“Or both,” Oliver said. “Good evening, Mrs. Hanrahan.”
“Good night, Johnny,” Patricia Hanrahan said.
“Tell Liza I detained you,” Hanrahan said. “Everybody else on Fort Bragg thinks I’m a sonofabitch—why not Liza?”
[ FOUR ]
Stanleyville Air Field
Stanleyville, Oriental Province
Republic of the Congo
1230 14 March 1965
On the logical and universal military assumption that one never gets into much trouble giving priority to the desires of the senior commander, Major Lunsford/Lieutenant Colonel Dahdi had ordered that the L-20 Beaver—which would become Colonel Supo’s personal aircraft—be reassembled first.
It had proved less difficult than planned for, for several reasons. When Jack had first flown into Stanleyville on one of the two remaining Air Simba Boeing C-46s, he had carried with him as much heavy maintenance equipment—jacks, cranes, that sort of thing—as weight would permit, as well as five Air Simba airframe and engine mechanics, hoping that the vandalism of Air Simba’s third Boeing by the Simbas would turn out to be repairable.
That hope hadn’t turned out. There was no way really to tell how much damage had been done to it without giving it sort of a thousand-hour overhaul. They’d started on that. By the time the first Intercontinental flight landed, the bullet-shredded tires had been replaced and the C-46 rolled into one of the two hangars, where the work would be completed.
When the team’s aircraft and engine mechanics—the soldiers recruited by Jack and Lunsford at Fort Rucker—saw the cranes Jack flew in to, if necessary, remove the engines from the C-46, it was immediately apparent to them that they could also be used to haul the L-20 fuselage off the skid on which it had been shipped while the landing gear was reinstalled, and when that had been accomplished, and the Beaver was sitting on its gear, to use the cranes to reinstall the Beaver’s wings.
They had been prepared to “locally fabricate” makeshift wooden cranes from trees and had brought power saws and woodworking tools with them to do so. Practice at Camp Mackall had indicated this would take 1.5 or 2.0 days.
When the second Intercontinental Air flight called for approach and landing instructions at Stanleyville, the reassembly process of the Beaver was two days ahead of schedule. It was sitting on the tarmac with its engine running, and Captain Smythe/Major Jemima in the pilot’s seat was about to take it off on its first test flight.
Captain Jacques Portet of Air Simba intended to serve as copilot.
“Well, it hasn’t blown up so far,” Aunt Jemima said. “Shall we see if it will fly?”
“Why not?” Jack replied, and, more from habit than necessity— only Captain Weewili/Spec7 Peters and one of his technicians were in the tower, installing newly arrived radios—put on earphones and reached for the microphone on the yoke.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” the earphones said in massive disgust. “Don’t tell me the fucking radio is out in the fucking Beaver!”
“Station obscenely calling the Beaver, identify yourself,” Jack said, sternly, into the microphone.
“Is that you, Captain Smythe?”
“This is Portet.”
“I’ve been trying to raise you, sir. Intercontinental Air is ten minutes out.”
“Well, I guess we better put off the test flight, then. I don’t want to get run over by a 707.”
Jack touched Aunt Jemima’s arm, then made a cutting motion across his throat.
“The 707’s ten minutes out.”
“In that case, I guess I better find Sergeant Thomas and mobilize the stevedores,” Aunt Jemima said as he began to shut the engine down. “Our noble leader is downtown playing tennis with Geoff Craig.”
“War is hell, ain’t it?” Jack said, and started to unfasten his harness.
[ FIVE ]
The Hotel du Lac
Costermansville, Kivu Province
Republic of the Congo
1745 16 March 1965
Howard Dannelly, M.D., was not in a good mood when he walked into the Hotel du Lac, and what he saw shortly afterward very nearly made him lose his temper, something he really hated to do.
It had been a long—and toward the end, very bumpy—flight in an Air Simba Boeing from Léopoldville. There had been a dozen Congolese young men in civilian clothing on the airplane. Dannelly knew they were soldiers, recent graduates of the parachutists school, intended as augmentation for Colonel Supo’s inadequate forces, and in civilian clothing because they were going to have to pass through the airport in Kigali, just across the Rwandan border from Costermansville, and the Rwandan government didn’t want soldiers passing through their airport.
They had apparently shed their military discipline with their uniforms, for not only had they brought two cases of beer onto the airplane, which they had promptly begun to consume, but, as Congolese country boys were prone to do with alcohol in their systems, began to say unkind and scatological things about the nearest white man. This was, of course, Dr. Dannelly, and the drunken paratroops of course had no idea who he was, or that he was fluent in Swahili.
