Double Cross

by Sam Giancana

  “Yeah,” Chuck agreed.

  “You know,” Nicoletti whispered, “Oswald didn’t really fire a shot. At least Sirhan did that much. But even if he couldn’t hit a barn, it didn’t matter, ‘cause Mooney had another guy do the job on Bobby . . . some Mexican he probably dug up down south.”

  “Yeah, I saw it on TV . . . the murder,” Chuck added, not knowing what to say. Obviously, Nicoletti thought he was still very much on the inside with Mooney.

  “Me, too,” Nicoletti said, laughing out loud. “Can you believe it? Mooney must like to nail those Kennedy bastards in front of God and everybody. Sorta proves a point, doesn’t it?” His eyes narrowed.

  “I guess so. Let’s ’em know nothin’ will stop him . . . not even a crowd of reporters.” He felt his heart begin to race. Mooney, contrary to what the papers were saying about him being washed up, a has-been mobster, was still exerting his influence over the entire country, over the course of history. Chuck wondered whether the same people were responsible, whether the CIA was involved. Certainly the lack of any real investigation into Bobby’s murder seemed suspiciously similar to what had occurred in the wake of Jack’s death.

  Nicoletti, warmed by his discussion of Mooney, began waxing nostalgic, talking about the old days in the Patch. “Your brother’s just as tough today as he was thirty years ago, Chuck,” he said, grinning. “Just as goddamned powerful. No, more powerful now. There’s nobody . . . nobody who can fuckin’ touch him now.”

  Tommy Payne would later tell Chuck that the Chicago Outfit had controlled everything at the Los Angeles hotel where the hit on Bobby Kennedy had occurred and that the other gunman—an Outfit hit man—was a “last-minute replacement” for a regular security guard. “It was all planned out . . . down to the last detail and covered up . . . just like the other brother,” Payne confided.

  Following his conversations with Nicoletti and Payne, Chuck felt the added weight of yet another of his brother’s terrible secrets; and with this new knowledge, he’d never felt so alone in his life. Was it the proverbial “straw that broke the camel’s back”? He really didn’t know. But he did know one thing for certain: He knew too much. Too much about Mooney and too much about the CIA and the politicians who would sell their souls for power. He’d never be safe again; maybe his family wouldn’t be, either.

  The anger at realizing it was all because of Mooney was overwhelming. Something had died in him when he’d lost the plaza—his love, his trust in his brother had been all swept away. And there was little left to cling to now.

  Whether it was out of self-preservation or moral outrage—he’d never honestly be able to say, but he suspected it was the former, less noble motivation—he vowed then with every fiber of his being to turn his back forever on Mooney and the world of the Outfit.

  On May 23, 1969, Chuck Giancana’s family legally changed their last name. Chuck had decided he wanted to extricate himself completely. He didn’t care whether he ever saw Mooney again.

  What he didn’t know at the time was that he never would—at least not alive.

  EPILOGUE

  On June 19, 1975, staff members of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence arrived in Chicago, Illinois. Their purpose was to arrange for the safe transport of Sam Giancana from his Oak Park residence—where he’d been sequestered since his deportation from Mexico the previous year—to Washington, D.C., for his testimony five days later, on June 24. Senator Frank Church and his committee colleagues were specifically interested in his connection to the CIA’s Castro assassination plot.

  Mooney Giancana, however, like so many other potentially explosive sources of information before and after him, would not live to sit before the committee. On the evening of the very day that Senate staffers went to Chicago, Mooney was murdered.

  Since changing his name and severing all ties to Chicago’s Outfit in 1969, Chuck had not spoken to Mooney; their relationship had been irreparably damaged. Over the years, however, Chuck had kept track of his brother’s whereabouts through friends and family members. What Chuck knew of those years, coupled with what he’d gleaned from previous conversations with Mooney, only added to his suspicions regarding his brother’s murder—as well as to his bitter disappointment in the government of the United States.

  In the years immediately following 1969, Mooney continued to reside at his Mexican estate, San Cristobal. He traveled extensively, visiting not just European and Latin American cities but also the Middle Eastern cities of Tehran, Iran, and Beirut, Lebanon. In Beirut, Mooney had obtained membership in an exclusive country club, Chuck was told, and while based there had met with many of the world’s most influential power brokers, including Mooney’s “friend,” the Shah of Iran.

