by D. B. Silvis
One afternoon, while lying in the sun by Zack’s pool, Killian was daydreaming that maybe, someday, he would find a woman like Maggie. In the past, he had dated quite a few different women, but he hadn’t given much weight to actually getting serious with any of them.
As he thought about things, he smiled. Well, maybe I just need a little more time. After all, I’ve only had one hundred and twenty-eight years. But how could I ever find a lady like Maggie? There was always something coming up, like the Civil War, the Indian Wars, taking care of his ill mother, managing his ranch in Texas, avoiding Major Hiram Liddle, becoming a Buffalo Soldier, serving the in World Wars, in the Korean War, and now this ordeal with the CIA… It had been the price of becoming a Blue, never ageing or dying. But did it have to be that way? He stopped smiling and his brow furrowed. Was it still possible after all he’d encountered, he could have a normal life, like Kip and Maggie?
He sat up and waved to Kip and Maggie, who were sitting in lounges on the other side of the pool. They waved back.
Yes, thought Killian. I need at least to try and find a good woman like Maggie. I need to put it on my list of things to do.
With those thoughts in his mind, he stood up, and dove into the heated pool.
On New Year’s Eve they all went to the country club to celebrate the arrival of 1961. It was an enjoyable night and everyone had a good time. Later in the evening, after quite a few cocktails, Whelan told Killian and Zack about his life after coming to the Unites States from Ireland. He told them about his dad Donald and Uncle Danny and about their bootlegging operations in Canada and New York City. While he listened, Killian thought about his own parents, who’d also came from the land of clover. Someday, he thought, he should to go to his ancestral homeland and find out what county the Kilkenny clan was from…
The surprise of the evening came just before twelve o’clock. Kipling Smith knelt down on his left knee, and proposed to Maggie Dunne. She accepted, and the noisemakers began to clatter, and the horns began to blow as the big clock on the wall struck midnight.
CHAPTER 14
Two weeks pasted. The middle of January, 1961, the chameleon team met again to discuss the CIA. Maggie Dunne, as a congresswoman and the daughter of Whelan, she was now accepted as one of the team, and was in attendance. Over the next half hour, they deduced that in the mid-fifties, when the CIA along with their Mafia friends, fought a drug turf war against the French in Saigon, the two had become joined at the hip. Now, many of the operatives of the CIA were also foot-soldiers for organized crime. It had become evident how foreign heads of state, which stood in their way, had been singled out for assassination, under the pretext these leaders were favoring and embracing communism in their countries. The CIA fed false reports to the American public, by way of their usual misleading propaganda, to the effect that they were fighting to eliminate the evil of communism. This had become their strategy regarding Cuba where, after Fidel Castro took over, he had closed all the Mafia-run casinos and halted their drug trafficking. Castro was now on the CIA and Mafia’s hit list, and various attempts were being made to murder the new prime minister of Cuba.
“As you know,” said Admiral Hildegard, “this past week the president severed diplomatic relations with Cuba. Fidel Castro has seized homes and valuables from thousands of Cuban citizens. He has also taken property and safes containing millions in cash from the Florida-based mob boss and imprisoned him. There are three groups who are incensed over Castro’s take-over—the CIA, the Mafia and Cuban exiles. What it means is that the CIA and the Mafia, along with help from thousands of exiles, is going to take action.”
General Mittlebonn nodded, “This week the Joint Chiefs of Staff was informed there is now a plan being developed by the CIA for an invasion of Cuba. This is not hearsay, it’s a reality. The invasion will happen sometime within the next three months.”
“And because of the loss of their gambling operations and the millions of cash confiscated, the Mafia has put out a hit out on Fidel Castro. They want him killed,” added the admiral.
“Any idea how the incoming president feels about all this?” asked Congressman Bernard.
“Well, he won’t be briefed until the end of the month, after his swearing-in ceremony. However, the scuttlebutt is he’s going along with the plans of the CIA and the present administration,” answered the general.
“Does the military have any feedback on whether he sides with the CIA and their past and present operations?” asked Whelan Dunne.
The admiral grunted. “We have discussed the subject, and it’s our contention the new president isn’t a big fan of the CIA being the head of national intelligence. It appears he prefers intelligence operations to be under the control of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, with which we agree.”
“That would be welcome news,” said Whelan.
“Yes, it would, and we in congress would applaud the move,” added Kip.
“General Mittlebonn and I have been discussing our efforts at keeping an eye on the CIA,” said the admiral. “With all that is now going on with a new president, the pending invasion of Cuba, the problems with the Mafia and Vietnam as an ongoing proverbial mess, we believe it may be best to curtail our operation and cease meeting until this Cuban invasion happens.”
“Yes, it might make sense to see how everything plays out with the new president and the invasion by the CIA, and to see to what extent the Mafia and Cuban exiles will be involved,” agreed General Mittlebonn.
There was silence as the others contemplated the suggestion.
“It might be wise,” Congressman Bernard murmured. “There’s a lot of uncertainty right now.”
“Okay, let’s see how things unfold, and how the new administration handles these difficulties,” said Whelan Dunne.
Kipling Smith nodded in agreement, but didn’t say anything.
