Patsy! : The Life and Times of Lee Harvey Oswald

by Douglas Brode

  This regal fellow approached, offering a hint of a smile, the trio a few yards from the final plane, readying to depart.

  “I was growing nervous,” George admitted.

  ”My sincere apologies,” the new arrival sighed, bowing graciously. Though Zuniga had never before met this exalted personage, he knew from pre-planning this must be a high-ranking member of the Nicaraguan Government. The U.S. had secretly, and from the start of this long-in-embryo operation, worked closely with the powers-that-be. On day one, George had negotiated full permission for the training and eventual take-off. The U.S. intelligence community and military considered this a necessity. The upcoming incident would lead to acts of bloodshed which would have grave international repercussions if the truth were discovered. All hoped that would not be the case.

  No matter how much money the U.S. delivered annually to those in office to keep Nicaragua from falling under Russian influence, such clandestine permission had to be secured before the mission could be launched. Though that had been set in cement months earlier, a government official had to be on hand at this juncture, just in case anything went wrong.

  But what possibly could? Everything had been planned

  down to the minutest detail by brilliant strategists. This ought to play in a clockwork manner owing to such thoroughness.

  Only something did go wrong. In truth, everything that

  could possibly go wrong almost immediately proceeded to do so. As a poet once put it, the best laid plans of mice and men failed to produce the desired results. There would be the Bay of Pigs invasion as it already existed in the minds of all involved, a great victory for the U.S. and all pro-American Cubans. And then there would be the Bay of Pigs invasion as it played out in reality.

  Which as all would discover can turn out to be something else entirely.

  *

  Precisely at their scheduled time, the “Linda” and “Puma” squadrons began dropping bombs on Camp Libertad near the Miramar suburb of Havana and at San Antonio de los Banos. For a brief glorious moment, success seemed imminent as a half dozen planes—MIG fighters as well as U.S. B-26s and T-33 jet trainers from the United States—were consumed in flames. Surprisingly, ground forces responded with anti-aircraft fire far more furious than had been expected. Mon’s plane took a bad hit, swiftly whirling high into the sky, then back down hard toward the sea with the speed and intensity of a rocket. Emitting a long tail of black smoke, the B-26 would have crashed had it not exploded.

  The charred remnants of a once formidable aircraft

  dropped piecemeal to waiting waters, along with scattered

  bits of flesh and bone from the deceased Mon.

  The sight of one of their fellow airborne cowboys blown

  to smithereens, not part of the game-plan for instantaneous success, set waves of panic tearing through the other flyers. Though the pilots did manage to resume their mission, the aim of their bomb-drops from that moment on tended to be way off. Fewer of the targeted planes down below suffered direct hits. Castro’s pilots, now awake, rushed out of the barracks, hopping into the cockpits of their planes as anti-aircraft guns covered them with rapid-fire. This made it impossible for the two remaining “Pumas” to effectively strafe the scene below.

  At that moment, Crespo’s engine began emitting weird

  sounds. At first he assumed he had been hit though he’d heard no noise, felt no impact. As he soon grasped, Crespo’s engine had simply malfunctioned. Realizing that he might at any moment lose control and crash, Crespo made the decision to pull out of the formation at once. Knowing that it was not likely he would be able to fly all the way back to the Happy Valley base in this out of control plane, Crespo made an on the spot decision to turn abruptly and fly toward Key West, Florida, a much closer destination, hoping for the best. He and Perez did manage to bring their shaky B-26 down at the Boca Chica Naval Air Station there at two minutes after seven in the morning; precisely one hour before Zuniga, who had no knowledge of Crespo’s situation, sent out his first call to the towers at Miami International.

  Neither Zuniga nor Crespo could have guessed that the

  problems back over Cuba were rapidly multiplying. It was as if the mission had been exposed to a fast-spreading disease that, once contamination began, consumed all their hopes and dreams like wildfire. Alfredo Caballero of the “Linda” formation, after dumping his first round of bombs, glanced with a pilot’s instinct at his control panel. He noticed that his fuel tank was rapidly approaching empty.

