by Jack Freeman
Max had an appointment with Perry under his journalist cover, ostensibly to get a well respected local citizen’s view on the leftward developments in local politics. Perry was greeting customers to his up market store in person as he habitually did, when Max arrived and introduced himself as Mike Brown.
“Ah yes, Senor Brown, I was expecting you. Let us cross over the road to the park for our discussions.”
When they arrived in the park, Perry chose a shaded park bench in a small bower of trees where they would not be overlooked or overheard. The spot was cool and pleasant in a hot and humid day. Multi-coloured parrots and parakeets wheeled and squawked overhead and perched almost invisible amongst the highly coloured blooms of the trees. The nearby statue of Trujillo disconcertingly seemed to be looking at them in a most severe manner. Perry passed Max three sheets of typed paper and began speaking, “Since you sent me questions in advance, I have had answers prepared here that you can use in the column you will be preparing in your guise as a journalist. Naturally I say I am very supportive of all El Jefe is doing and agree wholeheartedly with his anti-imperialist stance, just as I agreed totally with El Jefe’s anti-communist stance over the past twenty years or so”
“That’s fine. I quite understand and see that your public position is most wise. Now what is it you really want to say. This seems a safe place so please speak freely. There’s no rush either. Please take your time. I will have to take a few notes and will leave them in our Embassy round the corner as soon as we are finished. That should be safe.”
“Ok. The thing is Trujillo and Garcia picked up some muttering about an assassination attempt and rounded up scores of people on the “usual suspects” principle. I was held myself for a few days and Garcia showed me his famous shark pool that he dangles people in, like bait, and some of his extensive collection of instruments of torture. He was just probing as it were, and said he wouldn’t want to put me or family members to the test, but would if he had to, if it was in El Jefe’s interests. Fortunately, El Jefe did not actually suspect me and I am still helping him with salting money away in Bermuda, the Caymans and Switzerland, as I have the right contacts round the world and understand these things. Having dual United States and Dominican Republic citizenship probably still helps me too. He doesn’t want the United States getting too interested in his affairs and they would be interested if he started persecuting a United States citizen.
My worry is that two of the real plotters in our proposed action were scooped up by accident and are awaiting their turn with Garcia. He likes to keep prisoners waiting where they can hear the tortures of other prisoners being carried out. This softens up the pending victims. It’s quite an efficient system really, when you think about it. I think we have to do something about these two. When Garcia gets to work on them they will surely talk. Everyone does. Of course, a lot of what people say under torture is nonsense, but Garcia doesn’t care. He is very much of the school that believes it is better that one hundred innocent people should suffer than that one guilty person gets away. It would be nice if our two people could be spirited out of jail, but I can’t see a way. Instead, sadly, we will have to mercy kill them, before Garcia starts his interrogations. One way I thought of is like this.
They have a curious system here whereby prisoners who have money outside can buy in their own food and the authorities slap on a high tax for the privilege and many layers of prison management have to be bribed. The two prisoners that we want to help to an easeful death are paying for this service. If we could put some suitable poison in the food on its way to them that would be a solution. Might your agency have suitable poisons we could use?”
“Well, that’s quite a scheme! We do have some stuff called ricin, derived from castor beans, a little of which kills pretty quickly and I doubt the locals could diagnose it and even if they could diagnose ricin as the problem, there are only a few antidote supplies in the world and they are all in one of our secret biological warfare research places. Overall, then, ricin is what I would suggest. There are viruses and bacteria, anthrax and such like, but these are far too dangerous to handle. Even with ricin, there’s a real danger that the would-be poisoners end up poisoning themselves in the process.”
“I see. But can we do it? We have to do something soon or the plot will be exposed and all of us in on the plot here in the Dominican Republic will have to flee, as soon as we hear the two unlucky ones are on the list for the next day’s session with Garcia. Fortunately, the system in the jail is all very bureaucratic and we have bribed a clerk there who passes on copies of the torture rota. Our two are down for Friday this week, which is just four days from now.”
“Ok. I’ll order up the ricin and have the Company deliver it to the Embassy here in diplomatic pouches for tomorrow morning. We’ll follow your plan unless something better occurs to us very soon. How will the poison be got into the food?”
“Well, the orders for prison food are with the restaurant in my department store so I will have an opportunity. After the fatalities, I can say we must have got a bad batch of corned beef from Argentina. It happens sometimes. I’ll help the families out, discreetly.”
Max left Perry and set out on the short walk to the Embassy to report to the Company station and arrange the delivery of ricin for the next day. As he neared the Embassy building, but before the guards there would see anything, two thickset men in crumpled linen suits came out of a doorway and barred his progress.
“Come with us Senor. Chief Garcia wants to have a word,” said the larger of the two men, tapping what was evidently an ill-fitting shoulder holster under his jacket.
“Careful, boys, remember I am a United States citizen and a well known journalist back home. It would be very bad for your country’s great image if anything unfortunate happens to me.”
“No, no. Just a little chat. Chief Garcia is a fan of your writing,” said the less large of the two men.
