CLOSE YOUR EYES AND SEE is the heart-pounding sequel to SPARROW'S TEARS, and part two of the SPARROW'S TEARS TRILOGY. Special Forces Captain James Ross and his girlfriend Lin Sparrow cross destinies once again with rogue CIA agent and traitor Julius Creedmoor. Members of Abu Sayyaf have kidnapped Ross's best friend, CIA agent Randal Kloet, and are holding him for ransom in the Philippines. Kloet will be murdered if the ransom is not paid in 96 hours. Captain Ross rushes to Manila in an attempt to find his old friend, and finds the clairvoyant Lin Sparrow instead. In country, Ross enlists the aid of burned-out and suicidal former JFK protective detail U.S. Secret Serviceman Peter Christianson. Together, they form an unlikely alliance with the intriguing and mysterious taxicab driver known as Emanuel. But Julius Creedmoor is pulling the strings, and nothing is what it seems in this treacherous world of international terrorism and betrayal.

CLOSE YOUR EYES AND SEE

By BERNARD R. CENNEY

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Bernard R. Cenney
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4685-9499-7

Contents

PROLOGUE: 22 NOVEMBER 1963.........................51. CHANEL NO. 5 AND CIGARETTES.....................192. DREAMS OF DEATH.................................333. ANY OTHER DAY...................................554. MESSAGE OF DEATH................................695. UNOFFICIAL MISSION..............................836. ENTER MANILA....................................937. AVAILABLE.......................................1018. BETRAYAL........................................1119. SLEEPING SAVIOR.................................11710. CLOSE YOUR EYES AND SEE........................13311. DECISION TIME..................................15112. TRAITOR........................................16713. JOURNEY TO JOLO................................17914. TENDER KISS....................................20115. FOR A REASON...................................21316. DEADMEN PAY NO FARES...........................21917. THIRTY PIECES OF SILVER........................23118. RUSE...........................................23919. WET WORK.......................................24520. OLONGAPO LIGHTHOUSE............................25721. RESCUE.........................................27922. ALL IN.........................................29323. SEA DEMON......................................301EPILOGUE: TODAY....................................313

Chapter One

CHANEL NO. 5 AND CIGARETTES

With a dull, throbbing ache in the center of his skull reminding him he was still alive, Central Intelligence Agency Case Officer Randall Kloet slowly, agonizingly, mentally forced himself awake.

His eyelids fluttered and narrowly cracked open from what seemed like a thousand years of otherworldly sleep.

Concentrating, he forced his eyes to focus and took in the surrounding scene.

Beams of light crisscrossed in front of his face, but he could not tell if it was day or night, or how long he had been unconscious.

He could see a palm thatched ceiling and realized he was inside a room of some sort.

He was lying down and tried to rise, but failed.

The metal framed twin bed he was lying on creaked and groaned under his futile body stirrings.

He tried again and again to get up, but could accomplish nothing more than becoming frustrated over his inability to move his body.

He could not even turn his head to the side.

Kloet could feel some kind of sticky elastic tape pulling at the hairs across his left forearm, and shifted his eyes to see intravenous clear plastic tubing flowing from his arm to a medicine bag hanging from a pole towering above him.

The intravenous bag contained vecuronium bromide, a neuromuscular paralyzing drug.

Kloet could see, hear and feel.... but could not move.

What the hell is going on?

Groggily, he recalled the events of last evening.

It seemed like the last night he had spent on earth.

Kloet remembered strolling down the streets in the waterfront area of Manila Bay.

Manila Bay in the Philippines is surrounded by the island of Luzon. To the right of the bay is the city of Manila, and to the left is the Bataan Peninsula.

Bataan.

The Bataan Peninsula will be forever remembered for the ninety day siege from January to April 1942, with the surrender of over seventy-five thousand Filipino and U.S forces during World War Two.

It was the largest surrender in United States history.

And who can ever forget the infamous Bataan Death March?

In April 1942, the 14th Japanese Imperial Army marched seventy-five thousand Filipino and U.S. prisoners for ninety-seven kilometers to Balanga. Eleven thousand prisoners died along the way from malnourishment, disease, starvation, and torture. Those who could not keep up were savagely bayoneted and beheaded by the Japanese soldiers. The prisoners had been marched from Bataan by Japanese forces to prepare for the siege at Corregidor. The surrender at Bataan hastened the fall of Corregidor.

Corregidor.

