"Is there something personal in this, Felter? You don't want to work for me?"
"Sir, I'm a soldier."
"And you want to go get shot at? You've been shot at, before. And hit. How many clusters is that on your Purple Heart?"
"..Four, Sir."
"You didn't answer my question. Is there some reason you don't want to work for me?"
"If I don't get a command in the near future, Mr. President, I'll never get one."
"The Army's not short of colonels qualified to lead regiments, or fly airplanes," the President said. ..Your Commander-in-Chief is short of people with your qualifications. It's as simple as that."
"Yes, Sir," Colonel Felter said.
"OK," the President said. He leaned over and pressed one of the buttons on the telephone on the, low table beside the couch. His secretary appeared a moment later in the doorway.
"Honey," the President said, extending the smaller of Felter's envelopes to her, "without reading this, put it in an envelope, stamp it 'Presidential-Eyes Only' and then put it in my personal file."
"Yes, Mr. President," she said.
"Next, did you find what I told you to look for---,about Colonel Felter?"
"Yes, Mr. President. The Attorney General had it. It was with President Kennedy's personal papers."
"You want to get it, please?" She came in the office a moment later with a small sheet of paper in her hands and handed it to the President. He put his half glasses on and read it.
"I never saw this before," he said," I heard about it. But I never saw it. I wonder why that was?" He handed the sheet of paper to Felter.
THE WHITE HOUSEWashington
April 24, 1961
Colonel Sanford T. Felter,GSC,USA , is appointed my personal representative to the Intelligence Community, with rank as Counselor to the President. He will be presumed to have The Need To Know insofar as any classified information is concerned. No public announcement of this appointment will be made.
John F. Kennedy
"That wording all right, Felter? If you want it changed, now's the time to speak up."
"The wording is fine, Mr. President," Felter said.
"Who had copies of it?"
"The Secretaries of State, Defense, Treasury," the President's secretary began, "all the services, plus the, Directors 9f CIA, FBI, DIA . . ." She stopped when the President's raised hand shut her off.
"Anybody not on that list that should be?" the President asked,"
"No, Sir," Felter said.
"Do it again over my signature," he ordered. "Is there somebody around who can do it right now?"
"Yes; of course, Mr. President," his secretary said.
"Well then, have it done. And see that they're delivered tonight. What did that guy say, 'the medium is the message'? Make sure the Attorney General gets his personally. Take it out to his house, if necessary."
"Yes, Mr. President," his secretary said. She went to Felter and retrieved the letter and left the office.
The President picked up the thick report. He looked at Felter. "We understand each other, Colonel?"
"Sir?"
"I'm going to read this thing tonight, or as soon as I can. I'll call you back when I have. But presuming when I read it, I don't decide you're crazy-Africa, theCongo , that's your assignment. I don't want to be surprised by what might happen over there,"
"Yes, Sir.'"
"I did, understand you to say you were there before you went toVietnam ?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Then, considering what happened inDallas , I think you better go back and See how that's changed things."
"Yes, Sir."
"Very quietly, you understand, Felter? I don't want McCone or Rusk coming in here, and wringing their hands about you,"
"I understand, Mr. President," Felter said.
"Is there some way you could sneak in? Visit the Military Attache or something?"
"I'm sure there is, Sir."
(Two)
Langley,Virginia14 December 1963
The Deputy Director for Liaison, who was the mail who handled the CIA's dealings with other governmental agencies, disliked but grudgingly admired Sanford T. Felter. Felter neither liked nor, admired the Deputy Director for Liaison,. He thought the, man was nothing but a clerk who made it to his Deputy' Director's job, by doing nothing .wrong, and who had done nothing wrong because he had taken no chances. In Felter's personal mental file of brief assessments of his -professional associates, J. Edward Winton was a "fucking bureaucrat."
"Sandy," J. Edward Winton said, coming around from behind his large wooden desk with a smile on his face and his hand extended," Good to see you!" Physically, Winton was an impressive man. He was large but trim. He had all his teeth. and an attractive display of silver", streaked curly hair. His suit 'Was well cut, his tasseled loafers brilliantly shined, and his shirt collar immaculately cut and laundered.
Felter was wearing a baggy gray suit. His Shoes were scuffed, and there were white marks hear the soles where they had been soaked in salty slush and then dried. His tie was visibly not new, and his shirt collar had started to fray.
"Ed, how are you?" Felter said. Winton tried to crush Felter's hand and failed. There was not much to Sanford T. Felter" but what was there was hard.
"Actually, I was thinking of calling you," Winton said.
