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History Repeats Itself
Watergate Hotel, Washington D.C.
June 17th, 1972
A flashlight shone around the doorway of a darkened room, trying to find it's target, and two figures followed it inside.
"Vamos Señor." The first one holding the flashlight beckoned to his companion to hurry.
"Shhh! The security guard might hear you." The second one looked at the large window through the blinds, peering through to see if anyone could see from the lighted rooms across the courtyard and then down at all the stories below. The floor they were on was high, and their objective so far elusive. "Hell, why'd they partner me with you anyway, I don't speak no Cuban." He grumbled under his breath.
"Lucky for you I speak American then," was the quick, accented reply.
The second figure looked around the room, assessing the office and its occupants. A convenient place for the Democrats- papers and bunting of the Stars and Stripes all around the room, chairs, messy desks, and several telephones. The occasional personal object- a family photograph, a forgotten jacket, a notebook. The man stopped and went to the filing cabinet near the window that had the plain black notebook on top of it. He opened it and flicked through, but it was a daily calendar with appointments in, nothing to do with what they were looking for.
His Cuban companion, now crouched by the main desk going through the previously locked drawers was flicking through paperwork, with as little luck as he.
The first man flinched as he wondered what would happen if they didn't find their objective- the order had come from the highest level- perhaps even the President whose paranoia was legendary after all, and there had been a definite breach of security somewhere between the Democratic and Republican parties, and as the election was coming up, Nixon couldn't afford to take any chances- the offending documents had to be found and destroyed before the Democrats could make public what had been so secret before some traitor double-crossed them.
He suddenly found himself wishing that Senator McCarthy was still around- at least they could have blamed everything on Communist dirty tricks back then.
He crept over to his Cuban companion, and knelt beside him. "You tap the 'phones- if we don't find the file, at least we can try and find out who the traitor in the government is," he whispered. The Cuban nodded, emptying his pockets of a miniature tool kit and several tiny electronic devices. He got to work as the American one of the two stood up and went to the wall behind the doorway they had come through.
He was sure the file they were after was in this particular office, and so he determined to make a thorough search of it, tearing up the carpet if needs be. He moved along the wall, inspecting each item he came to, trying to peel the carpet away with a fingernail to see if anyone had hidden anything underneath.
He had no luck until he came to the second corner of the room. He was getting desperate at this point- the Cuban had almost finished tapping the 'phones, and they didn't have all the time in the world to go through this room. But in the second corner, there was a mark on the floor in front of a heavy-looking metal filing cabinet. It had been brushed over as if someone had tried to remove the mark, but the American could clearly make out the shape of an arc, as if the cabinet had been pulled away from the wall recently.
He knelt, and pushed his cheek against the wall, trying to see behind the cabinet, and when he couldn't, he grasped the edge of the cabinet- his fingers scrabbled to get a purchase- and pulled for all he was worth. It barely moved, so he put his back against the wall and used his feet against the front of the cabinet as extra power behind his movements. Very slowly, the cabinet moved, enough for him to shine the flashlight behind the cabinet and see a crudely hollowed out part of the wall where the plywood and plaster had splintered- enough to slip an A4 size file inside vertically.
The man moved to lay on his side and barged a shoulder through the gap, widening it slightly more so he could see inside the hole better and saw what he had been after. He put the grip end of the flashlight into his mouth so the beam shone into the hole and so he had both his hands free- one to hold himself up slightly, and the other to reach inside the hole and retrieve the hidden item that was there. He stood up, taking the flashlight from his mouth as he did so, and looked at what he had.
He held a plain brown file, with several paper documents inside, complete with photographs, all paperclipped together. This was the target, this 'X-File', an uncensored telling of the fatal so-called 'Hanta' virus and its actual links to extraterrestrials. He wondered at it- to have to hand an uncensored file would mean complicity from the highest level, and here was the same highest level ordering him to find it and destroy it. The traitor was powerful indeed, and the thought sent shivers through him.
He suddenly wondered who it could be, and whether his own superior knew- perhaps he had been sent to this office as a trap...
But right now there was no time to lose, he had it in a death grip, and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse couldn't persuade him to release it. If this was a trap, then he had to get out of here a.s.a.p.
The Cuban was looking at him, eyebrows raised, work finished, and so he nodded to him, and they both turned to leave.
At the door, the Cuban turned to make sure the door was locked again, and they both went to leave hurriedly until a shout stopped them in their tracks. They held their collective breath until they realised that the voice wasn't coming towards them- obviously someone else in the team also searching the building for the X-File had been found by the security guards.
He turned to the Cuban, tapping him on the shoulder and pointed ahead of them to show him the dimly lit sign to the stairwell. A nod in return sent them both towards the door, as softly as they possibly could.
It seemed highly unlikely, but both of them managed to get out of the building without being seen or caught by anyone, which was more than could be said for someone else in the Watergate Hotel that night.
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Once back in the safety of their headquarters, they went to their superior's office. Their superior in question, a youngish man smoking a cigarette and sitting on the right side of a large desk, took the file from the two of them.
"Excellent. You are the only two who came back."
The two standing before this man looked at each other, surprised.
"What, they were all caught?" The American of the two said. "Even Liddy and Hunt? As well as the other five?"
"All of them." The smoking man confirmed, "But don't worry, they won't talk. They understand the consequences." He leaned forwards then and fixed the American and the Cuban with an intense look, actually putting down his cigarette as he did. "At least we can count on you, can't we?"
It was a rhetorical question, and the threat was obvious.
The two nodded their assent and left the office. The American stopped at the door, looking back. "But what about the security breach Sir?"
The cigarette was back in place. The man leaned back in his chair, lazily took the cigarette from his lips and flicked some ash off it. "I'll deal with it."
The American shuddered, recognising danger when he saw it, and left before he had another threat come his way.
A good job done though, he reflected- another X-File to be buried, never to see the light of day.