  Interestingly, U.S.‒CIA relations with these countries were in their heyday during this same period. Mooney had once told Chuck that the Shah had been placed on the throne by the CIA. To accomplish that, Mooney said U.S. intelligence had utilized massive bribes and financed a coup to overthrow the Shah’s predecessor, Mossadegh, in 1953.

  For their efforts, the CIA remained fast friends with the corrupt Iranian government until the Shah’s forced exile in 1979. Chuck thought it probable that Mooney’s relationships in the Middle East also flourished during this period, given the inordinate amount of time he spent in the area. Some biographers would later claim that the Justice Department had succeeded in souring several of Mooney’s Middle Eastern enterprises, but Outfit men told Chuck that J. Edgar Hoover’s attempts to interfere with Mooney’s affairs overseas never had any impact. Indeed, such an idea was laughable given foreign officials’ willingness to accept handsome Outfit payoffs. Hoover and his FBI agents might strike fear into the heart of the erring American, but their authority was inconsequential elsewhere.

  During the latter part of 1971, Richard Cain was freed from a Texarkana prison and quickly resumed duties as Mooney’s international protégé and interpreter. The sheer number of Latin American countries the duo visited—countries of extreme interest to the CIA— bolstered Chuck’s suspicion that Cain had resumed his clandestine CIA duties, as well.

  If friends and family were to be believed, Mooney enjoyed a lavish lifestyle south of the border and was still very much in contact with his stateside Outfit supporters and CIA coconspirators: Carlo Gambino, Santo Trafficante, Carlos Marcello, and Johnny Roselli.

  The Chicago Outfit’s and the CIA’s many Asiatic ties—by the 1960s, Mooney had several Oriental representatives working at his behest in Chicago and overseas—suggested that Trafficante had far exceeded all expectations in his Asian heroin-smuggling efforts. In fact, it would later be claimed by several historians that Trafficante had collaborated with U.S. intelligence in Hong Kong, the Philippines, Vietnam, and Laos.

  It also seemed likely that Mooney, along with Marcello and Trafficante, continued to reap the benefits of an extensive CIA—Mafia—Texas cocaine-smuggling ring worth literally billions of doltars—a joint effort based in South America, Costa Rica, and Panama, which Mooney had described to Chuck during the Bay of Pigs era. Based on his brother’s comments at that time, Chuck suspected the ring utilized offshore Texas oil wells to subvert the efforts of U.S. Customs.

  As for the Gambino-European opium connection, there was reason to think, based on Mooney’s frequent trips to Rome, Bern, and Athens, that during the years following Chuck’s estrangement with his brother, Mooney maintained his partnership in the Gambino enterprise.

  Mooney’s travels might also have served to further his relationships with the Vatican’s Michele Sindona.

  In 1973, after several profitable and fast-paced years with Richard Cain at his side, Mooney and his friend were reported to have had a heated falling-out—one that led to Cain’s departure to Chicago. It was not known by Chuck whether Cain also severed his ties with U.S. intelligence, but he’d heard that, once back in Illinois, Cain made it known he was looking for investors in a Cyprus-Malta gambling junket—without the blessing of his mentor. Cain spoke openly
of his displeasure with Mooney, telling virtually anyone who’d listen that he intended to proceed with the gambling venture against his boss’s wishes.

  According to FBI reports, Cain then met with bureau agents and asked to be hired by the Justice Department. The agreement called for him to continue his Outfit duties and act as a paid FBI informant. Whether or not the Justice Department was aware of Richard Cain’s alleged CIA ties was never revealed, but according to FBI reports, he was indeed given the status of paid informant, earning a handsome “consulting fee” equal to that of the average annual salary of a Chicago agent.

  In light of his FBI employment, it seemed strange that Cain—rather than mend his fast-souring relationship with the Outfit in an effort to gain information for the FBI—began an even more fervent denouncement of Mooney, seeking out dissatisfied mobsters as his cohorts.