  Abruptly, Caballero aborted his mission, turning his plane south toward Grand Cayman Island. On their way to that new destination Cabellero and his co-pilot Maza discussed how they ought to handle what would likely be a difficult situation once they landed. Since Grand Cayman Island fell under British jurisdiction, and that country had not been informed of this American mission, so secretive that even the closest allies of the U.S. were left blithely unaware as to what was going down (or more correctly failing to go down), this could turn ugly.

  As no one involved in the planning process figured on anything like this, none of the Cubans had been briefed as to what they ought to do or say in such a situation. They panicked.

  *

  JFK had, from day one, viewed the Bay of Pigs

  invasion in precisely the same manner that he, in the recesses of that man’s uniquely functioning mind, perceived everything: a no-lose situation. This ought to benefit him if it worked, leave the president as unscratched as Teflon should it fail. This helped explain why, after approving of the final strategy as submitted to him days earlier, JFK made plans to be away for the weekend. He would travel to Middleburg, Virginia, there enjoying the relaxing atmosphere of a luxurious home he had rented.

  Shortly before lunch-time in Washington on Friday, April 14, JFK addressed an African Freedom Day celebration held at the State Department. JFK basked in applause as a civil rights crusader, the hero of all ethnic minorities. No mention was made of the fact that several years earlier he, as a senator, during the Eisenhower administration blocked the passage of key civil rights legislation which that president had attempted to pass, eager to have the fight for racial equality become a part of Ike's own legacy. But when Ike had attempted to push important bills through congress, JFK led the fierce opposition. His prominence insured the reforms would die in committee.

  JFK did so not because he opposed the proposals, the very sort of anti-racist legislation his administration would put in place and, after 1963, President Lyndon Johnson would continue to uphold. Why insure the defeat of what he then did believe in? JFK wanted to convince white southerners that he was not hostile to them, thereby making it easier for him to win the next presidential election. Give them some early evidence that he was not as liberal on this issue as had been reputed and, in fact, actually was.

  Some might consider it cynical that, once in office, he planned to perform a total turnabout, championing such bills in the congress, then take the credit for this himself. In the minds of those who did not feel comfortable with JFK, even if they happened to agree with most of his political positions, the idea was to double-cross those southern citizens he had courted. As the reliable saying goes: That was then; this, now.

  Within minutes after concluding his inspiring speech, JFK was swept by limo to the D.C. airport. In Air Force One he flew off for a much-needed vacation. Lyndon Johnson, who had been added to the ticket as JFK’s vice-presidential candidate only because this would allow JFK to carry Texas—both Kennedy brothers were openly contemptuous of the “ignorant cowboy”—had been purposefully kept in the dark (“black,” in CIA lexicon, for anything secretive) about the operation’s existence. Johnson had been shuffled off to some insignificant speaking engagement so that, with JFK out of town, Johnson would not be able to claim executive privilege if anything went wrong.

  That left Richard M. Bissell, Jr., the CIA’s DDP (deputy director for plans) in charge of Washington, America, and by implication the world. Bissell
would remain in close contact with the president as to how details proceeded.

  *

  To a large extent the Bay of Pigs invasion had from day one been Bissell’s baby. He was the one who had approached JFK time after time, fervently requesting permission to officially begin work on this covert operation against a foreign land that, so far as the press was told, we were attempting to diplomatically woo over to our side. Not that Bissell was some maverick; he broached this subject with full authorization from his own boss, CIA director Allen W. Dulles, the brother of Secretary of State John Foster Dulles, who also believed that such a move was not only advisable but necessary.

  So that no one would suspect that the CIA might be involved as the longest weekend proceeded, Allen Dulles flew off to Puerto Rico. While the attack took place, he’d meet with pro-U.S. business people, a perfect cover. As for chain of command, Allen Dulles knew precisely how to delegate responsibility. As to Dick Bissell, there was no one person Dulles trusted more. Rightly so. JFK himself admitted to having been highly impressed by Dick’s tall, angular frame and his knowledgeability from that day the two men met in the Oval Office, shortly after JFK assumed the U.S. presidency on January 20, 1961.

