean said his new name softly, “Dirk Thomas Wilson. I like it. Easy enough to remember.”
“You must also memorize your social security number, passport number, address, place of birth all of that data.”
“Yes sir.”
“Here,” Kline handed Dean another paper. “This is a chart of your fake family heritage. Memorize this too.” 
“You thought of everything.”
“One final thing. Spain is crawling with extreme right wing Italians Gladio operatives. They may be attached to a group or secret army called Red Quantum. We don’t know much about this army either. Keep your eyes open for them,” Kline said and closed the file. He picked up the phone, “Ok, send him,” and hung up. 
“I am going to introduce you to someone.” 
“Is any of this going on in the states?” Dean asked.
“Yes but let’s stick to Spain.”
Kline removed Dean’s dossier and placed it in a side drawer. He folded his hands and rested his elbows on his desk, “Mr. Spalding I must stress again do not repeat what I have told and what you learn in training to anyone. Besides need-to-know level personnel in Washington and London, only two people in Bonn, me, gentleman standing by the door and you. This has been kept in the dark since the end of the war. If you’re not sure keep quiet. If you screw this up you will be eating your balls for breakfast.”
“Yes sir I will,” Dean said. “Does Betts, the consul general know about these Jacobins?” 
“No,” the Colonel gave him a hard look. “This isn’t the French revolution and I don’t think they intend to behead the king.”
Dean felt nervous. He might slip or drugged maybe held at gun point. He ran his moist palms down the side of his pants. A dull ache pounded in his forehead. He rubbed this too. 
“The gentleman I am going to introduce you to will help you better assimilate to Spanish culture. This will make it easier to blend in during future assignments. He has no knowledge about your role for us. He believes he will help on your pilgrimage in a support role.”
“Yes sir.”
Kline expression turned intense, “One final point. I cannot guarantee embassy support should something go wrong… You will be defenseless, we’re unable to attack to rescue you … Do I make myself clear?” 
Kline reached into a drawer and produced a form.
“Yes sir… um are there others … I mean, you know, other operatives near the Camino?” His voice low, his eyes drifted off into middle distance. His mind racing at this odd turn and possibilities. 
Colonel Kline had a stern expression when he spoke, “If you needed to know that, I would have told you,” Kline said but then softened his voice. “We sent others with little success a few broke contact and disappeared. Two years ago we lost a man near Bilbao,” he said, in a monotone voice. 
“What happened?”
“He was losing his mind. We tried to get him back but somebody got him first. We think he may have been turned.”
“Who got him?”
“We don’t know. He was an American journalist named Jeff Hill. If you hear of anything about Mr. Hill tells us. He might be extremely dangerous to you if he finds out what you are up to… Here sign this,” Kline said. He slid a form across his desk. “We have others in the field. They will contact you if necessary. But don’t rely on their assistance. You won’t even know where they are and we might pull them at any moment. They on an unrelated assignment.”
Dean signed the form. He didn’t bother to read it. Kline’s warning flashed through his memory. Dean’s world is moving too fast. He looked down then behind him. His legs felt weak and an old knee injury began aching.
Dean had wish to escape from the rigors of modern life, banal regularity and familiar trappings of the daily grind, but now it had turned into a treacherous hike while maintaining a persona he was not. Dean had looked forward to immerse himself in a far away and strange land without maddening noise from bustling commerce and marketing and societal obligations and moorings. This new strange twist put a different spin on his escape to paradise. Dean closes his eyes and let his shoulders droop.
Colonel Kline looked over at mystery man by the door and nodded his head. He opened the door and in walked Raymundo Jesús María Ordóñez.