Dreke is a very dangerous man, whose mission will probably be similar to that of a political commissar in the Soviet Army—that is, in addition to his military duties, he will do whatever is necessary to maintain communist zeal.
3. Tamayo, José María Martínez Ministry of the Interior officer (Mbili)Martínez is a former military intelligence officer, whose function at the Interior Ministry has included supervision of the Secret Police.
4. Gilbert, Raphael Zerquera, M.D. Not Known (Kumi)This would seem to indicate Ernesto Guevara de la Serna, M.D., plans to be too busy with other activities to serve as the operation’s physician.
5. Terry, Santiago Captain (Ali)Terry is not a professional soldier. He was “commissioned” as a reward for his service while with Castro in the Sierra Maestra mountains. He and Guevara and Dreke are the only officers who have any experience in waging guerrilla warfare.
6. Pichardo, Norberto Pio Lieutenant (Inne) Pichardo is a recently commissioned officer who served in Infantry.
The following enlisted men are members of the cadre. Some of them served in the Sierra Maestra, but most are simply soldiers recruited from the Cuban Army because of their black skin. Few, if any, are believed to have guerrilla experience.
Sergeant Eduardo Torres Ferrer (Coqui),
Sergeant Julián Morejón Gilbert (Tiza)
Sergeant Victor Manuel Ballester (Telathini)
Sergeant Ramón Muñoz Caballero (Maganga)
Corporal Pablo Osvaldo Ortíz (Sita)
Corporal Pedro Ortíz (Saba)
Private Aldo García González (Tano)
Private Martín Chivás (Ishirini)
Private José Escudero (Arobaini)
Private Constantino Pérez Méndez (Hansini)
Private Angel Fernández Angulo (Sitaini)
Private Lucio Sánchez Rivero (Rabanini)
Private Noelio Revé Robles (Kigolo)
Oliver waited until Jack had read the second page.
“You think this is from that little bird we keep hearing about?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Jack said. “And this little bird apparently still has some friends in Cuba.”
[ THREE ]
International Arrival Terminal
Miami International Airport
Miami, Florida
0645 7 February 1965
A zealous officer of the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service, who Captain John S. Oliver had within three minutes of meeting decided was a chickenshit sonofabitch with the brains of a gnat, had delayed the return of Oliver and Lieutenant Jacques Portet into the land of their birth.
The INS officer, on inspecting their passports, had noticed they did not have an EXIT stamp indicating the time and date they had left the United States for a foreign nation. And here they were, returning from a foreign nation. Something, he concluded, was clearly amiss.
Captain Oliver had explained that he and Lieutenant Portet had left the United States on competent orders issued by the United States Department of the Army, which ordered them to proceed to Buenos Aires, Argentina, and such other places as duty required, and to travel by government and/or commercial air, rail, sea, and motor transport.
He produced copies of these orders and explained that he and Lieutenant Portet had departed the United States aboard a U.S. Army aircraft, in which case having one’s passport stamped was not required. He further explained that they had left the U.S. Army aircraft in Buenos Aires, Argentina, and were now returning, via commercial aircraft.
The INS officer’s position was that their passports did not bear an EXIT stamp, and here they were trying to get them stamped RETURNED. Something was clearly amiss, and he could not admit them under such circumstances without consulting superior authority.
That superior authority functionary was normally on duty until 6 A.M., but he had left a little early (it was then 5:25 A.M.) and it would be necessary to wait for his replacement to come on duty at 6 A.M. The INS officer was deaf to Captain Oliver’s plea that he and Lieutenant Portet were on an Eastern Airlines flight to Atlanta departing Miami at 0715, and if there was a delay, they were not going to be able to make it.
The INS superior authority functionary scheduled to go on duty at 6 A.M. had a little car trouble and did not make an appearance until 6:25 A.M.
When apprised of the situation, the INS superior authority functionary examined Captain Oliver’s and Lieutenant Portet’s orders and passports and quickly reached a decision.
