"I think he found out something he wasn't supposed to know, and then he had no choice but to split; he knew he was marked for death. I think he found out about Cooked Goose."
Garth looked up at me. "The thing you believe was a secret military operation."
"I don't know what it was—or is. I'm just guessing."
"Where did you hear about it?"
"A little bird from the CIA by the name of Duane Insolers dropped that name on me during the course of an Alice in Wonderland conversation we were having. He seemed absolutely convinced I'd come to Zurich on some secret mission of my own that was associated with the hunt for Sinclair. He just wouldn't believe the truth, so he kept trying to cue me with names and information so that I'd trust him—at least I think that's what he was trying to do. The subjects I asked you to look into came out of that conversation."
Garth tapped the notebook with his index finger. "Where's this Insolers now?"
"Beats me. What did you find out about Cooked Goose?"
"Not a thing," my brother replied tersely.
"Did you call Mr. Lippitt?"
"Sure."
"You think he knows?"
"Of course he knows. Mr. Lippitt knows everything. He was the source of information for what I just told you about Sinclair."
"But he wouldn't talk about Cooked Goose?"
"Nope."
"Did he give you a reason?"
"He said I hadn't given him sufficient reason to talk about it and that he couldn't see how the information could do you any good. Maybe you should call him."
"I can't give him a reason why I should know about Cooked Goose until I know what Cooked Goose is."
"He offered to help get you out of the country."
"I'm not ready to leave."
"He also offered some advice."
"Which is?"
"He said we should put as much distance as possible between us and Chant Sinclair."
I turned to Veil. "That advice somehow sounds familiar."
Veil said, "I can tell you about Cooked Goose."
I blinked. "What?"
"Operation Cooked Goose was a decidedly half-baked plan devised by a renegade faction of super-hawks in the CIA to assassinate other American hawks—pro-war politicians, writers, clergymen, and various cultural leaders."
Having delivered this announcement, Veil proceeded to begin eating his salad. I glanced at Garth and Harper. Garth actually looked stunned, which was a remarkable display of emotion for him. Harper looked uncomprehending, and I was sure I looked the same.
I tapped Veil on the shoulder. "Uh, you say hawks were planning to assassinate Americans who supported their position?" "Right."
"But why?"
"To discredit the doves by making it appear that the war had literally come home, just as some of them had openly called for. It was sort of an extension of Operation Phoenix, only in reverse. In addition to killing Vietnamese officials who supported the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese, they would also begin assassinating American supporters of our war effort. It was in the last stages of the war, seven or eight months before the eventual evacuation of Saigon. By then it was obvious—to the hawks, at least—that it was the ground swell of opposition in the United States that was causing us to lose the war. The renegade CIA planners reasoned that if American public opinion could somehow be turned around, the military could stage one last, massive assault on the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese that might finally win the war. Cooked Goose was supposed to marshal that popular support by making it appear that the North Vietnamese and their allies had sent ninja-type assassination teams into the country. The thinking was that not even most of the die-hard doves would tolerate the fact that the North Vietnamese had sent assassins onto American soil to kill American leaders. Public opinion would shift, total victory would be demanded, and the full force of the United States Army could be unleashed to mount an all-out air and ground assault on North Vietnam. That's it."
"How the hell do you know this?" Garth asked, making no effort to hide his incredulity.
"An Army Ranger friend of mine told me all about it over drinks at a bar on Oahu. We'd both ended up there at the same time for a little R and R."
I was more than a bit incredulous myself. "How could that be, Veil? This Duane Insolers claimed he didn't even know what Cooked Goose was. He also said it was still one of the most closely guarded secrets this country has."
