by D. B. Silvis
Killian opened his eyes to the darkness, stretched, took hold of the boat’s railing and stood up. The big Italian from New York was driving the fast vessel. Killian saw they were approaching a line of warehouses along a massive dock. Lights from the numerous warehouses and the dock illuminated the entire area, reflections from the lights bouncing off the dark water. As they slowed down and pulled up to the dock, Killian saw a large sign on one of the warehouses; it read, “Teamsters Local 320”.
As promised, after they had unloaded the drugs into the warehouse, the big man took Killian to the strip club. Later in the evening, when the big man had become very drunk and while he was busy shoving dollar bills in the G-strings of the strippers, Killian left the club and transformed back to a tall, red haired, bearded Irishman. He caught a cab for the Miami International Airport and boarded a late flight to Washington’s National Airport. Upon arriving, he climbed into his Chevy pickup and drove back to Zack’s ranch.
In the morning, Killian called Kip’s office and arranged to meet him there after lunch.
Killian arrived at the office at one o’clock and over the next forty-five minutes he told Kip about his trip to the Dominican Republic and Miami.
“It’s amazing what you can do, Killian, and in such a short time! It would have taken a group of spies much longer, that is, if they could have gotten the information at all.”
Killian shrugged. “I didn’t choose to be able to do these things.”
“I know, my friend, but you’re putting your unwanted gift to good use.”
“What are you going to do with the information, Kip?”
“I’ll call the team and arrange an afternoon meeting here at my office. I’m sure Admiral Hildegard and General Mittlebonn will want to meet with the president with this information.”
“Then what’s our next move?”
“Now that the fiasco in Cuba is over, and the president has changed the leadership of the CIA, we’ll discuss what we should do.”
“Kip, I’d like to make a suggestion regarding the ex-directors, Spencer and Waterton.”
“Sure. What?”
“I want to get them, and I’m positive all of you do too, for the murder of General Dugan.”
“I can assure you we do, Killian.”
“This morning I thought of a way to eliminate both of them, and keep our hands clean. I have a plan where someone else will do it for us. With the admiral and general passing on this information to the president, it will help make my idea work.”
“I can tell by the grin on your face, this has got to be good,” said Kip.
“My plan is to go to New York and once again become Phil Rizzo. I’ll connect with Loudmouth Louie Bono, and tell him I heard that, after being fired, Waterton and Spencer are trying to get back on the good side of Washington. They’re doing it by telling Herbert Hoover at the FBI, and other high-up military personnel about things the Mafia is involved, including about Jimmy Hoffa and his Teamsters Local 320 warehouses in Miami.”
Kip chuckled. “Killian, I like it, and I’m sure the rest of the team will approve the action. I guess when you’re one hundred and twenty-nine years old, you do become somewhat sage.”
The following Friday evening Killian boarded a plane for New York City. He rented a car and, as Phil Rizzo, entered Big Ted’s Saloon.
He waved to the bartender, “Hey, Joe, how about a bottle of Rheingold beer?” He pointed and proceeded to the end of the bar, where Louie was anchored in his usual seat, talking to one of the cocktail waitresses.
Killian patted Louie on the back, “Louie, my man, how are you?”
Louie turned on his well-used barstool. “Hey, Phil, haven’t seen you in a while. Where you been?”
“Got a waiter’s job down in Washington, I’m working in one of those fancy restaurants where all those political big-shots hang out.”
“Yeah, tips any good?”
“Sure. Those guys spend money like it’s not theirs, Louie.”
Louie laughed. “It ain’t, it’s our money those lousy bastards are spending.”
Killian laughed along with him and paid Joe, who set down the bottle of Rheingold. Then he leaned close to Louie. “I need to talk to you on the sly. How about we grab that table over in the corner?”
Louie looked at him for a second, “Yeah, sure.” He picked up his drink, and followed Killian, who was moving toward the two-top table.
When they were both seated, Killian looked around, and then leaned forward toward his pigeon, whom he knew would spread the false information he was about to feed him, about Waterton and Spencer informing on the Mafia.
“Louie, I just got to tell someone about what I overheard the other night. I know you’re the man around here.”