“Ok. If you say so,” replied Max and got into a small white de Soto that had pulled up by the kerb along with the two men.
Max was ushered in to the Security Ministry. The corridors were lined with pictures of El Jefe and just outside Garcia’s office was a large painting of the two men posing before a table on which was a large map of the Dominican Republic.
Garcia came out of his office and said “Ah. Senor Brown. This picture commemorates when we expelled the Haitian menace who were threatening to swamp our beautiful land and weaken its racial strength.”
“Interesting views, for someone who is now moving to the left, if you don’t mind me saying so,” replied Max.
“Hah, hah, you make a good point. You might say we believe in socialism now in one country for one race. Sort of national socialism some might say. Under El Jefe’s guidance we are evolving to socialism but we will draw the line very firmly at swallowing the whole brotherhood of man idea, unless you think non-whites aren’t fully human. And I feel there is a case for that view. But, I must say, I have a high regard for the abilities of Papa Doc next door in Haiti. Maybe he has a lot of white blood in him. He is a survivor and that is our main aim, above all. Now, please come in to my office.”
Max entered and took a seat in a large leather chair, saying “So, what is this meeting about?”
“Simply, I wanted to put my views across. I know we have had a bad press in the States especially among the liberals who seem to becoming a majority. We think Kennedy will win in the election and we would like to keep in his good books”
“If you could restore free speech, elections, reduce inequality and eliminate torture, detention without trial and so on, that would all probably help.”
Garcia’s charm suddenly faded and he said softly “These things are all very nice but we aren’t ready for them yet. Our people are still child like and too many subversives lead them astray. Once it was the communists but now it’s the bourgeois who mislead the simple peasants and workers.
As a gesture though, El Jefe has decided to release most
of the suspects who were rounded up recently in connection with an assassination plot and I am giving you this as a scoop. Please, put it in a positive light. That will be all.”
“I will be glad to, Chief Garcia. Can I ask a favour now? If I could talk to some prisoners tomorrow that would greatly help me put over a positive story about the penal system here. Also. I have heard that you have a most impressive aquarium in this facility featuring sharks. Is there any chance I could see it?”
Garcia looked uncomfortable and squirmed. He replied, “Well, ok, I can arrange some prisoners to see you tomorrow. Are there any you specially want to see? About the sharks, not today, maybe another time. Our enemies put out disgraceful rumours about the “Sharkarium” as I call it. It is an educational facility for developing our prisoners’ appreciation of nature and many of them have spent useful time tending the sharks and learning useful work habits. But we don’t usually have visitors. Sharks can get upset by strangers and we wouldn’t want that, would we? But if you insist, come by tomorrow about this time.”
“Many thanks. Yes, there has been some agitation in the States about prisoners Mendoza and Gomez, so I’d specially like to see them.”
“Ok. They are not among those being amnestied. In return for good coverage by you they will be allowed to see you tomorrow morning.”
Max thanked Garcia and left. On reaching the Embassy, after discussion with specialists at HQ over a secure line, he arranged for the ricin to be delivered inside chewing gum pellets by the next morning. He phoned Perry to say thanks for seeing him and to say that the delivery of the items he wanted from the States had been arranged and that he, Max, would ensure delivery to the two recipients. Perry was not to be concerned about the issue any more. It was all taken care of.
The next morning, Max went to the jail and was allowed to speak to Mendoza and Gomez, as agreed, but first a search was required. The guard patted him down and he emptied his pockets. The guard noticed he had two packs of gum and asked in Spanish to have one as a gift.
“Sorry amigo, those are special gum for smokers to reduce my craving. Like a medicine. Instead have a mint five-buck note. Get the kiddies something nice or donate it to the Police Benevolent Fund”
The guard grinned very widely and thought. Crazy gringo. That’s nearly a week’s wages. He looked around quickly to check no one was watching and pocketed the 5 dollar note in a smooth rapid motion.
“Thank you, Senor. Most generous. Step this way please.”
Max entered the small cell with the guard standing outside. The prisoners had obviously been terrorised into saying that the prison was nearly a holiday camp and they would be sorry when they had to leave. There was good food, interesting work, useful classes, comfortable beds and considerate guards. They very much regretted letting down El Jefe by foolishly listening to outside agitators. They hoped that Max would file a favourable report on conditions at the jail which led the world in advanced penal provision.
As Max left, he thanked them for their time and handed them each a packet of Wrigley’s gum, saying, “Here, guys, these are just for you. Don’t go sharing them with anyone, now.”
Max was then taken to meet Garcia and see the famous “Sharkarium”. It was in a huge basement room and seemed to be constantly fed with fresh seawater from the openings to the harbour that were too narrow for sharks to escape but large enough to let some fish in for the sharks to feed on. Trusted prisoners were tending the great beasts by adding buckets of small fish to the water. Above the surface of the pool were rigged up a number of hooks suspended by thick chains from the high ceiling. Garcia said the hooks were for hanging large pieces of meat which would be lowered to near the surface so that the sharks would have to jump out the water to reach the food. This gave the sharks more exercise and was good for their health. Max nodded politely but could all too easily imagine screaming prisoners being slowly lowered towards the water with its circling fins and flashes of large serrated teeth.