That tiny island bastion, with its intricate network of subterranean tunnels and defensive armaments, fell to the might of the Japanese Imperial Army a month later on May 6th 1942.

Corregidor was eventually recaptured by Filipino and U.S. forces in a brutal battle ending on the 26th of February 1945.

Today, the tiny tranquil island of Corregidor houses a solar powered lighthouse which illuminates the entrance to the ever mysterious and intoxicating South China Sea.

To the left of Bataan in the Zambales Province is Subic Bay, which once housed the largest United States Naval Base in the pacific.

Subic Bay U.S. Naval Station was a major ship repair, supply, and rest and recreation facility for U.S. servicemen.

However, both Clark U.S. Air Force Base near Angeles City, and Subic Bay U.S. Naval Station, were closed at the end of 1992. Partly because of the June 15th 1991 eruption of the volcano at Mount Pinatubo, just fourteen kilometers west from Clark Air Force Base, and thirty-seven kilometers north of Subic; but mostly because of the politics of Philippine President Corazon Aquino.

At Subic Bay is the wonderfully urbanized city of Olongapo, made famous over the years for selling custom jewelry to U.S. Navy personnel.

Olongapo, meaning "head of the elder" in the Philippine language of Tagalog, got its name from an ancient popular legend of warring tribes and the decapitation of a wise old man who tried to bring the tribes together.

This night however, the waterfront area of Manila Bay was alive with brightly flickering red, yellow, and blue neon signs jockeying for the attention of a man's senses from the constant beeping of taxi horns, and the luxurious smells of Filipino cuisine wafting out of food stalls.

Kloet took it all in, and then around nine o'clock spied the Bamboo Hut Bistro near the Manila Yacht Club.

He entered the restaurant and was immediately swept up by a lovely young Filipino hostess sporting a name tag announcing her to be "Racquel."

Racquel was wrapped in a tightly fitting burgundy silk Chinese cheongsam dress. The dress was split at the right side all the way to her smooth thigh, with tiny gold embroidered buttons lining the left side up to the two inch high neck collar. A design of embroidered golden chrysanthemum flowers enticingly spread across her bosom. She wore four inch high heeled black open toed shoes, and no stockings. Her long straight black hair hung below her shoulders. Her lips pouted with a very wet pink colored lip gloss, and her broad cheeks had been brushed with a hint of rouge powder.

Smiling, Racquel handed Kloet a menu and spoke.

"Our special tonight is adobo chicken, Sir," said Racquel.

Her long black hair fell over the dark brown pools of her eyes, and she brushed it back over her left shoulder with a flip of her hand.

Kloet quickly scanned the menu and settled on the adobo chicken special.

"Bring me a San Miguel beer and a glass of ice water as well sweetheart," said Kloet.

Racquel wrote down Kloet's order on her little notepad and shuffled away with a smile.

The food soon came, and Kloet was in heaven.

The adobo chicken was spectacular, with just the right amount of garlic and calamansi lime juice.

Kloet devoured every morsel, and then signaled Racquel for the check.

He paid the bill with fifteen dollars U.S. and left a five dollar tip for Racquel.

Kloet stood up and stretched, and then walked out of the Bamboo Hut Bistro and into the musty Manila night air.

Still tasting the garlic in his mouth, he decided to stroll down Roxas Boulevard in search of a late night drink.

Soon he was past the Manila Yacht Club and starting to turn around, when he spotted a little nightclub with a brightly flickering red neon sign appropriately proclaiming it to be "Heaven on Earth."

Kloet smiled at the name and decided to stop in for a few beers before calling it a night.

As he pushed open the swinging door and walked inside, he was enveloped by melodies of classical music.

Interesting, thought Kloet.

He was expecting rock or pop music at the very least.

A Claude Debussy song was playing, one whose name he couldn't quite recall.

The club looked surprisingly quaint and elegant at the same time. It was dimly lit inside, except for a sparkling chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling, surrounded by endlessly swirling cigarette smoke.

The club was jam packed full of bodies, with everything from businessmen looking for a last drink before heading home, to soldiers looking for evening companionship, to young couples looking to start the weekend early, to attractive female escorts just looking.

There were around ten small cocktail tables surrounding the center dance floor. To the left, a long teakwood bar jutted in front of and enveloped a huge wall-length mirror.

The bar immediately caught Kloet's eye and he started strolling over to it when a beautiful Filipino hostess spotted him.