Killian could see Louie sort of puff up at the compliment. He smiled inwardly; as he knew he could rely on Louie to run as fast as he could to get the information to the person, who would reward him the most.
“Louie, I think this is hot information.” He paused and looked around the bar again, to heighten the sense of secrecy. “Two older Senators, who have been in Washington for years, were sitting at one of the tables I was waiting on. They were drunk as hell, and talking about those two CIA directors the president fired. You know, that guy Spencer and his boss Waterton.”
Louie stared at Killian. “What about them?”
“Don’t you remember telling me about the Loretti brothers, and how the CIA was involved with them in the killing of that General? Well, these guys Waterton and Spencer were the heads of the CIA.”
Louie pulled his chair closer to Killian, and looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “Jesus, Phil, I don’t remember telling you that.”
“Well, you did, the night we were drinking and dancing with those two broads.”
“Oh, yeah, I guess I did,” Louie said dubiously.
“Sure, buddy, and now I’ve got this hot news for you.”
“Like what?”
“The drunken Senators were saying those fired ex-CIA directors are now trying to get back in good with the Washington crowd. They said the directors have been talking to Herbert Hoover of the FBI, and some top military personnel about their knowledge of Mafia dealings.”
Louie gaped at Killian. “They talked about the Mafia, about what?”
“They talked about the Mafia killing General Dugan, and about Jimmy Hoffa’s Teamsters Local 320 in Miami, which they said was a front for drugs being smuggled in from the out islands by high-powered speedboats. The drugs are stored in warehouses there waiting to be trucked here to New York.
Louie looked intensely at Killian. “You heard that?”
“Yeah, those two guys talked like I wasn’t even there,” answered Killian.
“Phil, you keep this between you and me. Don’t tell anyone else, okay?”
“Sure, Louie you’re the man, that’s why I came to you.”
“Yeah,” smiled Louie. “You did the right thing, Phil.”
Louie looked at the silver Timex watch on his left wrist, “I gotta’ git going. I got an important meeting up town.”
“You can’t stay for another drink?”
“No, but how about you and me get together tomorrow night. We’ll get a couple of broads and, you know, do the town.” As Louie stood up he patted Killian on the shoulder.
“Sure thing, Louie, tomorrow night,” said Killian.
Louie turned and hurried out of the saloon. Killian picked up the bottle of Rheingold and took a long drink as he thought Waterton and Spencer; you’re as good as dead right now.
Once outside, Louie ran to his car; he couldn’t wait to take this news to his connection, who he knew would pass it on to Underboss Marcinetti. He thought about what Phil had told him as he drove toward the night club up town. Jesus! If it’s true that those CIA bastards are talking about the murder of General Dugan and Jimmy Hoffa’s warehouses in Miami, then the Boss has got real trouble, and I’m in for big money for alerting him. Louie g
rinned as he pushed down on the gas pedal.
Underboss Mario Marcinetti didn’t totally believe it when he was informed about Waterton and Spencer talking about Mafia operations. He couldn’t believe they’d be that stupid. However, he also realized that when someone loses all their power, they might be ready to resort to any measures to recoup it. He knew he would. At first, Mario was going to call Spencer, but then thought he’d wait to see if there was any truth to what he had heard.
He received his answer a few days later, when the Teamsters Local 320 warehouses were raided by the Miami police, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The Boss, Underboss Marcinetti, and other top Mafia leaders were now convinced that Waterton and Spencer had ratted out on their drug-running operation from the Dominican Republic. They all agreed they needed to silence the two ex-directors.
Days later, in an isolated area, a fast car raced up next to Spencer’s Mercedes Benz while he was on his way home. He was killed instantly in a hail of bullets. The murder had all the hallmarks of a Mafia hit.
At that time, Mason Waterton was still in Europe. When he heard the news of Spencer’s murder, he went into hiding. Nevertheless, a month later, people who standing in the street, in front of the Excelsior Rome Hotel, were horrified when they saw a body falling from the hotel, and land on the sidewalk. Upon returning from a tour of the Sistine Chapel, Mrs. Waterton was informed of her husband’s apparent suicide.