“No problem,” he said. “Welcome home.”
Captain Oliver was perhaps a little distracted when he led Lieutenant Portet out of the Customs area into the terminal. He was intent on finding one of the “You Are Here” maps he knew were mounted on various pillars of the terminal concourse, so that he could determine where the hell he was, where the hell Eastern Airlines was, and maybe be lucky enough to get there in time to board the plane.
Finger on the “You Are Here” map, he paid absolutely no attention to the redheaded female who stepped up behind him—he did notice her perfume—until she spoke.
“Hey, there, soldier, looking for a good time?”
He turned to examine the redheaded female.
“I will be a sonofabitch,” he said.
“I know,” Liza Wood Oliver said, “but I married you anyway.”
When, perhaps ninety seconds later, he removed his face from Liza’s neck, he saw that Lieutenant Portet was similarly engaged with Mrs. Portet.
“Where’s Allan?” he asked.
“With Jack’s stepmother,” Liza said. “I didn’t want to wake him up this early.”
“What’s going on?”
“You’re on ten days’ leave, you and Jack,” Liza said. “Colonel Lowell arranged it. And called Marjorie and suggested we might like to meet you—”
“I’ve got to call Lowell,” Oliver blurted. “I’ve got something for him.”
“And it won’t wait?” Liza asked.
“Sometime today,” Jack said.
“—and we’re in Lowell’s house in Ocean Reef,” Liza said. “And driving that wonderful old Packard of his.”
“What’s that all about?”
“Halfway down here in Jack’s Jaguar, Marjorie and I realized that we now had husbands to ferry around, and we really should have taken my car.”
He laughed.
"I guess we’re not used to being married women,” Liza said. “I wonder why?”
[ FOUR ]
12 Surf Point Drive
The Ocean Reef Club
Key Largo, Florida
1005 7 February 1965
Oliver waited until Liza had closed the bathroom door and he heard the sound of the shower before reaching for the bedside telephone. Then he hung it up, went to his trousers and found his wallet and the number, and picked up the telephone again and dialed it.
“Strike Aviation Section, Sergeant McMullen, sir.”
“Colonel Lowell, please, Captain Oliver calling.”
“The Colonel’s tied up, sir. Maybe I can be of help?”
“Thanks, but no thanks, Sergeant. Please tell him I’m on the line and holding.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lowell came on the line a moment later, but before he spoke to Oliver, Oliver could hear him speak to Sergeant McMullen: “I thought I told you, Mac, Oliver’s on the anytime, anywhere list.”
And then he spoke to Oliver.
“Sorry about that. I thought I told Mac you were on the good guy list, but the shake of his head and hurt look on his Irish face tells me I didn’t. What’s up, Johnny?”
Before Oliver could reply, Lowell added. “Christ, the brides did meet the plane, didn’t they?”
“Yes, sir, driving your Packard. And we are now in your house.
For which I am, we are, very grateful.”
“I’m glad somebody’s using both. How did things go down there?”
“I have a present for you from Colonel Rangio. Actually two presents. A bottle of Argentine
champagne for you and Major Lunsford. And a letter, sort of, for you.”
“What’s the letter, sort of, say?” Lowell asked, then picked up on Oliver’s hesitation. “Johnny, I hope you read it.”
“Yes, sir. I thought maybe I should.”
“So what’s it say?”
“It’s a list of people, name, rank, code name, who are going to Africa.”
“Good God!”
“I think it’s good stuff, sir. Things went very well with Rangio, because of Zammoro.”
There was no reply for a long moment.
“I hate to interrupt your leave, Johnny, but I want the list, and I know Felter will. I was going to tell you to take it to Homestead Air Force Base—it’s not far from where you are—and have them send it up here. But I really think I should talk to you both. Would it make things easier for you if I offered to buy lunch for the brides at the Homestead O Club at twelve-thirty or one?”
“We’ll be there if you want us to, sir.”