After the meeting ended, Kip asked Whelan and Maggie to stay for a while longer.
When General Mittlebonn, Admiral Hildegard and Congressman Bernard had left, Kip called his parents’ house, and asked Zack and Killian to come over. He then asked Zack’s housekeeper to make a pot of coffee.
A few minutes later, Whelan, Maggie, Zack, Killian and Kip were seated at the long oak dining room table, drinking the newly made coffee.
“Maggie and Whelan,” Kip began, “Zack and Killian know why I’ve asked you to stay. Now that Maggie and I are going to be married, all of us will be family, and I’m including our good friend Killian.” He paused for a moment. “Whelan, it’s important you and Maggie know that Killian is the man who has been doing the clandestine work for us. He is the chameleon soldier.”
Maggie looked shocked.
Whelan grinned as he looked at Killian and nodded. “It had crossed my mind that you might be more than just a family friend.”
Kip smiled. “Yes, but what we need to share with you goes much deeper than either of you could imagine. I’m going to have Killian tell you his story. You and Maggie need to prepare yourselves to hear something that’s almost unbelievable. However, I assure you, everything he’s about to tell you is one hundred per cent true.”
For the next hour the educated and well-traveled billionaire and his congresswoman daughter sat listening to Killian. They were stunned by the time Killian had finished his story, and then, he transformed himself into Phil Rizzo, the young Italian, who had gotten the information about Deputy Director Spencer’s involvement in General Dugan’s murder. Then, slowly, Killian changed back.
Kip put his arm around Maggie’s shoulder as she looked as if she was about to faint.
“God Almighty!” exclaimed Whelan, staring at Killian. “I’ve heard all the talk about aliens, but I thought it was just bullshit.” He stood up and reached across the table, and shook Killian’s hand. “Damn good to know the real you, Killian,” he said excitedly.
The others laughed at his exuberance.
Over the following thirty minutes, both Whelan and Maggie had many questions for Killian
and Kip.
“Kip, you’ve got to be the most interesting son-in-law in the country,” said Whelan at the end of the questioning. “And Killian, I look forward to the coming years, they’ve got to be exciting. Aliens, for Christ sake! This is fantastic.”
“It’s not all good, Whelan,” Killian warned. “There’s some pretty bad Blues out there.”
“Yes, but there’s got to be other good ones like you, Killian.”
“I know it to be true, but I’m not sure to what extent.”
Whelan lapsed into silence, clearly still absorbing the fact there were truly aliens on earth.
Killian sought to move the conversation on. “Whelan, Kip told me Admiral Hildegard suggested we put our actions on hold. I don’t like that. I’d prefer to go after Deputy Director Spencer for his involvement in the killing of the General.”
“You know, Killian, after learning who you really are, and of your capabilities, I’ve changed my opinion on our standing pat. I do agree with the admiral, on one point, we need to see how this Cuba invasion unfolds. However, after that, I assure you we’re not done with the CIA. The admiral, the general and Congressman Bernard don’t need to know about it, but our operation will continue, and with an open bank account. Your abilities are too valuable not to be used. Are you up to it, Killian?”
“Kip knows I don’t like to sit around. I enjoy action, especially when it helps our country. As I’ve said before, I’m all in.”
“Damn straight, we’re all in. We’re family,” said Whelan.
Anticipating an invasion, Fidel Castro began preparation for Cuba’s defense. In the United States, the Joint Chiefs of Staff approved the rules of engagement in Cuba.
The CIA continued plotting for its invasion of Cuba and Castro’s overthrow. It was determined the attack would not involve American troops; the invading army would comprise special CIA personnel and CIA-trained Cuban exiles.
On 14 April 1961, the invasion began. It was over a few days later. It turned out to be a total disaster, with thousands of Cuban exiles being captured by Castro’s well-organized forces. The invasion, known as the Bay of Pigs fiasco, was a black eye for the CIA, the United States government and the Mafia.
The president of the United States was outraged over the CIA’s handling of the Bay of Pigs. His being newly elected made matters worse for him. He and his administration realized they had not been fully briefed on the operation the CIA had planned. There were many odd and unusual types of propaganda being used—things like all the CIA’s B-26s carrying the false Cuban FAR marking, and all having the same number, 933, painted on them. Deception flights were used to make it look like Cuban airmen were defecting.
The president felt the opinions of the CIA directors, on military matters at least, weren’t worth a damn and that he had been misled. He lost all faith and trust in them. The press backed up the president’s feelings, as they revealed the flaws in the various maneuvers of the CIA, and their dubious legality.
It didn’t take the president long to neutralize his opposition in the CIA. He fired DCI Mason Waterton, Deputy Director of Plans William Spencer, and all the other top people in the leadership who had been responsible for the failed invasion.
After being relieved as the head of the CIA, Mason Waterton stayed out of the political limelight. He and his wife spent most of their time traveling in Europe.
William Spencer, on the other hand, wasn’t about to let go of the power he’d once held. Spencer kept an office in Washington, and continued to attend CIA meetings. On occasion, he would drop in unannounced at the offices of the new heads of the CIA. He still wanted to have an influence on CIA operations, and Washington, D.C. in general.