CHAPTER 15
Near the end of summer, Maggie and Kip were married at a local Catholic church, which was overflowing with guests and family. Killian served as best man. Whelan Dunne spared no expense for his only daughter’s reception held at the country club. Killian was impressed by the number of people from congress and the senate who were in attendance. The champagne flowed, music played, people danced and ate late into the afternoon until the newlyweds entered a white limousine. They were whisked off to the airport to take Whelan’s Lear jet to Hawaii for their two-week honeymoon.
After Maggie and Kip returned, the team held another meeting. Although pleased with the demise of the men responsible for General Dugan’s death, it was concluded that not much had changed. They felt the new president had made a mistake when he selected Michael McComb as the new DCI. The team was certain the president had been misled in his assessment of McComb. McComb’s ideals were not what they seemed. He had disagreed with Waterton and Spencer about the handling of the Bay of Pigs and the overall operation of the invasion of Cuba, true enough, but he had served with the CIA in Vietnam and shared many of the same views as his predecessor, Mason Waterton.
The team agreed there was a power struggle going on between the president of the United States and the CIA. Current circumstances pointed to large problems looming, as the administration was being undermined by McComb and other high-ranking politicians. Admiral Hildegard, General Mittlebonn and Congressman Bernard were in favor of disbanding the team, as under the present conditions it was the safest and smartest thing to do. They felt the major problems ahead between the president and the CIA, who had the backing of the Mafia, were not something they could do much about. It was a situation, in which, they didn’t want to be caught in the middle. Kip, Maggie and Whelan agreed, but would discuss the issue with Killian later.
The next evening, Killian and Whelan were invited over to Kip and Maggie’s plush apartment for dinner. While having cocktails, Kip briefed Killian on what had been discussed at the meeting the previous night. He concluded with the decision the team had made regarding ending their mission of investigating the CIA. After he had finished, no one said anything, for about thirty seconds.
“It’s too bad the General was killed,” said Killian.
“True, but he really wanted to get the goods on the CIA, and he was avenged,” said Whelan.
“It was too high a price to pay for what we learned, Whelan.”
“I agree, Killian. But we had to do something. The actions of the CIA are wrong.”
“It’s a difficult task, to take them on,” said Kip.
Maggie sighed. “The CIA’s like the Medusa, you cut off one ugly venomous snake, and then there’s another one, just as ugly and mean.”
“Yes, it’s a vicious circle,” Whelan agreed. “They’re involved in so many things, at the same time, that it’s impossible to stop their operations or even restrict them.”
“I’m afraid things are going to get worse,” added Kip. “The president’s not going to give into them. The talk is he wants to break up the CIA and turn everything over to the Defense Department.”
“He’ll never be able to break them up. They won’t let it happen,” said Maggie.
Whelan nodded. “I agree there are too many unsolved operations, like the ones in Cuba, Vietnam and others, plus the problem with the Mafia. It’s my belief Vietnam is going to escalate into a full-scale war. The CIA created the problems by helping Ngo Dinh Diem and assisting in his being elected president of Vietnam.” He shook his head in disgust. “Now there’s talk of getting rid of him.”
Kip agreed, “Yes, it’s a mess over there.”
“Where does this leave me, Kip?”
“My friend, it looks like we’re out of business.”
“Do you have any idea what you’d like to do, Killian?” asked Whelan.
“If I had a choice, I’d like to go back to my ranch in Texas for a while, but that’s out of the question.”
“I know Zack would love to have you stay at his ranch,” said Maggie.
“I know, and I’ll do it for a short time. Then maybe I’ll do some traveling again.” He paused and looked at Kip. “How was Hawaii?”
“No don’t go there, you’ll never come back,” joked Kip.
“It’s a beautiful place, Killian,” Maggie told him. “You’d love it.”
Killian looked at Whelan and then at Kip. “What about Vietnam? I’m still a SERE instructor. Could I go back there? I’m not military. The General set me up as a civilian trainer.”
“Why would you want to go back there?”
