See You Later, Alligator

by William F. Buckley

  Blackford thought for a moment how exactly to frame his reply. “Che,” he said, “there is no alternative than to proceed as you see fit. But I must report back to Washington whether you are still interested in the initiatives you put forward in Montevideo—”

  “Oh fuck Montevideo, Caimán. Of course I am still interested. Otherwise why would I be wasting my time in this endless conversation with you?”

  “Che, it was my point, some time back, that our conversations do not need to be endless.”

  Che smiled. “Ah, you are a trained dialectician, I can see that. Tell me, have you read Whitehead? Alfred North Whitehead?”

  Great God, Blackford thought. He knew Che Guevara was renowned for his academic curiosity. He did not know it extended to the author of Principia Mathematica. “I have not read Whitehead, señor.”

  “Well I have. And he made it a point to say that a culture expresses its planted axioms by its mode of analysis. You are, as your sociologists put it, achievement-oriented. Accordingly you structure your approaches with exclusive reference to what you consider the subject at hand. Well, those of us who are free of such cultural deadweight can understand more about the totality of man. So that if I choose to speak with you with what you disdain as indirection you are not to permit yourself to believe that I am indifferent to the reasons for our meeting. But our meeting, if it is to prove productive, has got to produce an understanding. And that understanding is not something to be put abstractly onto a piece of paper. It is to mean that we have achieved—an understanding. But how can there be an understanding”—he stressed the word, repeating it twice—“un acuerdo, un acuerdo—between parties that do not know each other?”

  Again Che, who had sat down, as intermittently he did, rose. But this time to say that it had got warm and that he was attracted to the idea of a swim. He turned to Catalina and asked if she would like to swim. She shook her head. He then acknowledged, for the first time, the existence of Cecilio Velasco and asked if he cared to swim. Velasco said, “No thank you, Comandante.” Che raised his eyebrows, mutely extending the invitation to Blackford. Who responded intuitively, “Of course I would like to swim.”

  “You remain here,” Che said to Catalina, “as I shall swim naked, in the fashion of Mr. Caimán here. Velasco, you may accompany us to interpret. Although I do not expect to do very much talking while in the water.”

  Blackford walked into the bathroom and took two towels, giving one to Che. Che led the way through the door. Instinctively six bodyguards, to the leader of which Che had uttered a few words, poised themselves for orders. On receiving them they separated, three walking out toward the beach in one direction, three in the opposite direction, until they were separated by about one hundred yards. Che, paying them no attention, tossed his cigar into the sand and said, “Come along, Caimán. As you know, the ocean here is wonderful, now that it is cleansed of American tourist skin oil.”

  “I guess it’s fair to say I am not an American tourist,” Blackford said. And added, “Do socialists use suntan oil?”

  “Socialists,” Che replied, squinting his eyes against the hard rays of the sun overhead, “normally do not have time to worry about the appearance of their skin. They worry about their skin.”

  They had approached the water, and Che opened his fatigues and dropped them on the sand. He wore no underclothes. He took off his beret and walked toward the water. “Come along, Caimán. It will cleanse your sins. Though perhaps not. It is a small ocean.”

  Fourteen

  Adzhubei stood up when he entered the room, never mind that it was his own father-in-law.

  “Sit down,” Khrushchev said offhandedly. He was distracted and Adzhubei knew that in such situations it was best simply to wait. In due course Khrushchev would speak out. He always did.

  “Well, don’t you want to know how it went?”

  “Of course, Nikita Sergeyevich. But I did not wish to press you. Was my … testimony all right?”

  “As far as it went, yes, it was very good. The problem was Shelepin. Knew it would be. Professional problem.”

  “You mean, that the KGB hadn’t come up with it?”

  “Worse than that. He denies it. He says he positively doubts Kennedy is going back into Cuba.”

  “What did you do?”

  Khrushchev chortled. “I can be pretty mean, you know, young fellow,” he said to the editor of Izvestia, of all people, “I said to him, ‘Aleksandr Nikolayevich, if “our sources” are so reliable on these matters, how is it that you didn’t give us a few weeks’ warning of the U.S. invasion of Cuba in April?’