“I’ve got access to a T-37, but I don’t like to fly into Ocean Reef in an Air Force airplane. And Geoff’s got the Cessna at Bragg.”
“I understand, sir. We’ll be there at 1230.”
The line went dead.
Johnny put the telephone back in its cradle and rolled onto his back.
“ ‘We’ll’ is who? And ‘there’ is where?” Liza asked.
She was standing in the bathroom door, naked and dripping.
“The little red ‘line in use’ button on the bathroom extension lit up,” she explained, “and suspicious wife that you better understand I am, I wondered who my husband was talking to.”
“ ‘We’ll’ is all four of us. Colonel Lowell wants to buy us lunch at Homestead AF Base.”
Liza looked as if she was going to say something. Johnny worried what it would be.
What she finally said was, “Well, for reasons I can’t imagine, I seem to have worked up an appetite.”
She turned and walked back into the bathroom.
After a moment, Johnny swung his legs out of bed and walked after her.
[ FIVE ]
Officers’ Open Mess
Homestead AF Base, Florida
1220 7 February 1965
Lt. Col. Craig W. Lowell was waiting for them just inside the door.
Marjorie Portet went to him and kissed him.
“If you’re here to tell us we don’t get the ten days’ leave, Uncle Craig,” she said, “I’ll kill you.”
“You get the ten days—and probably more, if you ask for it,” Lowell said.
“In that case, we’re glad to see you,” Marjorie said. “And thanks for letting us use your house.”
“I just need a word with Johnny and Jack,” Lowell said. He shook their hands. “Jack, have you had a chance to talk to your dad yet?”
“No, sir. He was leaving for Miami when we got to Ocean Reef. He said something about looking at airplanes.”
“He’s now the president of Intercontinental Air, Ltd., and I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”
“He’s probably saving it for dinner,” Jack said.
“More than likely,” Lowell said. “You said you have a letter for me, Johnny?”
“A letter and a bottle of champagne,” Oliver said.
Jack handed him a paper bag with the champagne, and Oliver handed him the envelope from Rangio.
“Let’s go in and get a table,” Lowell said.
“These young officers and their ladies are whooping it up on leave,” Lowell said to the waiter, “and thus will require something intoxicating. I’m unfortunately on duty, and iced tea will have to do.”
“Now that I know I’m not going to have another abbreviated honeymoon,” Liza said. “I think I would like something . . .”
“Champagne?” Lowell asked.
“Why not?”
“They probably don’t have any cold,” Marjorie said.
“Do you?” Lowell asked the waiter.
“Yes, sir, of course,” the waiter said.
“The Air Force lives much better than we poor soldiers,” Lowell said. “I would have thought your father would have told you that. Bring them a bottle of something nice. After we have a sip, we’ll order.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lowell took the two typewritten sheets from Rangio’s envelope and read them.
“You showed this to Jack?” Lowell asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Very interesting, where Rangio tells us our friend is,” Lowell said. “Especially since this is the last word from our friends in Virginia, who appear to be a day late again.”
He handed Jack a sheet of paper.
SECRET
Central Intelligence Agency Langley, Virginia
FROM : Assistant Director For Administration
FROM: 6 February 1965 1805 GMT
SUBJECT : GUEVARA, ERNESTO (MEMORANDUM #51.)
TO: Mr. Sanford T. Felter
Counselor To The President
Room 637, The Executive Office Building
Washington, D.C.
By Courier
In compliance with Presidential Memorandum to The Director, Subject: “Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara,” dated 14 December 1964, the following information is furnished:
(Reliability Scale Five) (From CIA, Paris, France)
SUBJECT is in Paris, staying at the Cuban Embassy. He is accompanied by (First Name Unknown) OSMANY; Emilio ARAGONÉS; (FNU) PAPITO; and (FNU) MANRESA.