Veil grunted. "And with good reason, don't you think? The reason this guy talked to me about it was that we were both fighters, not planners, and fighters think differently from planners—it's always the planners of deals like this who are anxious to keep what they've planned a secret, usually forever. As you know, I had a reputation as a stone killer. The guy was drunk, he felt the need to talk to somebody about it, and he trusted me. Also, because of my reputation, he just naturally assumed I'd been recruited and was a part of it. He didn't believe me when I told him I wasn't, and he just kept talking. He thought Cooked Goose was a great idea. He was looking forward to being shipped back to the United States where he'd be an assassin for his country. He liked the idea of killing what he called pinko politicians and folk singers once in a while as a break from killing right-wingers, and he especially liked the idea that none of these people would be shooting back at him. Unfortunately for him, he never got to do any of it. He was one of the five Rangers sent after Sinclair when Sinclair took off. I'll bet five thousand of my dollars to your quarter that all five of those men had been recruited for Cooked Goose."
"Jesus Christ," I said softly as I felt my heart start to beat faster.
Garth pushed his half-finished salad to one side, turned to face Veil. "You say this man assumed you'd been recruited for the operation. Why did he think that?"
"Because of my combat record, but most of all because of my martial arts abilities. Remember that the killings were supposed to look like the work of specially trained ninja assassin teams, not shooters. Weapons of choice would be the garrote, dagger, shuriken, or sometimes just hands. I was good with all these things."
"But you hadn't been approached?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I really don't know, but my guess is that I didn't begin to fit the deeper profile of the kind of men they were looking for. Cooked Goose sounds like the sort of nitwit operation my CIA controller would have been in on, or maybe even helped to dream up, and he'd have told the people in charge of recruiting that I was hell on wheels in a jungle fighting situation, but that I was otherwise psychotic and unreliable—and he would have been right, of course. He knew that I needed violence and the presence of danger to keep myself going from day to day, and that I'd have no use for Cooked Goose, namely sitting-duck, targets. He understood that I was fighting for my own reasons, and these reasons had nothing to do with the political or military aims of the United States. My friend, on the other hand, was a super-patriot type who would not be able to see anything wrong with anything he did, just so long as he had been told by some authority that it was for the good of the country. My guess is that all of the recruits fit that psychological profile. I didn't, which is why I was never approached."
We all sat in silence, thinking, for a few moments, and then Garth said, "The planners approached John Sinclair."
Veil nodded thoughtfully. "I think you're probably right, but there's a big question as to why they'd do so. From everything I've heard about Sinclair, he didn't fit the profile of a Cooked Goose assassin either. He was one terrific fighter, all right, but he was above all else a real professional soldier. He would never abide assassinating our own public officials." Veil paused, looked around the table at each of us in turn, and it seemed to me that his glacial blue eyes suddenly seemed brighter. "Not only, in my opinion, wouldn't he have abided such a thing," he continued in a low voice, "but I think he probably would have tried to squash the program in any way he could. That could explain why he suddenly chose to become a deserter, and why five Rangers were sent
to bring him to ground before he could do whatever it was he planned to do."
Garth and I looked at each other, and I said, "Yes. He'd somehow found out about it, and the planners were afraid he was going to blow the whistle. That's why they felt they had to kill him."
Veil nodded. "That's quite a scenario. Knowledge of Cooked Goose would still be incredibly explosive, and I think we can safely assume that the planners are still alive, most likely still in positions of power—as Orville Madison would be if he hadn't gotten cocky. These people will do anything to keep him from telling what he knows; by the same reasoning, our enemies would be most happy to provide Sinclair with a forum for doing just that—whether he wanted to or not. It could explain why all the various intelligence types are currently swarming in Switzerland. A lot of people want to get their hands on Sinclair, for "a variety of reasons. Sinclair could give the kind of history lesson that would open a lot of old wounds and maybe settle some old scores."
Harper, who had been sitting quietly and following our discussion with rapt attention, suddenly held up a hand. "Wait a minute," she said. "There's something missing here. We know this Cooked Goose business never came off, because I don't recall reading about any rash of assassinations in the U.S. toward the end of the war. Okay, it was called off because John Sinclair was still alive to tell people what was really going on. But things have changed, certainly for him. Now he's an international criminal hunted by everybody, including the United States. What would be his motive for continuing to keep silent about what happened, about why he deserted in the first place?"
Garth and I looked at each other, then at Veil. Veil shrugged, replied, "Unknown."