  “He didn’t like that,” Khrushchev chortled. “But then I didn’t intend for him to like it. And then I went on and reminded him that in the interview I gave Sulzberger a few weeks ago, I said that if the United States were to invade Cuba and Cuba were to ask for our help, Cuba would not find us deaf to her entreaty. That’s on the record.”

  “Did that turn him around?”

  “By all the gods—assuming there are any gods—no. Quite the opposite. Shelepin said that by making that statement I had simply reinforced Kennedy in his determination not to sponsor another military operation against Cuba.”

  “To which you replied?”

  “I said, ‘Look here, Aleksandr Nikolayevich, there are five hundred thousand Cubans in the United States and they are everywhere. They are in government. Soon they will be in Congress. Their sources of intelligence on such matters are bound to be better than our own, and this is hardly a criticism of you’—I can be soft as a dove’s ass, you know, Aleksei”; Aleksei nodded knowingly—“‘it is simply what one would expect. And remember, there will be congressional elections in the United States in the fall of 1962 and the Republicans will make a great deal of it if Cuba is still socialist. Especially if our plans mature …’ Gromyko was useful at this point because he reported that the American press and the voters are putting great pressure on the government to do something about Castro. So I went on; I told them that it would greatly set back the best thing that has happened to the Soviet Union since the war—namely, Castro—if we were to deny him what he asked for.”

  “Was it then that you mentioned—”

  “Quiet. Let me tell it my own way. I don’t mind reminding you, Aleksei, that I am renowned as a raconteur. I said then that of course we would need to step up the flow of conventional arms to Cuba. But I did not think that was enough.”

  “Did that do it?”

  “There was a pause, and Malinovsky then broke in. ‘Are you suggesting,’ our renowned defense minister asked me, ‘are you suggesting, Nikita Sergeyevich, that we send nuclear missiles?’

  “I said to him, ‘Rodion Yaklovich, to begin with, it wasn’t me who suggested this. It was Castro. He asked for them. I had instructed Adzhubei not to reveal this to you gentlemen just now, when he came into the room to give you personally the report on Castro’s conversation, because I thought we should give full attention first to what it is that Castro says the United States is planning, and only then to what we must do about it. But yes, Castro asked Adzhubei to request what Castro called “strategic defensive missiles.” A very good term that, don’t you think so, Rodion Yaklovich? I’m glad to see that you do. Well, that is what Castro asked for, and I am recommending that under certain conditions we agree to his request.’

  “‘What are those conditions?’ Malinovsky wanted to know.

  “‘They are 1) Total secrecy of installation, 2) The job must be done exclusively by Russians, 3) Those who man the missiles will be Russians, who take orders only from Russia, 4) The territory in which the missiles reside must be ceded to the Soviet Union.’

  “Malinovsky exclaimed, ‘He agreed to that?’

  “‘Absolutely,’ I said.”

  Adzhubei registered his alarm. “But Nikita Sergeyevich, nothing of the sort was touched on in Havana—”

  “Never mind, never mind. Just forget what you said. While we’re at it, I do not expect you to reveal y
our role in this ever to anyone, that is obvious. But I want our missiles in the American theater. We are surrounded here by hostile missiles. Oh, I said all of this at the meeting, you can bet your apple harvest on that. I said to them, ‘The Soviet Union faces missiles in West Germany, in France, in Great Britain, in Italy and, soon now, in China. Meanwhile the United States is surrounded by Canadians, Mexicans, and Indians—’”

  “Castro is not an Indian.”

  “Never mind what Castro is, the point I am making is that he has no bombs. At least not yet. I don’t mean—obviously—that Castro is going to get nuclear bombs, but that we will have nuclear bombs in Cuba. And that will change the geopolitical structure of the struggle for the world.”

  “Did you tell them that?”

  Khrushchev shouted now. “Of course I told them that, you idiot! Because it is true! And that is the point we need to get across, that we want missiles in Cuba under our control. And now we have reason to place them there, though of course this must be done furtively. They must be in place before the United States is on to them.”

  “Did you discuss what the United States would do when it finds out?”

  “I said the United States would not be in a position to do anything about them. You do not talk back to thermonuclear missiles. You simply accept them, as we needed to accept them in NATO.”

  “What about the … invasion?”