SUBJECT visited the Louvre museum 1300-1630 Paris Time accompanied by an Antonio CARRIOOL, the Cuban Ambassador to Paris and an unknown official of the French Foreign Ministry.
Tonight, he and his entourage, plus CARRIOOL, are scheduled to attend a formal dinner at the ChiCom Embassy.
Howard W. O’Connor
HOWARD W. O’CONNOR
SECRET
Jack read it and handed it to Oliver, who read it and handed it back to Lowell.
Lowell folded it and put it into the Rangio envelope.
“I was going to carefully grill you about the Argentines,” Lowell said. “To see if they were really on the team or just being charming. This makes that unnecessary, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’m sure they’re with us, sir,” Oliver said.
“Sandy Felter will love this,” Lowell said, tapping the envelope. “He’ll send an FYI copy to the agency. You obviously made the right decision about Zammoro, Johnny. I think that will open a lot of doors.”
“What decision about Zammoro?” Liza asked.
“I can’t answer that,” Lowell said. “And your husband can’t with me sitting here. But I agree with Felter’s observation that pillow talk is the one large hole in security that’ll never get plugged.”
“You’re not going to tell us what any of this is all about, right?” Marjorie challenged.
“Right,” Lowell confirmed.
“Do we at least get to ask what happens next?” Marjorie asked.
Lowell thought that over.
“Okay,” he said. “After you leave, you report back to Bragg. Several weeks after that—maybe as much as a month after—Jack goes to the Congo—”
“For how long?” Marjorie asked.
“You better count on at least a month, and maybe a month or two longer,” Lowell said. “Which, I think I should point out, is a considerably shorter period of time than a tour in Vietnam.”
“And Johnny?” Liza asked.
“For the time being, Johnny stays at Bragg. Then he goes wherever he’s needed, either to the Congo or South America. Unless something unexpected happens, neither will be gone from Bragg for very long.”
“Isn’t something unexpected happening inevitable?” Liza asked.
“Like you and Johnny getting married after all?” Lowell replied.
The waiter ended the conversation by delivering the champagne.
[ SIX ]
Room 637, The Executive Office Building
Washington, D.C.
1135 8 February 1965
“I didn’t expect to see you,” Colonel Sanford T. Felter said when Lieutenant Colonel Craig W. Lowell walked into his small office.
“I’m fine, sir,” Lowell said. “Thank you very much for asking, sir. And might I inquire into the Colonel’s all around well-being, sir?”
Felter did not reply.
“I’ll settle for ‘Hello, Craig,’ ” Lowell said.
“Hello, Craig. I didn’t expect to see you,” Felter said sarcastically, but there was a smile on his lips.
“What do we know new about our friend Ernesto?” Lowell asked.
“This just came in,” Felter said as he opened a drawer in his desk, to come out with a sheet of paper.
SECRET
Central Intelligence Agency Langley, Virginia
FROM: Assistant Director For Administration
FROM: 7 February 1965 1805 GMT
SUBJECT : Guevara, Ernesto (Memorandum #52.)
TO: Mr. Sanford T. Felter
Counselor To The President
Room 637, The Executive Office Building
Washington, D.C.
By Courier
In compliance with Presidential Memorandum to The Director, Subject: “Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara,” dated 14 December 1964, the following information is furnished:
(Reliability Scale Three) (From CIA Hong Kong)
SUBJECT is reported to be in Peking for meeting(s) with Liu Chao Chi and other senior members of the Communist Party Secretariat.
Howard W. O’Connor
HOWARD W. O’CONNOR
SECRET
What’s he doing in China?” Lowell asked when he had read it. “Whatever it is, it’s not good news,” Felter said. “The least that will happen is that the Chinese will provide arms. That’s not good news.”
Lowell grunted his agreement, then smiled.
“Well, for a change, I am the bearer of good news,” he said, and tossed Rangio’s envelope on Felter’s desk.
“What’s this?” Felter asked as he took the two sheets of paper from the envelope. He raised his eyes to Lowell when he had read it.
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