After the Cuba invasion failed, the Mafia realized they weren’t going to be returning to Cuba to reinstate their cash cow casinos, and their highly profitable drug trade. Almost immediately they organized a narcotic base in the Dominican Republic.
It was through his old Mafia connections, in the bootlegging business, that Whelan Dunne learned about the drug trade in the Dominican Republic, and of the CIA’s involvement. Whelan contacted Kip. They decided to have Killian go to the Dominican Republic and check on their drug activities. They also decided not to tell the other members of the team until after Killian was on his way, as they wanted to move right away and not have a lengthy discussion about whether Killian should go.
Three days later, Killian parked his Chevy pickup at Washington’s National Airport and boarded a plane for the Dominican Republic. After the plane landed, he took a cab into town and checked into a cheap hotel. He morphed to look like the locals, and began circulating in the most popular restaurants and bars. Killian pretended to be looking for someone to sell him drugs. It wasn’t long before he was contacted by men who were willing to sell him whatever he wanted. After making a purchase, and having a drink with the sellers, he learned the CIA was providing American IDs to former Cuban officers, who had supported Batista. And they were supplying the officers with sleek, high-powered speedboats, which ran across the open water like a jet.
Two days later, Killian located the home base of the drug shipping operation. This time he transformed into a strongly built Cuban man in his mid-thirties. He approached one of the Batista officers and convinced him he had served under him in Cuba and fought against Fidel Castro. The ex-Batista officer liked the appearance of the strong young Cuban, who spoke both Spanish and English, and hired him. For the next week, Killian helped load the high-speed vessels with narcotics. He asked the men; he was working with, where the boats were going after being loaded with the drugs. He was told they were going to Florida, but none of them knew exactly where.
One morning, when Killian arrived at work, an officer told him that one of the men, who usually traveled with the speedboat, was sick, and he’d be taking his place. Killian nodded, not showing any emotion, but this was the opportunity he’d been hoping for. He needed to know where in Florida the drugs were being taken.
Twenty minutes later, Killian, along with a large muscular thug and a Cuban officer, they were racing across the water toward Florida. A muscle-bound man piloted the craft, while the Cuban officer sat next to him reading. Killian took a seat near the rear of the long sleek speeding boat. He marveling at how fast and smoothly it traveled across the water.
Of course, over the years, he’d been fishing in small boats of all sizes, but none of them were fast. Killian began daydreaming about the time he’d spent on the Isle of Capri. He closed his eyes and visualized when he had rented a small boat and traveled between the Marina Piccola and the Marina Grande by circling around the Faraglioni stacks. He remembered looking back from the water at the small town square, which overlooked the port, and admiring the characteristic houses of Capri. They were picturesque with their terraces and balconies, and the multi-colored facades of the town, which was brightened by the homes “Pompeian red” roofs. It was the most intense color along the whole Neapolitan coast.
After close to three hours, the Cuban officer took the steering wheel. The big man came back, opened the small blue cooler, took out a can of Pepsi, and nodded as he sat near Killian. He drank half the contents in one long swallow, belched, finished off the drink, crushed the can in one hand, and tossed the flattened container onto the floor. He stretched and leaned back in his seat.
“Is it difficult steering a boat like this?” asked Killian.
The man jerked up in his seat and stared at Killian. “You speak English?” he asked with surprise.
“Yes, very well,” replied Killian.
“Jesus, that’s good! I’ve been traveling back and forth on these damn boats for a month, and you’re the first guy who I can understand.”
Killian smiled. He could tell from the man’s accent that he was from New York. He guessed he was with the Mafia.
“Of course, I speak Spanish too, but have spent a lot of time in the United States,” Killian explained.
The man held out his hand. “Damn glad to hear t
hat.”
They shook hands and talked about things in general for a half hour. Killian wanted the man to feel at ease before he asked about the boat. He wanted to know where they were going to unload it, and if they’d be staying overnight.
The man opened the cooler, took out two Pepsis, and handed one to Killian.
“I sure wish they’d let us put a few beers in that cooler, but they don’t want us drinking during the trip. Hell, a couple beers would be great right now.”
“Well, we can do that when he get to Florida,” said Killian.
“Damn right. There’s a good strip club a block from the dock warehouse.”
“So there’s a warehouse where we unload the stuff?” asked Killian.
The big man laughed, “Hell, there’s eight or nine of them. The teamsters and our boys get a lot of drugs and other merchandise coming in from the islands.”
“The teamsters, I thought they were just a trucking company?” Killian asked, innocently.
The man laughed again, “Can tell you’re from Cuba! Hell, the president of the teamsters, Jimmy Hoffa, has one of his local headquarters at the Miami warehouses, with our boss, Santos Trafficante. How do you think we move all of our stuff up to New York?”
“Makes sense, I guess I never thought about it.”
“Sure, why would you? All you do is load and unload the stuff,” said the man, grinning.
Killian smiled. “That’s true, my friend, that’s true,” he agreed.
Killian leaned back and looked up at the blue sky.
Hours later, the officer was shaking him, “Time to wake up. We’re coming into the docks.”