Predictably, the first of them became nauseous when the bumpy weather began, and by the time the Boeing landed at the field at Kigali, most of them had become nauseous, some of them spectacularly so. His shoes and trousers had been splattered.
In the Kigali terminal building, there had been a particularly offensive—and apparently illiterate; he held Dannelly’s documents upside down while he studied them intently—immigration officer who took great joy in showing that Rwanda was now independent, and black men could now annoy white men with impunity.
There was no bottled water in the Kigali terminal, and Dr. Dannelly knew better than to drink anything else.
Just as soon as he entered the Hotel du Lac, he went to the bar in search of at least two bottles of club soda.
And saw Jean-Philippe Portet’s son sitting at a table in bathing trunks. There was a champagne cooler on the table. Young Portet was shamelessly staring at a young woman in a nearly lewd bathing suit, who was dancing alone to sensual music on the phonograph. The young woman—probably the daughter of one of the farmers who hadn’t fled; she seemed too young to be married—seemed to revel in the attention.
Dr. Dannelly called to one of the boys for water, a little more loudly than he intended, and this caught young Portet’s attention.
“Well, as I live and breathe,” Young Portet called. “Dr. Dannelly! Come on over—there’s someone I want you to meet.”
Dannelly walked to the table.
“You may think you’re clever, Mr. Portet,” Dr. Dannelly said. “But your behavior is not only disgusting, but brings everything you say into question.”
“Like my marriage vows, for example?”
“Yes, like your marriage vows.”
“Judge not, Doctor, lest ye be judged,” Young Portet said. “As it says in the Good Book.” He raised his voice. “Sweetheart, come over here a minute, will you?”
The young woman walked to the table.
“Baby, this is one of the most important men in the Congo,” Jack said. “Say hello to Dr. Howard Dannelly. Doctor, may I present my wife, Marjorie?”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Portet,” Dr. Dannelly said after a perceptible pause. “And, I must say, I’m really surprised to see you here in Costermansville.”
“Well, Doctor, you know. The Book of Ruth. ‘Whither thou goest, I will go,’ et cetera.”
“Do you really read the Bible, Mrs. Portet?”
“Yes, I do,” Marjorie said. “I think of myself as a Christian, and I’m even working on bringing the heathen I married into the fold.”
“Well, I must say, Mrs. Portet, you have your work cut out for you.”
“Call me Marjorie, please,” she said. “And won’t you join us? Can we offer you a glass of champagne?”
“Thank you no,” Dannelly said. “I’m a member of the Church of Latter-Day Saints. We
don’t use stimulants.”
“I’ve heard that,” Marjorie said. “I’ve always wondered how you square that with what Paul said: ‘Take a little wine for thy stomach’s sake and thine other infirmities.’ ”
“I’d love to get into that at length with you, Marjorie,” Dr. Dannelly said, “but right now I really would like some water.”
Thirty minutes later, just before he excused himself to take a shower before dinner, Dr. Dannelly assured Mrs. Portet there would be no problem whatever with her visa. If she would entrust her passport to him, he would take it to Léopoldville the following day, have a friend—the Minister of Foreign Affairs—have someone stamp it, and then have it flown back to her in Costermansville on the next Air Simba flight.
[ SIX ]
Office of the Deputy Director
The Central Intelligence Agency
Langley, Virginia
0845 17 March 1965
The Director was sitting on one of the Deputy Director’s matching couches and Howard W. O’Connor, the Assistant Director for Administration, didn’t see him when he walked into the office.
“You wanted to see me, Paul?” O’Connor asked.
“I did,” the Director said.
O’Connor turned.
“I didn’t see you, sorry,” he said. “Good morning, sir.”
“Have you seen this?” the Director asked, and handed him a long, curling sheet of radioteletype paper.
TOP SECRET
1920 GREENWICH 16 MARCH 1965
FROM STATION CHIEF, BUENOS AIRES
TO DIRECTOR, CIA, LANGLEY
COPIES TO SOUTH AMERICAN DESK
MR SANFORD T FELTER, COUNSELOR TO
THE PRESIDENT
THE EXECUTIVE OFFICE BUILDING
WASHINGTON
1. THE UNDERSIGNED HAS BEEN APPROACHED BY AN OFFICER RECENTLY ASSIGNED TO THE OFFICE OF THE DEFENSE ATTACHÉ HERE WHOM THE UNDERSIGNED HAS REASON TO BELIEVE IS IN A COVERT ASSIGNMENT IN CONNECTION WITH OPERATION EARNEST WHICH THE UNDERSIGNED HAS FURTHER REASON TO BELIEVE IS CONTROLLED BY MR. FELTER AT THE DIRECTION OF THE PRESIDENT.