  “That is important. Malinovsky raised that point exactly. What good would the missiles do if not in place in time to abort the invasion? I asked him for an estimate of how long deployment would take, and he said six months. Our diplomatic mission in that case, I said to them, is to use whatever means we have of delaying the American invasion for at least six months. Remember, I told them, we don’t know that it is scheduled for sooner than six months from now. But there are ways—Aleksandr Nikolayevich, you are a master, after all, of this—by which we can affect policy: force on the Americans postponements, delays, that kind of thing. We can have a prominent American complain that a fresh invasion is being prepared, and do this at a time extremely inconvenient to the American administration. But then I said—they say I am a clever old fox, Aleksei—”

  “You are indeed a clever old fox, Nikita Sergeyevich.”

  “And then I said, ‘And of course, our ends are brilliantly served if simultaneously we abort the American invasion and succeed in deploying our missiles in Cuba. They will then be there as brooding instruments behind all our future policies.’” He laughed quietly at first. Then uproariously, rising from his seat and throwing his arms around his son-in-law.

  “The project will be under way. You will see!”

  Fifteen

  Blackford had told Che after their swim that the time had come to file a report to Washington and Che had said fine. How did Blackford desire to proceed to do this?

  Blackford said that the Cuban ambassador in Mexico had assured Velasco that if Oakes stayed on in Havana long enough to require communication with Washington, it would be “arranged” that he could do so by means satisfactory to Oakes. Well, Oakes was asking, what means had been arranged?

  Che said he hadn’t given it any thought, but why not let Oakes write a message, seal it, and the Cubans would deliver it to the American commandant at Guantánamo?

  Blackford had said, “Che, you must be kidding. Give my report to the President to one of your messengers to deliver to Guantánamo? I am a professional intelligence officer, as you let slip you knew a half hour ago.”

  Che managed to look as though he had hurt feelings. As though he would look at Blackford’s private messages! Did Blackford have an alternative proposal?

  Blackford said he would think about it, and by the way, he would appreciate the guard’s being told that when Oakes needed Major Bustamente to talk to, Bustamente would show up.

  “De acuerdo,” Che had said—Okay—picking up his briefcase and heading out toward his bodyguards clustered outdoors, the strong sea breeze blowing on their shaggy beards. Guevara turned at the door.

  “Hasto, luego, Caimán.”

  “See you later, alligator.” Cecilio Velasco quietly interpreted the phrase Comandante Guevara had used. He wondered whether Che knew that that parade of syllables, in English, came out droll.

  “Some character,” Blackford said to Velasco as the sun was setting. And then, his finger raised to his lips, he motioned to Velasco and out they went, the guard trailing as usual, toward the beach. From the south a storm was coming, low gray-black clouds contaminating the virginal sky above, still blue to the north. The hard winds came suddenly and it began to blow. “A goddam bore,” Blackford said. “Looks like we’ll have to try to talk back in the cottage. Yes, he is a character. But there’s something appealing in there. He is anything but a cookie-cutter Commie. I don’t know what he was up to all last week, keeping us waiting, but I have a feeling he wants something and wants it badly, and is laying the groundwork carefully. Let’s get out of the rain.”

  They trotted back to the cottage. Blackford pulled out his typewriter and wrote: “To The Director, CIA, Eyes Only from Blackford Oakes, Havana.” The message was economical:

  HE KEPT US WAITING A FULL WEEK BUT SPENT TWO HOURS TODAY. HE SAYS YES HE IS STILL INTERESTED IN PROPOSALS BUT HE WISHES TO DISCUSS THEM IN HIS OWN WAY IN HIS OWN TIME. IT IS TOO EARLY FOR ME TO ARRIVE AT ANY JUDGMENT ON EITHER OF THE TWO QUESTIONS: WILL HE PLAY/CAN HE PLAY. NOT ANTICIPATING PROLONGED STAY, NO ARRANGEMENTS WERE MADE FOR REGULAR COMMUNICATIONS. I’LL PROPOSE USE OF SWISS EMBASSY AND WILL SEND VELASCO THERE EVERY DAY OR TWO TO CHECK FOR MESSAGES FROM YOU. STOP. OAKES.

  He took the sheet from his typewriter and showed it to Velasco, who read it and nodded his head. “There is nothing to add.”