  For the informed, there were shades of the Tucson FBI “dirty tricks” in this endeavor, although tame by comparison. Chuck believed, as did many of his fellow Outfit friends, that it was more likely Cain, rather than acting as an informant, was part of a covert FBI operation whose aim was to foster turmoil within Chicago’s Outfit.

  Told to back off by Outfit superiors, Cain continued his public ranting, claiming that one day he himself might become Chicago’s boss. Such braggadocio was not only foolhardy, it was suicidal; Cain of all people should have known better.

  Given his behavior, no one was surprised when Richard Cain was murdered on December 20, 1973. Obviously, he’d shot his mouth off one too many times; authorities ruled his death a gangland slaying and the case was closed.

  But for Chuck, Cain’s actions and the details of his murder raised some disturbing questions. Given his involvement with the CIA and FBI and—according to Mooney—in the presidential assassination and countless other covert activities, Cain’s behavior and death deserved closer inspection.

  According to police reports, the murder took place in broad daylight at Rose’s Sandwich Shop. There, Cain lunched with several unidentified men. These men got up and left while Cain remained alone at his table. Soon after, two men, wearing ski masks and toting shotguns, entered the shop. They swiftly lined the diner’s terrified inhabitants against the wall.

  Witnesses reported that one of the gunmen sported a black glove on his left hand, a white one on his right, while his gloveless accomplice carried a walkie-talkie. Witnesses stated that the man with the walkie-talkie held it to his mouth and said, “Who’s got the package?” He repeated this question several times until finally a reply came back: “Here comes a guy now; maybe he’s got the package.” Hearing those words, the strangely gloved man walked up to Cain and fired two shotgun blasts at point-blank range into his brain. After briefly searching Cain’s pockets, the two walked rapidly out the door, disappearing forever.

  There were several intriguing features to this incident. Certainly, it was unlike any Outfit hit in the history of Chicago.

  Since the flamboyant days of Al Capone, the Chicago Outfit’s professional assassins had shunned witnesses, preferring the cover of darkness to accomplish their ends. There was little question Cain could have been hit at night; his whereabouts were no secret to anyone in the Outfit desiring to harm him.

  Another element that didn’t make sense was the use of walkie-talkies; such a thing was considered “silly” by macho Italian killers.

  But most interesting were the two mismatched gloves on the hands of Cain’s killer.

  It seemed probable to Chuck that the two gloves were a bold message from the collaborators in Cain’s execution—a message only Cain himself would recognize. Very likely, they represented the two forces he knew all too well: the Latin American CIA “White Hand” and the “Black Hand” of Sam Giancana.

  What Mooney’s precise role might have been in the murder would never be known. Perhaps Cain was lured to the diner by Mooney’s trusted lieutenants and then executed by his coconspirators from the “White Hand.” It seemed certain to Chuck that Cain was not murdered by actual Outfit members, and based on Mooney’s reported actions following the murder, it also seemed certain that Mooney was involved in its planning. Had the “White Hand” executed Cain without Mooney’s approval, Mooney would have rightly feared for his own life.

  But in 1974, if he did harbor such fears, he gave no indication to family or friends. On the contrary, Chuck heard that security remained lax in and around his brother’s massive, walled Mexican estate.

  However, ill health did force a discontinuance of Mooney’s travels that year. The majority of his international business was firmly in place, no longer requiring his constant personal attention, and therefore, according to family members, he focused his attention on his declining health while trusted emissaries handled the details of his global empire.

  On the evening of July 18, 1974, Mooney may well have regretted San Cristobal’s lack of security. He was attacked in his walled garden by four men, immigration agents, who dragged him, dressed only in robe and slippers, to the area jail. There he remained in custody until the following day, when he was driven to Mexico City.

  From Mexico City, Mooney was flown to San Antonio, Texas, where he was met by the FBI. The agents gleefully served him with a subpoena to appear the following week before a Chicago grand jury.

  Up until the day he was deported from Mexico, Mooney’s position as a welcome alien there had seemed secure. Since his connections in the Mexican government went right up to the president, he was taken by complete surprise by his deportation. The FBI later claimed they were caught off guard as well, and had been forced to hurriedly prepare for his entry back into the United States. If neither the Justice Department nor the Mexican government was responsible for these events, it might be speculated the CIA orchestrated Mooney’s deportation. But for what purpose remains a mystery.