2. THE OFFICER HAS PROPOSED THAT HE WILL MAKE AVAILABLE INTELLIGENCE INFORMATION TO ME UNDER THE FOLLOWING CONDITIONS: HIS NAME WILL NOT BE USED OR FURNISHED TO THE AGENCY. ANY INFORMATION HE FURNISHES WILL BE TRANSMITTED OVER CIA FACILITIES WITH A COPY TO BE FURNISHED MR. FELTER BY OFFICER COURIER IMMEDIATELY UPON RECEIPT IN LANGLEY. THE INFORMATION WILL NOT BE PASSED, UNDER ANY CONDITIONS, TO ANYONE WITHOUT THE EXPRESS PRIOR PERMISSION OF MR. FELTER.
3. THE UNDERSIGNED IS FULLY AWARE THAT ARRANGEMENTS SUCH AS DESCRIBED CONTRAVENE AGENCY POLICY, BUT FEELS AN EXCEPTION TO POLICY IS JUSTIFIED IN THIS CASE BECAUSE THE INTELLIGENCE OFFERED IS UNAVAILABLE FROM ANY OTHER SOURCE.
4. IT IS RECOMMENDED THE INTELLIGENCE FOLLOWING BE REGARDED AS THE EQUIVALENT OF CIA RELIABILITY SCALE FIVE.
ERNESTO GUEVARA ARRIVED AT JOSE MARTIN AIRFIELD, HAVANA, CUBA AT 1605 GREENWICH 14 MARCH 1965 ABOARD AIR FRANCE FLIGHT 6005 WHICH ORIGINATED IN ALGIERS, ALGERIA. GUEVERA’ S ARRIVAL WAS NOT PREVIOUSLY ANNOUNCED TO THE PUBLIC, THE PRESS WAS EXCLUDED FROM THE DEBARKATION AREA, AND THERE WERE NO OFFICIAL WELCOMING CEREMONIES.
ALEIDA MARCH DE GUEVARA, HIS WIFE; HILDITA GUEVARA, HIS DAUGHTER FROM HIS PREVIOUS MARRIAGE; FIDEL CASTRO; CUBAN PRESIDENT OSVALDO DORTICÓS; CARLOS RAFAEL RODRÍGUEZ; EMILIO ARAGONÉS; ORLANDO BOR-REGO; AND THREE UNIDENTIFIED MINISTRY OF INDUSTRY FUNCTIONARIES WERE THE ONLY PEOPLE GIVEN ACCESS TO THE DEBARKATION AREA.
AFTER A SHORT MEETING OF THE ABOVE WITH GUEVARA, GUEVARA AND CASTRO (ONLY) LEFT THE AIRFIELD TOGETHER, AND WERE DRIVEN TO A MANSION AT CALLE BOLIVAR 117 WHICH IS SET ASIDE FOR CASTRO’S UNOFFICIAL AND PRIVATE USE. IT IS OF INTEREST TO NOTE THAT THE FEMALES WHO CUSTOMARILY RESIDE IN THE MANSION WERE REMOVED EARLY IN THE DAY AND HAVE NOT RETURNED.
THERE IS A CREDIBLE RUMOR CIRCULATING THAT AS A RESULT OF THE ‘THREE VIETNAMS’ SPEECH GUEVARA GAVE TO THE SECOND ECONOMIC SEMINAR OF AFRO-ASIAN SOLIDARITY GUEVARA IS IN DISFAVOR WITH CASTRO BECAUSE CASTRO WAS STRONGLY REBUKED BY THE SOVIET AMBASSADOR FOR THE SPEECH AND/OR CASTRO ALSO DISAPPROVES OF THE BELLIGERENT TONE OF THE SPEECH. THERE IS A FURTHER, LESS CREDIBLE, RUMOR THAT GUEVARA WILL, AT THE SUGGESTION/ REQUEST/DEMAND OF THE SOVIET AMBASSADOR, BE STRIPPED OF HIS POST AS MINISTER OF INDUSTRY SO THAT THE CUBAN GOVERNMENT CAN DENY THAT HE WAS SPEAKING/SPEAKS FOR THE CUBAN GOVERNMENT.
IT IS CONSIDERED UNLIKELY, HOWEVER, THAT ANY OF THE ABOVE WILL AFFECT THE CUBAN OPERATION IN AFRICA, ALTHOUGH GUEVARA’S ROLE IN THAT OPERATION MAY BE LIMITED.
