The Company_ A Novel Of The CIA Part 35

"They were on a first-name basis?"

Macy nodded. "Sal, Jack-Jack, Sal, sure. Jack said he'd heard Sal would get out the vote in Chicago. He thanked him for his help. Judy returned and made them drinks. When it came time for Mr. Flood to leave there was talk of a satchel in a closet-Judy was asked to bring it and give it to Sal."

"What was in it?"

'Your guess is as good as mine. Money, probably. To pay off the people to come out to vote early and often in Giancana's six wards."

The Sorcerer stole a glance in Angleton's direction. The counterintelligence chief had turned away from the mirror to talk to someone pa.s.sing next to his table. Torriti produced an envelope and slid it across the table to Macy, who quickly slipped it into a pocket.

"Walk on eggsh.e.l.ls," Macy said. "Rosselli, Giancana-these guys play for keeps."

"This is turning into a f.u.c.king can of worms," the Sorcerer muttered. "I think we're barking up the wrong tree-we maybe ought to give some serious thought to taking our business elsewhere."

d.i.c.k Bissell signed off on a message being dispatched to Jack McAuliffe in Guatemala. He went over to the door and handed it to his secretary. "Doris, start this down the tube right away," he said. He closed the door and made his way back to the seat behind the desk and began torturing a paperclip. "Where'd you get this information, Harvey?"

"I consulted with an old pal from Hoover's shop, is where. Listen, d.i.c.k, Johnny Rosselli was only too happy to appear helpful. I'm supposed to meet Mooney in Miami tomorrow afternoon. He's going to sing the same lyrics. These jokers have got nothing to lose, Rosselli and Giancana. Helping us knock off Castro-whether they succeed or not; whether they actually try or not-gives them a working immunity against prosecution. Bobby's not going to let a federal prosecutor put them onto a witness stand and make them swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but, for fear they might."

"On the other hand," Bissell said, "the Company doesn't have a pot to p.i.s.s in when it comes to Cuba. Almost all of our a.s.sets have been rolled up. These guys have contacts in Havana. And they have an incentive to help us-with Castro out of the way they'll be able to get back into the casino business. I know it's a long shot, Harvey. But it's a shot. They might just get the job done, if only because they'd have more leverage with the Justice Department if they actually succeeded in knocking off Castro. And without Castro, the road from the invasion beaches to Havana will turn into a cakewalk for the brigade. Bissell rummaged through a drawer and came up with an inhaler. He closed one nostril with a forefinger and breathed in the medication through the other to clear a stuffed sinus. "I was raised in the house in Hartford where Mark Twain wrote Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huck Finn," he said. "Maybe that's why I'm tantalized by the idea of starting down a river on a raft-you have a rudder that can give you a semblance of control over the craft, but basically you go with the current." He shook his head reflectively. "Someone in my shoes has to weigh alternatives. In the great scheme of things, two thugs avoiding prosecution is a small price to pay for neutralizing Castro." Bissell accompanied the Sorcerer to the door. "They'll probably get knocked off themselves one of these days," he told him. "Keep the raft heading downriver, Harvey-let's see where the current takes you. Okay?"

Torriti touched two fingers to an eyebrow. "Aye, aye, captain."

The Sorcerer couldn't take his eyes off Mooney's fingers. Long and skeletal, with tufts of black hair protruding from the joints below the knuckle and a sapphire ring (a gift from Frank Sinatra) on one pinkie, they drummed across the bar, took a turn around the ashtray overflowing with cigar b.u.t.ts, caressed the side of a tall double Scotch, picked wax out of an ear, then jabbed the air to emphasize the point he was making. "Bobby Kennedy's uh f.u.c.kin' four-flusher," Mooney sneered. "He is cross-examinin' me in front of dis f.u.c.kin' Senate committee last year, right? I keep uh f.u.c.kin' smile plastered on my puss while I take duh fifth like my mouthpiece tells me to, an what does dis f.u.c.ker say?"

"What does the f.u.c.ker say?" Rosselli asked.

"Duh f.u.c.ker says, 'I thought only little f.u.c.kin' girls giggled, Mr. Giancana' is what he says. Out loud. In front of deze f.u.c.kin' senators. In front of deze f.u.c.kin' reporters. Which makes some of them laugh out loud. Nex' thing you f.u.c.kin' know, every f.u.c.kin' newspaper in duh f.u.c.kin' country has uh headline about f.u.c.kin' Bobby Kennedy callin Mooney Giancana uh little f.u.c.kin' girl." Giancana's fingers plucked the Havana from his lips and pointed the embers straight at Torriti's eye. "n.o.body insults Mooney Giancana. n.o.body. I'm gonna f.u.c.kin' whack dis little p.r.i.c.k one of deze days, f.u.c.kin' count on it."