  After much careful consideration, JFK concluded that if this idea came from such a source—Ivy League Bissell had been a professor of economics before accepting a government position—chances are everything would work out fine. Even if, when push finally came to shove, it wouldn’t be men like Bissell who’d mount an attack on the current equivalent to San Juan Hill but a coterie of cowboys—CIA operatives and anti-Castro Cubans—doing so without any equivalent to the daring, fearless, inspired leadership of Teddy Roosevelt. That battle’s in-front-of-the-troops commander had insured their earlier operation’s success, its legal questionability notwithstanding.

  How can I say no? JFK mused. They succeed, I take the credit. They fail, I blame the CIA Either way, I win.Make a public appearance with Jackie by my side, basking in the glory should we conquer Cuba, expressing my wrath if we do not. Either way, I come off smelling like roses. Then ditch the bitch, meet Marilyn for some secluded sex. Or, if she’s too drunk or drugged up, Jayne, Mamie, Angie ...

  *

  “Hello, Mr. President,” Richard Bissell said to JFK mid-afternoon, Saturday. “Enjoying your vacation?”

  “Lovely down here in Virginia, Dick. Tell me some good news. I’m put off by a few things I heard on the radio.”

  “Several planes shot down. In my mind, Mr. President? So long as we remain on course, the outcome will be as planned and expected.” Bissell paused, then spit out the next words, hoping and trusting JFK’s answer would be what he so needed to hear: “I have your assurances, Mr. President, that you’ll allow us to continue according to our scenario?”

  “By all means, Dick. Why did you think you had to ask?”

  Relieved, the CIA man breathed in deeply. Until, that is, JFK followed his initial statement with a disclaimer: “Unless, of course, you hear different from me.”

  The president replaced his receiver on its base, leaving Bissell as uncertain in Washington as Adlai Stevenson then felt in New York. He, of course, was the man Bissell must call next.

  Adlai sat in his office, shaking, waiting for the phone to ring. The moment of truth had arrived, as he knew during those three months following his meeting in the Oval Office that in time it would. He had yet to decide what to say when his name was called to approach the podium at the General Assembly Political Committee’s upcoming emergency meeting at the United Nations. There, he was expected to deliver the United States’ official statement as to what was going on down there in Cuba.

  What’s a man to do? Adlai Stevenson wondered.

  The time was precisely two p.m. Less than an hour from now he would address the gathered diplomats. Should Adlai offer the usual disclaimer, muttering something to the effect of “so far as I know ...” hoping that would be enough to squelch this tense situation? And the world’s wanting to know if America was, in any way, shape or form, mixed up in whatever this might be? Or would he do what he knew those in the chain-of-command—up from Barnes through Bissell to Dulles to JFK—had begged for: his insistence in public that we absolutely were not involved.

  Throughout the day Dick Bissell had fought to restrain himself from calling either JFK or the U.N. ambassador. He knew what everyone else following the story did and little else. Bissell did hear first, if only by minutes or in some cases a matter of seconds, before the latest release of what had just occurred hit the media. The first reports had been encouraging. Bombs were dropped, several enemy planes knocked out.

  Still, Bissell held out, not wanting to jump the gun. In time he was glad he had taken such a cautious approach. Later reports made clear that gunfire from the ground had brought down one, maybe two of the planes that had attacked from Nicaragua. Others veered off course. This worried Bissell, but not much.

  Not yet. Perhaps the initial bombing accomplished the necessary damage to curtail Cuba’s air force. A second scheduled air raid ought to knock out the remaining opposition even as the anti-Castro Cuban volunteers began their sea-to-land invasion. The progress, if limited, appeared to Bissell as acceptable.

  Then came word that Mario Zuniga successfully landed at Miami airport. After disembarking he swiftly launched into his fully rehearsed lie about how he and his companions bravely stole several planes from their hangers in Havana, headed up into the wild blue yonder, thereafter bombing their own base. Could this be considered a perfect morning? Perhaps not. Still, Stage One, Operation Mongoose, had more or less proceeded according to plan. There was every reason to believe Monday’s sea-to-land attack, Code Name: Operation Zapata, would cinch the victory.