5. IN THE ABSENCE OF SPECIFIC INSTRUCTIONS TO THE CONTRARY, THE UNDERSIGNED INTENDS TO GO AHEAD WITH THE RELATIONSHIP DESCRIBED ABOVE.
J.P. STEPHENS
STATION CHIEF BUENOS AIRES
TOP SECRET
“I had not seen it, no, sir,” O’Connor said when he had finished reading it.
“The only thing we had on this was a Reliability Three that Guevara was in Havana,” the Director said.
“Yes, sir,” O’Connor said, largely because he could think of no safe comment to make.
“I just told Paul that I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Felter already has this information, and is sitting in the Executive Office Building waiting to see how long it takes for us to send it to him.”
“How would he do that, sir?”
“The same way he found somebody who knows the address of the house where Castro gets his revolutionary ashes hauled,” the Director said. “Clean that up, just the intel stuff, nothing about the deal Stephens has struck with Felter’s man down there, and get it over to Felter by officer courier.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you, Paul, you tell the South American desk that I am going to be very interested indeed—perhaps ‘morbidly fascinated’ would be a better choice of words—to see how much sooner Felter sends me stuff like this than our people do.”
“My God, Castro shoots anybody and everybody he thinks might be turned,” the Deputy Director protested.
“Well, I’d say he hasn’t shot enough people, then, wouldn’t you? Felter’s source has got somebody in there, and at the top.”
[SEVEN]
The Hotel du Lac
Costermansville, Kivu Province
Republic of the Congo
0950 19 March 1965
The seven-story Hotel du Lac was the tallest building in Costermansville.
After some rather convoluted business dealings, the sixth and seventh floors had been requisitioned, in the name of the Republic of the Congo, by Colonel Jean-Baptiste Supo, Military Commandant of Kivu Province, for use in military operations.
The requisition did not state that the military operation Colonel Supo had in mind was to provide space—and living accommodations—for Special Forces Detachment 17.
The King Leopold Suite of the Hotel du Lac—two bedrooms, an office, a sitting room, and a reception room, all of whose windows overlooked Lake Albert—had become Detachment 17’s headquarters.
The smaller bedroom was now Major George Washington’s Lunsford’s office. The Detachment’s executive officer, Lieutenant Geoffrey Craig, and the aviation officer, Major Darrell J. Smythe, shared what had once been some dignitary’s private secretary’s office, and the larger bedroom was now the commo center. Cables ran out of one of its windows up the side of the building to the antennae on the roof.
Lunsford, Smythe, Craig, Thomas, Peters, and Mr. Portet of Air Simba all had two-room suites on the seventh floor, which just about filled it up, and the enlisted men were housed on the sixth floor, most of them with rooms of their own.
The management of the hotel was pleased with the arrangement, and not at all upset that some people might think the payment arrangements were questionable, perhaps even illegal. This was, after all, the Congo, and things were different in the Congo.
Colonel Supo had issued vouchers for the services provided, and it was even possible that at some time in the future they would be honored by the Congolese government. The management was going to provide an essentially identica
l bill to the commanding officer, SFDET-17 in the field, with the understanding that it would be paid in U.S. dollars immediately.
The SFDET-17 bill differed from the bill rendered to Colonel Supo’s headquarters in that, in the SFDET-17 bill, the cost of beer, wine, and spirits served would be incorporated into the cost of the meals served, and the words “beer,” “wine,” and “spirits” would not appear thereon.
There were already some radio antennae on the roof of the Hotel du Lac when Spec7 Peters/Captain Weewili went up the first time to see where he could install his antennae, and he was fascinated with what he found, much as when a car aficionado discovers a Model T Ford in daily use.
His antennae, including two dishes, were state of the art, so much so that he was a little uneasy when Lieutenant/Mr. Portet asked for an explanation of how everything worked. Just about all of the equipment he’d brought with him was classified, and you were supposed to have a need-to-know. He finally decided that, in these circumstances, Portet had the need-to-know anything and everything.
“Most of the aviation stuff is pretty standard,” Peters explained. “But the commo is nonstandard, state of the art, and classified.”
“How does it work?”
“We don’t talk about it much,” Peters explained, “but we’re tied into the datalinks of the surveillance satellites. They have a reception capability—to turn the cameras on and off, you know, stuff like that—and we use that for our commo.
“First, we go through the usual encryption process, break it down into five character blocks. . . . You know how that works, I guess?”
Jack had nodded, although he really didn’t have a clue how that worked.
“After we get the encrypted message on tape, then we condense it,” Peters said.
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