"Oh?"
"You ever consider coming out here? There's a lot of places where you could easily fit in."
Felter tried to see behind the question. When he could not, he asked, "What brought that up?"
"Well, what are you going to do now?" Winton asked.
The question was now explained. Felter wondered why he hadn't understood immediately.
"Now that what?" he asked innocently.
"For Christ's sake, Stan!"
"Oh, you mean Kennedy," Felter said," I've been hearing that you guys terminated him. Anything to that?"
"Goddamn it, Felter, that's not even remotely amusing."
"I take it that's a no?"
"What can I do for you, Felter?"
"I want a look at all the files, including the personnel files, on everything you've got going in theCongo ."
"WhichCongo ?"
"I was about to say ex-Congo Beige," Felter said," But I suppose I had better look at both ex-Beige and ex-French. Plus everything you've developed on the Chicoms inRwanda andBurundi ,"
Winton smiled and nodded his understanding. Then he asked, "On what authority?"
"The usual," Felter said.
"Didn't that authority end when?"
"Kennedy was shot?" Felter interrupted," Possibly, but I'm now working for Johnson. Same job."
"Stan, I don't have, any thing on that," Winton said.
"Nothing's Come down to me." His face and tone of voice indicated general regret that he couldn't be helpful, but Felter suspected that Winton was really enjoying himself. Felter believed that bureaucrats took great satisfaction in being able to use their authority to say no.
"Call him," Felter said.
"There was no question in Winton's mind that Felter meant-the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. His smile vanished for a moment, returned, and then he picked up a white telephone, one of three phones on his desk. One of the others was a multibutton affair, standard issue for CIA bureaucrats of a certain level. The other was red. It was one of perhaps a hundred telephones, in theWashington area on what was called the White House net. When the President wanted to talk to someone, he used the White House net. Having one of the red telephones was a matter of great bureaucratic prestige, even if it never rang.
Felter had two red telephones on the White House net, one in his small office high in the oldState-War-and-NavyBuilding adjacent to the White House and another beside his bed in his town house inAlexandria . Under Presidents Eisenhower and Kennedy both had rung frequently, and the one by his bed had already rung under President Johnson.
The President had called him the night before to tell
him that he had spoken to the Secretary of State and explained the problem of Felter's cover to him, and the Secretary had agreed to include Felter on a group of State Department functionaries about to leave for the ex-Congo Beige on some administrative mission.
"You can take the missus with you, Felter," the President said.
"Give her a little VIP vacation on the taxpayers. And it'll make you look legitimate."
Felter was beginning to suspect that the President was interested in the world of intelligence, and that he was going to be "helpful" in the future. It could be a problem.
"Is the Director in? J. Edward Winton here," Winton said to the white telephone, which was on the CIA version of the White House net. Felter had a white telephone on his desk in the old State-War-and-Navy Building, too. But when he used it, he got the Director on the line. Not his secretary.
Winton listened to the reply, said "thank you, politely and hung up.
"The Director's at the White House," he said.
"Well, I've got to go over to State, today, Felter said," So that's not an overwhelming problem. When he gets back, Ed, I'd be grateful if you'd check with him and get this authority business straight in your mind once and for all, and then send someone over to my office with the files."
"Of course," J. Edward Winton said.
"I'm sure you understand my position, Stan. You know how the Director is." "Yes, I certainly do," Felter said," But if there's any problem about this, Ed-I need this stuff today--call, me- so I can get it straightened out, will you?"
"Absolutely."
They shook hands and smiled at each other then Felter left" the Deputy Director for Liaison 's office and got in his, battered and wheezing Volkswagen and. headed back for the District of Columbia," '" There was no doubt in his mind that the moment he'd walked out of the office, J. Edward Winton. had called his counterpart at the State Department and warned him that Felter was enroute;
and more important that Felter had been in his office and: announced that he had been reappointed under President Johnson to the job "he'd held under Kennedy.
J. Edward Wintons' counterpart at State was another fucking bureaucrat, and fucking bureaucrats had remarkably similar-and predictable behavior patterns, one of which was that they took care to scratch each other's backs.
"Felter drove to the FBI, not to, the State Department. He knew there would be no trouble at the FBl about his access to, whatever he wanted to see. And when he didn't show up, at State when he was supposed to, J. Edward Winton's credibility would be lessened.
And he was sure that when he got to his office in the old State-War-and-Navy Building, there would be a neatly dressed man from the company sitting there waiting for him, with a briefcase stuffed with the material he had asked for.