  That meant Bissell could call ring up Adlai. First, though, the man at the top. So Richard Bissell, Jr. placed that initial call to JFK, the president then relaxing with a cool drink and a hot blonde at Glen Ora. This conversation concluded, Bissell dialed up Adlai, while JFK set about fucking the movie star, who had recently appeared with his sometimes pal Frank Sinatra in one of the popular Rat Pack films. In later years she would sarcastically refer to the experience as “the best seven seconds of my life.” Precisely what she also secretly whispered about JFK’s world-famous entertainer friend.

  The subsequent phone conversation between Richard Bissell and Adlai Stevenson lasted less than three minutes. This took place between 2:47 and 2:50 p.m., moments before the latter exited his office and proceeded to the special suite where the political committee would meet. Bissell would listen to the broadcast on his radio, nervous as to Adlai’s famed idealism. Trusting though that, however much a milk-toast liberal Stevenson might be, he remained at heart a patriotic American, and would come across for his country and president.

  Before the debate began, Bissell rearranged paperwork on his desk, hurriedly reading through notes, preparing to spend the hour listening to all that was said while checking each new report as it trickled in. Also, he’d try and keep track of what was going on down in Miami as Zuniga schmoozed with Ed Ahrens, in charge of the International Airport, then a bevy of reporters who were quickly invited out for an official press conference.

  Bissell felt a little like a juggler, attempting to keep three balls in the air at once. Difficult, but not impossible. And, in truth, he loved that sort of thing. This explained why he’d left The Ford Foundation for the U.S. secret intelligence community after his World War II spy unit, then known as the OSS, evolved into the CIA. In so doing, Bissell had situated himself at the cusp of contemporary history-in-the-making; the very thought of his eminence provided a sudden rush.

  Still, now, his mind kept returning to the question: Would Adlai do the right thing? Hardly superstitious, Bissell crossed his fingers as the three o’ clock hour approached, then silently prayed. He wasn’t much on religion. But as someone noted back in WWII, there are no atheists in foxholes.

  Well, here was a whole new kind of war. And foxholes, if not always vi
sible, still existed.

  Half an hour later our American ambassador to the U.N. concluded by insisting those Cuban planes which landed on American soil would be impounded, and under no circumstances would the pilots be allowed to take off again.

  Zuniga was, in fact, already readying to leave. Early the following day—Sunday, April 16—he, Jose Crespo and Lorenzo Perez departed in a C-54 on their way back to Happy Valley in Nicaragua to rejoin their anti-Castro Cuban forces and members of the CIA. The following afternoon, the two were off and flying again as part of the air command scheduled to give full support to those sea-to-land troops readying to attack. Crespo and Perez were shot down, dying on April 17 as Bay of Pigs turned from a no-brainer success into an unprecedented disaster.

  Momentarily Richard Bissell, Jr. relaxed. So Adlai Stevenson had, as hoped for, proven himself a good soldier. Thank God for that! A God, of course, that loves America.

  *

  From day one, the success of the Bay of Pigs invasion had been pegged on one vital element: those air strikes carried out by Cuban pilots, flying out of Nicaragua on American planes. Even as back home knowledgeable Bissell and the unwitting Stevenson provided an elaborate cover, further bombings insured a victory by taking out the FAR, assuring no airborne counter response could be mounted two days later as sea-to-land forces swept up from the beach. Though our traditional military brass agreed with little that the CIA chiefs, who now co-opted many decisions which in the past were theirs to make, believed best, everyone involved in the long, elaborate planning process, JFK included, agreed that eliminating the FAR was essential.

  This accomplished, it seemed impossible that the wave of well-armed, carefully-trained fighters could be halted as they marched on Havana. Even as dawn broke on Monday, 1,447 patriots prepared to disembark from the safety of seven U.S. ships and attack.