The hostess glided over to him like an angel floating through the fog of the smoke filled club.

The hostess was very young, perhaps eighteen. She was trying desperately to look older, with too much rouge on her cheeks and a glistening gloss on her lips. A black cheongsam dress embroidered with a golden dragon crawling up the right side gripped her body with its claws. The cheongsam sported a high black collar, and had a thigh slit on the left side opening from the girls' ankle all the way to her bare waist. Highlighting the ensemble were four inch stiletto heeled black shoes, which tightly secured her tiny feet with red painted toenails.

Her dusky perfume permeated the air, and Kloet found himself immediately put at ease by her.

She led him to the bar where, pulling out a barstool to sit down, he told himself he would go back to his apartment after two San Miguel beers.

He always prided himself on his amount of self control and discipline.

Kloet was thirty years old with thinning, short cropped, chestnut brown hair. He wore circular wire rimmed glasses, spoke fluent Thai and Tagalog, and prided himself on staying in shape. He had grown up in Virginia, and graduated from the Pennsylvania State University majoring in history. Commissioned from ROTC, he spent several years in the United States Army as a Special Agent in counterintelligence before being recruited by the Central Intelligence Agency at Langley.

Now, he was a Case Officer serving in the cover position of Political Officer at the United States Embassy in Manila.

All his time was currently spent involved in Operation CAPACITY STRIKE.

CAPACITY STRIKE was the code name for the joint operation between the CIA and the military to counteract the terrorist activities of Abu Sayyaf, Jemaah Islamiyah, and Al-Qaeda operating in the southernmost Philippine islands.

Kloet had been in Manila for the past two months, having transferred from the CIA Bangkok station.

He was only just beginning to know his way around the Philippines.

The first San Miguel came, and then the second.

Kloet drank them down slowly, and then paid his bar tab with U.S. dollars.

He was starting to stand up when two soft, warm arms wrapped around him and pulled him down onto the barstool.

"Where are you going in such a hurry, Sir?" asked the female owner of the arms.

Kloet looked at the woman.

She was young, about twenty-five years old.

The woman smelled of Chanel No. 5 perfume and cigarettes.

Her silky black hair was long and hung to her shoulders, accenting her face with bangs cut just above her eyebrows. Her face was classic Filipino with wide cheek bones, small petite nose, and soft brown skin. She wore a gloss which gave her large lips a full, scintillating, lustrous appearance. Her fingernails were painted with a clear polish and cut short. She was wearing a very short and tight little black dress, which was nearly transparent. Her natural height of five foot two was enhanced significantly by stiletto heeled glossy black shoes and muscled calves.

It was apparent she was a professional, and she arched her back and thrust out her chest while sitting down next to Kloet.

He had seen her before.

She had been walking the street outside the Bamboo Hut Bistro restaurant while I was eating, he thought.

And now here she was.

She was obviously a persistent escort.

"As much as I'd love to sweetheart, maybe you should find someone else down the bar. I'm ready to call it a night," said Kloet smiling.

The woman looked at Kloet.

She glided her right hand under the raven black hair that had fallen in front of her face and flipped it back and over her right shoulder.

The scent of her perfume floated into Kloet's nostrils and he let it fill his lungs.

She reached into her small black sequined purse and extracted a cigarette.

"Have you got a light, handsome man?" asked the woman.

Kloet smiled.

He had learned to always carry a pack of cigarettes and lighter, ever since he had attended the Basic Operations Course at the Armed Forces Experimental Training Activity years ago.

That was what the CIA Special Training Center was called at Camp Peary outside Williamsburg Virginia.

That's where he had learned to further hone the intelligence tradecraft skills the Army had taught him. Cigarettes and a lighter were a good way to break the ice and start any conversation. Either you smoked, or you didn't.

Kloet reached into his sports coat pocket and pulled out his Zippo lighter. His lighter had the seal of the U.S. Embassy embossed on it.

He flipped open the cover and lit the young woman's cigarette.

The woman inhaled the smoke deeply into her lungs and then blew it out saying, "My name is Jupjang."

"That's a very pretty name. My name is Randal," said Kloet.

"Would you like a date tonight?" asked Jupjang.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, but I just can't. I've got an early day tomorrow," said Kloet.

Jupjang took another puff on her cigarette and said, "Are you sure? I'm a very good masseuse."

"Yes honey, I'm sure," replied Kloet.

Jupjang took another drag on her cigarette and looked discouraged.

