Bringing Back Dennis Martin. Pablo Martínez Burkett

Dennis Martin

Thus, only a brilliant ruler or a wise general, who can use the most intelligent for espionage, can be sure of victory.

Sun Tzu - The Art of War

Pablo Martínez Burkett

I HAD NEVER imagined I would end up meeting him. He is my father’s age, and I have always admired him. Moreover, I think it is very easy to be a spy these days. Everything is set on with satellites, computers and a nerd who makes magic with some gizmo. However, and taking into account my old school sorcery, I have concluded the imminent catastrophe´s modus operandi is like one of his most famous missions. My superiors, desperate, commissioned me to get his help. And he, surrounded by his paintings, a garden of yellow roses and an old wolf smile welcomes me at his house in the Dublin suburbs. I do not know if I can take in the fact that he already is an old man. Heroes should not ever get old. Anyway, his mischievous blue eyes blaze while I have shown him the abundant details on the stolen missiles. I can hardly overcome my emotion and speak. Suddenly, he stands up and looks for a little cigar. I take the opportunity to look at the pictures on the grand piano and, for a moment, forget the fatal virus stalking us from the warheads. Here he is, very young, as a member of the Binh -Xuyen, Indochina’s warrior sect, squatting on a sampan, where he learned to throw knives. In the next one, he wears the uniform of the French Foreign Legion. And then, in this other one, he is wearing jungle camouflage. I quickly recall he was a mercenary in the Belgian Congo. In the last picture, he is laughing with a paratrooper. I recognize Colonel Henri Jordan from the Deuxieme Bureau. A tobacco´s exhilarating aroma brings me back to reality. He pours Irish whiskey. I want to ask him about Grace Henrichsen or Katrin von Eitzen; however, a gentleman does not keep memories, and we have, at hand, the urgency of the situation, so I return to the latest satellite data. As we review images of the terrorist, he goes deep in thought as he was trying to grab the echoes of some elusive remembrance. He needs to make a phone call; he says and leaves me alone once again. I pay attention to another photograph. I see the former head of MI5, the elegant Sir Charles Caldwell Hopkins, watching a karate class. But now Dennis Martin comes back with a name, handwritten in a paper which shows, at the bottom, some geographical coordinates. I send precise instructions to Central, and from now on, it's up to the geeks and their witchcraft. I look at him, with gratitude. He refills the glasses, and we toast for the old spies. I guess I will now have the guts to ask him about the Danish beauty
                         

Jean-Bédel Bokassa y Idi Amin