“Kip it’s something I’d like to do,” He grinned as he hesitated. “Right after I get back from Hawaii.”
“You can go to Vietnam,” said Whelan. “I’d still like to know what the hell the CIA’s up to over there. And as far as I’m concerned, our bank account is still open. We can have our own small mission.” Whelan glanced at Kip and Maggie for their approval.
“I know Killian likes to stay active. If that’s what he wants to do then I’m fine with it,” said Kip.
“In the meantime, Killian, have a hell of a good time in Hawaii. You’ll really like those hula girls,” Maggie added, with a wink.
After the failure, to remove Fidel Castro from power or have him assassinated, CIA Director McComb arranged for the Miami Sheriff’s Office, the Coast Guard, and the FBI to look the other way regarding drug trafficking. He also released all of the CIA’s people, who were being held for violating regulations. Customs laws were to be evaded. Now, along with the drugs, weapons were being smuggled into the country. Director McComb convinced the Mafia that it had been the president and his people, who had fed them the misinformation about Waterton and Spencer informing on their operations. He assured the mob bosses the CIA still wanted their help in assassinating Fidel Castro, and possibly others. He also told the Mafia of his arrangement with law enforcement. He assured them their drug, and now weapon smuggling pipeline was safe, and their profits would be huge.
The CIA knew they had been somewhat compromised and challenged by the new administration. But they were gaining strength through the Cuban exiles that were angry with the president for not backing their invasion of Cuba, with air cover. Now these exiles who had nowhere else to go, became more dependent upon the patronage of the mob and more closely involved with the Mafia crime syndicate, which was once again in the CIA’s corner. McComb’s CIA was set to regain its power, which had been threatened, and now he and his CIA colleagues were willing to do anything to preserve it.
&nb
sp; After a two-week vacation, Killian returned to the ranch in Virginia. Zack was glad to have the company of his friend. At dinner a few nights later, Zack, now seventy-nine years old, gazed across the dining table at the young-looking Killian.
“Damn, Killian, I’m really starting to feel my age. Do you think maybe you could squirt a little bit of that bluish-red blood of yours into my veins?” he said, with a chuckle.
Killian smiled. “I don’t think it works that way, Zack.”
“Hell, it’d be worth a try,” Zack said, seriously.
“It would probably kill you, Zack.”
“Shoot, I’m on my way out anyway,” Zack said, with a big grin on his weathered face.
“Don’t talk like that. You still have plenty of good years left in you.”
Zack got up from the table and headed toward the living room. “I’m not too damn sure about that,” he muttered.
Killian grinned as he stood up and followed.
“I’m going to have a shot of Drambuie, want one?”
“Sure.”
Killian picked up the evening newspaper, and sat down on the long brown leather sofa to read the news section. Zack came over, handed Killian a snifter of the liqueur, and sat down in his favorite, overstuffed easy chair.
Nothing was said for a few minutes. Then Killian laid the newspaper in his lap.
“Zack, I don’t think the CIA wants the American public to know what they’re up to in Vietnam. I just read an article that’s buried back on page nine. It’s about their Special Forces, the Green Berets, who have been training minority tribes, the Montagnards, in the Central Highlands in Vietnam, into a Civilian Irregular Defense Group.”
Zack snorted. “Irregular is the key word there, Killian. Those bastards are going to get us involved in a full-scale war over there, a war we don’t want. It’s just like what Whelan said they’d do.”
Killian nodded, took a drink, then picked up the newspaper and continued to read. A few minutes later, he laid it down again.
“There’s an article here written by that reporter, Martin Bradberry. It shows a picture of him in fatigues at what he calls an A-camp, with the Green Berets and the Civilian Irregular Defense Group. It’s a long article about the use of incendiary weapons like napalm B and white phosphorus, but this is the most interesting part. He reports that he, the Special Forces advisers, and the Montagnards were mystified when some of the enemy soldiers, when set on fire with the napalm or phosphorus, burst into flames, which was followed by a bright flash of blue light and a bluish-white ribbon of smoke ascending high up into the sky. When the Montagnards saw it, they were frightened as they believed they’d killed an earthly god or spirit.”