  Blackford informed the guard he desired to see Major Bustamente. He found Alejandro’s attitude—he was the four-to-midnight guard, heavily bureaucratic in manner, the kind who likes to look at both sides of a sheet of blank paper—significantly changed since Che Guevara’s visitation. Alejandro reached into his pocket and turned toward a wooden locker, sitting now, for the first time, on the veranda outside the house. He unlocked a padlock and pulled out a telephone with a jack. He brought the phone into the living room and connected it. He then telephoned a number and asked for Major Bustamente, who came on the line. There was a rapid conversation, and then the guard extended the phone to Blackford.

  “Ah, Major Bustamente. How nice to be able to talk with you.”

  “I am Joe. What can I do for you, Señor Caimán?”

  “I want to send a communication to Washington and to use the Swiss Embassy for that purpose. This will require that Mr. Velasco talk with the Swiss ambassador. That will require that someone from your office take Mr. Velasco to the Swiss Embassy, having previously made an appointment. Mr. Velasco can then talk with the Swiss code clerk, and arrangements will be made. Now, can you set up that appointment for ten o’clock tomorrow?”

  Bustamente said he would have to check with higher authority, but that he supposed this would be all right. The guard would inform them at breakfast time.

  Breakfast time. A full thirteen hours away. Or rather, an un-full thirteen hours away. Agatha was palling. Even Shakespeare did not soothe Blackford’s restlessness, and there was no music to soothe the savage breast. Blackford slumped down on the couch and said, Yes, he would have a drink of rum with Velasco, it was okay now to break his fast. Outside the wind howled and the rain fell heavily. Blackford felt a touch of moisture on the nape of his neck but paid no attention to it. Then a drop fell on the page his eye had arrived at in Asesino en el Orient Express. He looked up. The roof was leaking. He dragged the couch to one side. Velasco looked at Blackford and winked purposively.

  Velasco stripped off his outer clothing and, dressed only in his shorts, went to the guard, huddled under the little porch roof in a raincoat.

  “I am going up there to fix a leak,” Velasco shouted into the wind and rain.

  Alejandro nodded, while grippin
g the collar of his raincoat tighter about his neck. Velasco grabbed the telephone locker and hauled it to where the eave of the cottage was lowest. He stood the locker on its end and stepped up on it. He could grab the corner of the roof. With his foot on a trestle that had once led flowers up from a flower box, he bounded up onto the roof. He proceeded to conduct a systematic search for radio wiring. On the back slope of the house, near the southern end, he found the tiny aerial, connected, presumably, to the three microphones they had disabled on first entering the cottage. He disassembled the aerial. If there was a fourth, undiscovered microphone in the cottage, it would not now transmit via that antenna. He then pounded with his fist over where he thought the leak was and received from Blackford a rat-tat-tat indicating he should move a little more to the right … There. Just there. He removed one of his socks and stuffed it under the suspected shingle, this with some shouting, primarily for the benefit of Alejandro, and came down, very wet, the little antenna hidden under his arm. He returned from the bathroom a few moments later, dry. “I think we can talk now, if we talk quietly.” And they did this, although with discretion when certain subjects were approached.

  The next morning there was first a message from Major Bustamente: that the Swiss ambassador would receive Velasco there at eleven, that Major Bustamente would arrive to conduct Velasco at 10:45. And then a letter addressed to Blackford. Velasco reached for it.

  “Wait a minute, Cecilio. My Spanish is beginning to shape up. Let me see what I can do with it and then I’ll give up.”

  He read it slowly, and then said, “It’s an invitation. Have a look.”

  Cecilio gave an extemporaneous translation, never quite satisfactory. “‘Dear Mr. Caimán’—the Mr. is crossed out. ‘I would be … very happy to take you on a tour of our … handsome capital city … arrancado de—wrested from the hands of the exploiters if you will not be … avergonzado … ashamed by it all but you … appear to be young and strong. Please advise me through the medium of … via Major Bustamente if this … suits your convenience in which case you and your interpreter should be ready at approximately two. Please fix upon—Please notice that I have said approximately … so that you will not be capricious—be annoyed with me if I am five minutes late.’ It’s signed ‘Che.’”