"Another question," Harper said. "Veil, you said you believe you were never approached by a recruiter because you didn't fit the profile of a Cooked Goose assassin, and you also said John Sinclair didn't fit the profile any more than you did. Assuming he wasn't approached either, how would he have found out about it?"
"Maybe the same way Veil found out about it," Garth offered. "Somebody already in the program told him about it."
Veil shook his head. "Highly unlikely. That Ranger talking to me in a bar on Oahu was a special situation. He and I were both crazy, in different ways. Not one of those recruits would have breathed a word about assassinating American citizens to a full-bird colonel who had a reputation as a straitlaced military man."
Garth inclined his head toward the other man. "Then maybe the planners did try to recruit him. After all, most of what we're discussing is pure speculation, including what you believe was the psychological profile of the men they wanted in the program."
"I think if s highly unlikely anyone ever tried to recruit Sinclair as a domestic assassin," Veil replied, his tone changing somewhat, becoming more distant. I looked at him. He was frowning slightly, as if another thought had occurred to him.
Harper laughed scornfully. "If the Cooked Goose planners did try to recruit him, it has to rank as one of the classic military misjudgement's of all time."
"Unless one of the planners had a hidden agenda," Veil said in a voice that had become even more distant.
"Meaning what?" I asked sharply. Suddenly, I felt excited, although I wasn't sure why.
Veil slowly exhaled, seemed to relax somewhat. He looked at me, smiled crookedly. "I just had a thought, but it's way out in left field."
"Left field? Give us a break. We're talking about an unknown game in a whole different kind of stadium. What's on your mind?"
"I was thinking about what Garth had to say about Sinclair's family, and the possibility that his parents may have been murdered for delving into something that was forbidden. He grew up in Japan, and he later wrote a dissertation on ancient, secret Japanese societies. Well, the same guy who told me about Cooked Goose in the first place also mentioned a rumor going around among the recruits that the CIA had laid out a whole lot of cash to hire, as an advisor, some old Japanese guy who was supposed to have been the world's most highly paid assassin. The way this Ranger told it, the old Japanese was supposed to be the spiritual leader of a secret society of professional assassins—old-style ninjas, if you will."
"It sounds like a ninja bullshit story," Garth said drily.
"Precisely," Veil said, and smiled. "Impressionable martial arts types love to believe and tell what Garth always refers to as ninja bullshit stories, and I laughed when I heard it. I thought it was a ninja bullshit story. Now, when I hear what Garth has to say about Sinclair's family and background, and in light of this discussion, I'm not so sure."
I leaned forward in my chair. "A connection between the ninja advisor and Sinclair?"
Veil nodded. "Or originally between the old guy and Sinclair's father. If both parents were killed because of the father's transgression, why not go after the son too?"
Garth looked hard at Veil. "You're implying that this Japanese guy, if he ever existed, would purposely suggest to the .planners of Cooked Goose that Sinclair be approached and told about the operation, knowing full well how Sinclair would react, and knowing that the planners would then decide he had to be killed?"
"Something like that," Veil replied with a shrug. "I said it was out in left field."
Garth shook his head, ran a large hand back through his thinning, wheat-colored hair, sighed heavily. "That scenario requires belief that this Japanese would accept an assignment from the CIA to organize and advise an assassination bureau, while all the time planning to risk sabotaging the entire operation just to disgrace and kill one man." My brother paused, quickly closed his notebook as two waiters finally approached the table with our food. Then he continued in a lower voice, "To use your words, that seems highly unlikely. Sorry, Veil, but it does sound like a ninja bullshit story."
I glanced at Harper, and we both nodded in agreement. Veil looked away, said nothing.
Chapter Eight
The service at the restaurant was slow, even by European standards, but the food was worth waiting for. The proximity of two waiters and a busgirl throughout the main course made it impossible for us to continue our discussion of John Sinclair without risk of being overheard, and so we talked of other things while we ate. As soon as the waiters and busgirl had retreated after clearing the table and serving us coffee, I leaned close to Veil, said, "Why did you send me to see Gerard Patreaux?"
"What did he say to you, Mongo?"