IX
(One)
Fort Rucker, Alabama 18 April 1964
"General," Captain John C. Oliver said as he stood in Bellmon's office doorway, "they say they have no Colonel Felter."
"Are they still on the line?"
"No, Sir," Oliver said.
"Get the number again," Bellmon said and picked up his telephone. He listened as his secretary gave the Fort Rucker operator the number he wanted in Washington, D.C. The called party answered on the third ring.
"The White House. Good afternoon."
"I have a person-to-person call for Colonel Sanford I. Felter," the Fort Rucker operator said.
"One moment, please," the White House operator said, and then came back on the line a moment later. "I'm sorry, Operator. We have no one here by that name."
"This is Major General Robert F. Bellmon, United States Army," Bellmon said. "Please put me through to Colonel Felter."
"I'm sorry, Sir," the operator said. "There is no one here by that name."
"Put the duty officer on the line," Bellmon ordered.
"I beg your pardon, Sir?"
"I happen to know that the White House switchboard is operated by the Signal Corps and that a duty officer is always on duty. I wish to speak to him."
"One moment, please, Sir." It was a good thirty seconds, which seemed to Bellmon considerably longer than that, before a male voice came on the line.
"Major Lemes."
"Major, this is General Bellmon. I command the Army Aviation Center at Fort Rucker."
"How can I be of assistance, Sir?"
"You can either tell the operator to put me through to Colonel Sanford T. Felter or you can call Colonel Felter and tell him I am trying to reach him on a "matter of some importance."
Major Lemes hesitated before replying.
"Will you hold, please, General?" Very faintly, as if Major Lemes had covered the mouthpiece of his telephone with his hand, Bellmon heard: "I need a location on the Mouse." And then there was nothing for a very long moment but a faint electronic hiss. And then the familiar voice.
"This is Colonel Felter, Sir."
"You're a, hard man to get on the phone, Sandy," Bellmon said."
"I'm sorry about that, Sir. You were on the old authorized list. Apparently you were dropped from a new one. I'll looking to it. It won't happen again. What can I do for you, General?"
"There's some bad news, Sandy," Bellman said. "I have just been informed of an airplane crash in Norman, Oklahoma. Both pilots of an L-23 engaged in a cross-country training flight have been killed."
"And the aircraft?"
"Totaled. "
"What happened?" Felter asked."
"I don't know," Bellmon said. "All I have is the report from the airport manager at Norman. He called the duty officer here. My Chief of Staff's on the line to Fort Sill right now, asking them to send their accident investigation crew to the site, to at least hold it down until I can get my accident people out there."
"What did the airport manager have to say?" Felter asked.
"Just that it crashed and burned. They had filed a flight plan to here. So he called us. Maybe they lost an engine on takeoff. . . . I just don't know, Sandy."
"Damn!" Felter said.
"Both were married and had small children," Bellmon said.
"I know."
"I assumed you would wish to hear about it as soon as possible."
"I don't know what can be done about an airplane," Felter said, as if thinking aloud. "Something, I'm sure. In the meantime, General, I would be grateful if you would make me up, a list of potential replacements. I'll get there as-soon as I can. I don't know when that will be. I'm. . . not in Washington, But replacements for plane and crew will have to be found right now:"
"That'll be difficult, I'm afraid."
"Yes, I suppose it will. I'll be in touch as soon as I know something," Felter said. "General, have you called McDill? I mean, have you informed Lowell?"
"No, but if you want me to, I will," Bellmon said.
"Would you please? And thank you for Calling me, General. And please extend my condolences to the families."
Bellmon put the telephone back into its cradle and then slumped back in his chair. He turned in order the face the window. He could see the flagpole from his office window, and the headquarters parade ground. There was the reveille and retreat cannon. A Huey sat on the grass, waiting for General Bellmon, as a jeep had once waited for another General Bellmon at Fort Knox, and a stallion had once waited for still another General Bellmon at Fort Riley.
He wondered if his father and his grandfather felt as he did now, that the toughest job in the Army had nothing to do with the battlefield. He sat there for a moment deep in thought, his shoulders slumped. And then he pushed himself out of his chair.
"Johnny!" he called. "Are we ready to go?"
"Yes, Sir," his aide-de-camp said. "The chaplain and the surgeon are here, and Mrs. Bellmon will be waiting for us on Red Cloud Road." The toughest job in the Army is knocking on the door of dependent quarters to tell the occupants that their sponsor will not be returning. Ever.
You don't have to tell them, Bellmon thought. They know the moment they open the door and
see the General, and the General's wife, and the aide and the chaplain and the surgeon standing there.
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