  One week later, back in Chicago and seated before the grand jury, Mooney was granted immunity—the prelude to a seeming reenactment of his 1966 grand-jury fiasco. But this time, older and wiser, he willingly talked—and said absolutely nothing of substance. The jury was forced to make do with his paltry testimony and, this time, Mooney went free. For the balance of that year and into 1975, his health continued to deteriorate. He experienced a serious gallbladder disorder and flew twice to Houston for surgery performed by the famous Dr. DeBakey.

  On June 19, 1975, the day of Mooney’s murder, the still-reigning “boss of bosses” visited with friends and family. Whether or not Mooney was concerned about his upcoming appearance before the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence was unclear; he apparently never mentioned it.

  Chuck believed, though, that his brother would have met this new inquiry as he’d met dozens of hearings before: by saying nothing of consequence. Mooney never would have revealed his vast knowledge of covert CIA operations, or any of the thousands of skeletons buried in the closet of Chicago’s Outfit. Quite simply, the code of omertà ran too strongly through his Sicilian veins. Throughout his life, he’d clung to it like a badge; it was his code of honor. But to those unaware of this ethic, the specter of Sam Giancana testifying before the committee must have appeared as a threat of monstrous proportions.

  Thus, by midnight, Mooney was dead, shot once in the back of the head, once in the mouth, and five times under the chin. And by dawn the next day, all the world would know was that another mobster was dead—murdered, of course, in true gangland style.

  As reason for his murder, it would later be stated that Mooney became greedy, refusing to share with other Outfit members the wealth he’d accumulated during his sojourn in Latin America. If that was true, it was the first time in his life he’d been so inclined.

  It would also be said that he was making a bid for power—a bid the Outfit had countered with his murder. Obviously recovering from difficult surgery, Mooney was in no condition or state of mind to make a comeback in Chicago—had one been necessary. In truth, he’d not lost for one minute the ruthless power for which he was known.

&nbs
p; Indeed, Chuck learned that the week prior to his death, Mooney had placed a contract—rumored to have been requested by the CIA and a former U.S. President—on Jimmy Hoffa. The job was given to five soldiers: two from Chicago, one from Boston, one from Detroit, and one from Cincinnati. And one month later, Hoffa did, in fact, disappear and was presumed murdered by mobsters.

  Evidence suggested that there might well be more to Mooney’s murder than gangland retribution. There was the fact that, if what he told Chuck was true, he would have posed far more of a threat to his CIA associates than to Chicago’s Outfit. His Outfit friends knew he never would have divulged damaging information; the CIA, rampant with spies and counterspies, crosses and double crosses, may not have been so certain of his loyalty.

  In pinpointing Mooney’s executioners, Chuck thought of applying one of Mooney’s own adages: “Find out who’s still alive and you’ll find the killer.”

  That approach led quite clearly to a suspect. In 1976, both Carlo Gambino and Johnny Roselli died—Gambino of a heart attack and Roselli by the hand of an unknown assailant in Miami. Carlos Marcello, Mooney’s other cohort, continued to be plagued by his alien status and—conveniently for those not wanting his part in the conspiracy known—began exhibiting signs of mental deterioration, thought to be Alzheimer’s disease. Chuck heard rumors among the Outfit guys that such diseases were the product of modern CIA chemistry; it was said, but never proven, that Marcello’s was, as well. Nevertheless, in June of 1983, Marcello’s New Orleans kingdom formally collapsed with his imprisonment in Texarkana.

  In fact, of all the major players Mooney said were involved in CIA covert activity, only Santo Trafficante remained alive and well. Trafficante was virtually untouched; his narcotics ventures in Latin America and Asia reportedly boomed. One had only to read the newspapers to see that the focus of underworld crimebusters was not on Tampa, Florida, but on its highly visible New York and Chicago cousins to the north. Accordingly, Trafficante conducted business without so much as a whisper of legal difficulty until just before his death due to kidney failure in 1987.