As Garcia was finishing his guided tour, a guard came in and ran over to Garcia, saluting. The guard whispered in Garcia’s ear and Garcia hurried off, swearing violently. The guard then apologetically told Max the tour was over. An emergency had arisen and he would have to leave.
As the guard led him to the jail exit, Max asked what had happened. The guard replied, “Two of the scum, excuse me, the prisoners, have fallen very ill suddenly, they need urgent attention and, of course, they will get the best.”
Max nodded sympathetically and left the prison. He had his overnight bag with him and immediately got a taxi cab back to the airport and on to Miami and DC.
When back at Company HQ he arranged for Perry to meet with him in a few days time in DC, which Perry visited for business quite often. Max opted to have the meeting in a booth at the Galileo Italian restaurant in Foggy Bottom where they would be unnoticed and could enjoy the outstanding fish and game dishes with top of the range Barolo wine. At the meeting, Perry explained that the plan had worked. However, there was a problem for Max, which might affect future ops in the Hemisphere. Max asked for an explanation and Perry obliged, saying “From sources I have on Garcia’s staff and from a conversation with El Jefe himself, remember I advise El Jefe on financial matters, and he sometimes unburdens himself to me, Garcia was highly suspicious. How come both those two men died mysteriously soon after seeing you? He had been looking forward to playing with those men and his sharks the next day. So, he has their things searched and finds that each have a packet of Wrigley’s gum and have each chewed on just one pellet. The guard mentions that you gave the men the gum. Garcia knew the guard had taken a bribe from you and so he ended up in the shark pool and Garcia kept the five bucks. He is very mean like that. Now, Garcia’s sure you had something to do with this and has the gum analysed, some by the local forensics people and some by his new friends in Cuba who get the Russkis to help. Garcia’s people can’t figure it out, but the Russkis tell the Cubans its something called ricin and only they and the US could make such a means of delivery. Oh, and the Russkis swear it wasn’t them. After all why would they care about two random prisoners in Dominican Republic custody? So Garcia has decided you were a US agent for sure, CIA, and that you are the one who spoiled his fun and finally, he has decided that he will pay you back some day. He also deduces that the two deceased were in on a CIA backed operation probably to bump off his boss, El Jefe. So, El Jefe is even more likely than ever to swing Cuba’s way and thumb his nose at Uncle Sam. Sometimes these plots backfire, don’t they? I think putting two and two together with the Cubans with whom you also had a run in, recently, Garcia has found that your true identity is not that of radical journalist Mike Brown, so you better be extra careful for a while.”
“Thanks for the tip. I was thinking the Mike Brown cover was getting a bit thin and couldn’t last much longer. Looks like I’m going to be desk bound for a long time to come and he’ll find it hard to get at me here. You are the one who best watch out, I’d say. Now, enjoy the Barolo and tell me more gossip about The Goat.”
Jack Johnson reported back to Kingman that the Trujillo action was now back on track and that further developments were awaited soon.
After the meeting with Perry in DC, all went quiet regarding the Trujillo operation. The plot against Trujillo was still active and since the two ricin victims were not essential, and there was no sign that Garcia knew the nature of the plot, the arrangements could proceed as before. There was no pressing time frame and assembling the needed parts for the equipment was a slow process. Max was happy to let it fall out of sight for a while.
Max resumed his work on the proposed invasion by exiles. However, these plans were thrown into confusion when the order came down from on high to switch the landing site from Trinidad to the beach of Playa Giron on the Bahia de Cochinos, or Bay of Pigs. This was nearer Havana than the original landing site, but cut off from the Escambray mountains and the supporting forces there. Higher levels had decided that a landing on the Bay of Pigs
would be more deniable regarding US involvement. This change did not affect Max’s role since the same ammo and small arms were needed. However, Max picked up on the general alarm that this late change could jeopardise the whole operation. To make matters worse, now a night landing was planned and this would surely be a hazardous undertaking.
The revised plan went ahead and the action began on April 15, 1961 with air assaults on Cuban Revolutionary Air Force (FAR) bases by planes flying from Nicaragua but disguised as FAR planes claimed to be flown by FAR defectors. A second, planned wave of strikes might have wiped out the FAR on the ground but Max’s political masters vetoed further attacks that day, again, to keep deniability. The main invasion force of 1500, known as Brigade 2506, landed at Playa Giron and Playa Larga in the Bay of Pigs on April 17. Shortly afterwards parachute forces landed inland. Soon things went disastrously wrong for the invaders as Cuban planes took out the support ships and strafed the forces on the beaches. Max felt physically sick as the word came back that Brigade 2506 was being destroyed. The Cubans were counter-attacking with some 15,000 troops, plus tanks and other heavy weapons. And to make things worse, no popular uprising was in sight. Within days most of the invaders were captured or killed and very few were rescued.