"He told me a story about Chant Sinclair and Torture Island."
Veil, who was now staring at me intently, nodded curtly. "What specifically did he tell you about that matter?"
"He said Sinclair purposely got himself arrested, knowing that he'd be turned over to the CIA, and betting that the CIA would send him to Torture Island for interrogation. He wanted to avenge the death of a friend of his named Harry Gray. Gray was an Amnesty International investigator who'd been tortured to death on the island. Patreaux kept insisting he was only repeating rumors, but if there's any truth at all to the story—"
"It's true, Mongo," Veil said with quiet intensity.
"Okay," I said, "now I'm thinking that the CIA may have sent him there specifically to find out what he knew, or who he'd told, about Cooked Goose. I'm also thinking that Mr. Gerard Patreaux, distinguished official of Amnesty International, is a close personal friend of the world's most wanted criminal and that it was Patreaux who helped Sinclair pull off that stunt."
"That wouldn't surprise me at all, Mongo," Veil said, and laughed. Suddenly, he seemed much more relaxed, as if some burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He grinned at me. "In fact, I completely agree with your thinking."
"How did you know enough to send me to him, Veil? How did you know about Torture Island, and, if you thought it was so important, why didn't you tell me about it in the beginning?"
"I wasn't sure that it was important, and I still don't know that it is. I knew about Torture Island because I once had a Nicaraguan lady friend who told me about it. Even if I had wanted to tell you about it, Mongo, I couldn't have."
>
"Why not?"
"In a way, I believe she'd broken a pledge to John Sinclair, or at least gone against his wishes, by telling me the story, and I'd specifically promised her I wouldn't tell anyone else. I knew Patreaux had been a part of it, because my lady friend told me he'd arranged with Sinclair for Amnesty International to take care of the surviving prisoners on the island. Since Patreaux, for whatever reasons, saw fit to share some of that information with you, however he may have put it, I see no reason now why I shouldn't talk about it."
"Who is this woman, Veil?" Harper asked quietly. "And what did she have to do with this Torture Island?"
"Her real name is Maria Gonzalez, but we'll call her Feather, because that's what Richard Krowl, the doctor who was the torture specialist on the island, called her. She was involved in the incident that got Krowl drummed out of the academic community, and she ended as one of Krowl's resident torturers—the most effective and most feared."
Harper made a sound of disgust and anger in her throat. I put my hand in hers, squeezed.
"She was a torture victim herself," Veil continued in an even tone, looking directly at Harper. "Feather's a physician, and she served the Sandinista guerrillas in their rebellion against Somoza. She was captured in the field by some of Somoza's soldiers and horribly tortured in ways I won't spoil your meal by describing. The torturers left her for dead in the jungle, but she was found by the guerrillas, and she somehow survived. However, the experience had left her catatonic. She was eventually sent to a Canadian clinic for torture victims that Richard Krowl was associated with.
"No matter how well cared for they may be, victims of severe torture are almost never the same; very rarely do they recover all their faculties. Their physical wounds may heal, but not the psychological ones; they are emotionally shattered. They can't cope with the flashbacks and nightmares that become their constant companions whether awake or asleep. Richard Krowl had his own notions about how to treat torture victims: he believed that revenge was the best medicine.
"Back in Nicaragua, the Sandinistas had come to power, and most of Somoza's torturers were dead or in prison. One of their prisoners was the leader of the group that had tortured the woman. Krowl arranged for the man to be sent to the United States, supposedly to be a participant in a research project Krowl was setting up in a secure facility to study the minds of torturers. He had already brought Feather there. The fact of the matter was that Krowl couldn't have cared less about the man's thinking or motives. He was only interested in how having this man under her complete control would affect Maria Gonzalez, who hadn't spoken a word in nearly five years. He offered the man to her as a gift, told her she could do whatever she liked with him. She responded. The arrangement cured her of her catatonia, if not her muteness. She opted to torture her torturer to death, as he had tried to do to her. Her choice of torture instruments was a single feather. She worked on the man for a few hours every day, and it took him six weeks to die."
Dark Chant In A Crimson Key Page 10