"I understand, maybe later," she said.

Jupjang stabbed her cigarette out into the circular glass ashtray on the bar in front of her.

"Will you have one final drink with me and then walk me out of this place. I always hate to leave alone. Too many creeps out there," said Jupjang looking around.

"Surely," said Kloet.

Before Kloet could wave the man over, Jupjang was signaling the bartender for two more San Miguel beers.

"Beer always tastes better in a glass, don't you think?" said Jupjang.

"Clearly," said Kloet.

Jupjang got up and walked to the end of the bar where the glasses were stacked. On the way, she reached into her small purse and pulled out a perfume atomizer. She stopped in front of the glasses with her back to Kloet and pretended to spray some perfume on her neck. As she picked up the glasses, she sprayed the inside of one with what was in the atomizer.

The atomizer contained flunitrazepam, a powerful benzodiazepine hypnotic drug.

Jupjang turned around with the glasses and walked back to Kloet.

"Here you go, let me get that for you, handsome," said Jupjang, as she reached for the bottle of beer and poured it into Kloet's glass.

The alcohol would only exacerbate the effects of the hypnotic drug.

"Cheers," said Kloet, as he raised his glass and toasted Jupjang.

Jupjang picked up her glass and drank slowly as she watched Kloet finish half of his beer.

Kloet put his glass back down on the bar and stood up. He reached in his trousers pocket and pulled out ten U.S. dollars and paid for the drinks.

Then he looked at Jupjang and smiled.

Kloet extended his arm, and Jupjang took it.

Together, they walked out of the Heaven on Earth nightclub and into the humid, misty Manila night.

"So where do you live?" asked Kloet.

Jupjang pointed with her finger.

"Just down the street and around the corner, in an apartment overlooking the alley in back," she said.

Together, arm in arm they walked past ancient shop windows with incandescently flickering neon signs illuminating their path.

The street was curiously alive with customers at this late hour, alive with the rich delicious aromas of mysterious Asian culinary delights, and the hustle and bustle noises of a never ending evening.

The climate in the Philippines was tropical monsoon. Monsoon rains were always pulled in by hurricanes, or, as called in the Pacific.....typhoons.

It was typhoon season now.

The daytimes' high temperature, combined with the oppressive humidity and rainfall, created an evening fog that lazed down the streets and swirled around their legs.

The full moon leered at them through the vaporous mists.

Soon they turned the corner and were off of the main street and entering an alley.

They continued walking and had another thirty meters to go to get to the apartment that Jupjang called home.

Unexpectedly, Kloet recalled the name of the Claude Debussy song that was playing when he entered the nightclub.

The name of the song was Tragédie.

Kloet was gazing into Jupjang's face now with a quizzical look as he lost all feeling in his arms and legs.

"Just let it happen, darling," said Jupjang.

Then everything started spinning in front of his eyes, and with a dull throbbing pain in his head, Kloet pitched forward and fell face down into the stench of the narrow Manila back alley.

Chapter Two

DREAMS OF DEATH

It was just after midnight.

The bewitching hour.

Lin Sparrow tossed and turned in her bed.

Sweat was beading on her forehead, and a low guttural moaning sound emanated from her throat and pushed through her lips.

Lin was asleep and dreaming.

It was the identical dream, night after night.

Night after night.

Night after night.

The dream always started the same way.

In her dream, the sun was setting over one of the many tiny islands in the Philippine chain, leaving its last gasps of brilliant red rays effervescing against the sparkling horizon.

The horizon intertwined with the sea and transformed it into a glittering bed of mermaids' diamonds.

The sea seduced and offered peace, tranquility, and surrender to the sands of the virgin white beach.

The beach was pristine and sprouted the occasional rough hewed palm tree groping skyward.

The palm trees swayed and lazily stroked the clinging moist tropical breezes that wrapped around and caressed the lighthouse.

The lighthouse was magnificent and provided a beautiful panoramic view of Subic Bay.

The dream continued.

The sidewalks were crowded with throngs of well-wishers clamoring for a last look at the motorcade as it lazily meandered on its way.

The crowds were looking at a young couple in the large long black limousine.

The handsome man wore a dark blue suit and necktie, with a white pin-striped shirt. The beautiful woman wore a pink skirted outfit with a pink pillbox-type hat.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from CLOSE YOUR EYES AND SEEby BERNARD R. CENNEY Copyright © 2012 by Bernard R. Cenney. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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