The three of them were sitting on stools at the half-moon bar in a deserted c.o.c.ktail lounge not far from the Miami airport. Heavy drapes had been drawn across the windows, blotting out the afternoon suns.h.i.+ne and dampening the sound of traffic. Rosselli's people were posted at the front door and the swinging doors leading down a hallway to the toilets and the kitchen. The bartender, a bleached blonde wearing a flesh-pink bra.s.siere under a transparent blouse, had fixed them up with drinks, left the bottle and ice on the bar and vanished.

Rosselli delivered his verdict on Bobby Kennedy. "The c.o.c.ksucker was grandstanding."

n.o.body f.u.c.kin' grandstands at my expense." Giancana chomped on his cigar and sized up the Sorcerer through the swirl of smoke. "Johnny here tells me you're all right," he said.

Rosselli, looking debonair in a double-breasted pinstriped suit, said, "I know people in Sicily who remember him from the war-they say he is okay."

"With a recommendation like that I could have gone to an Ivy League college," Torriti said with a snicker.

The idea seemed to amuse Rosselli. "What would you have done in Ivy League college?"

"Educate them as to the facts of life."

Giancana, a short, balding man who bared his teeth when something struck him as funny, bared his teeth now; Torriti noticed that several of them were dark with decay. "Dat's uh f.u.c.kin' good one," Mooney said. "Go to uh f.u.c.kin' college to educate duh f.u.c.kin professors."

The Sorcerer gripped the bottle by its throat and poured himself a refill. "I think we need to lay out some ground rules if we are going to collaborate," he said.

"Lay away," Giancana said cheerfully.

"First off, this is a one-shot arrangement. When its over we never met and it never happened."

Giancana waved his cigar, as if to say this was so obvious it was hardly worth mentioning.

"Johnny here," the Sorcerer continued, "has already turned down compensation-"

Giancana eyes rolled in puzzlement.

"Like I told you, Mooney, he is ready to pay cold cash but I told him we decide to get involved, we get involved out of patriotism."

"Patriotism is what dis is all about," agreed Giancana, his hand on his heart. "America has been f.u.c.kin'-"

"-f.u.c.king good to you," said the Sorcerer. "I know."

"So like you want for us to whack Castro?" Giancana gave a nervous little giggle.

"I was hoping you would have a.s.sociates in Havana who could neutralize him."

"What's with dis f.u.c.kin' neutralized" Giancana asked Rosselli.

"He wants us to rub him out," Rosselli explained.

"Dat's what I said in duh first place-you want us to whack him. You got dates dat are more convenient than other dates?"

"The sooner, the better," said the Sorcerer.

"Deze things take time," Giancana warned.

"Let's say sometime before next spring."

Giancana nodded carefully. "How do deze people you represent see duh hit?"

The Sorcerer understood they had gotten down to the nitty-gritty, "we imagined your a.s.sociates would figure out Castro's routine and waylay his car and gun him down. Something along these lines..."

Giancana looked at Rosselli. His lower lip curled over his upper lip as he shook his head in disbelief. "You can see duh Wall Street p.r.i.c.ks don't have no f.u.c.kin' experience in deze matters." He turned back to the Sorcerer. "Guns is too risky. I don't see no one usin' guns on Castro. For duh simple reason dat one pullin' off duh hit could get away with all doze bodyguards or what have you around. If we specify guns n.o.body's goin to volunteer."

"How do you see the hit, Mooney?"

Giancana puffed thoughtfully on his cigar, then pulled it out of his mouth and examined it. "How do I see duh hit? I see duh hit usin' poison. Let's say, for argument's sake, you was to give me uh supply of poison. Castro likes milkshakes-"

Rosselli told Torriti, "Mooney is a serious person. He has given serious thought to your problem."

"I am very impressed," the Sorcerer said. "Like I was sayin, he has dis thing for milkshakes. Chocolate milkshakes, if you want to know everythin'. He buys them in duh cafeteria of duh Libre Hotel, which was duh Havana Hilton when I was there. He always offers to pay for deze milkshakes but they don't never take his money. Then sometimes he goes to dis Brazilian restaurant-it's uh small joint down on duh port uh Cojimar, which is where dat Hemingway character used to hang out before duh f.u.c.kin' revolution. Castro goes there uh lot with his lady friend, uh skinny broad, daughter of uh doctor, name of Celia Sanchez, or with the Argentine, what's his f.u.c.kin' name again?"

"Che Guevera," said Torriti.

"Dat's duh guy. Someone with uh fast boat could spike Castro's milkshake in duh hotel or his food in duh restaurant an get away by sea." Giancana slid off the stool and b.u.t.toned the middle b.u.t.ton of his sports jacket. He nodded toward the two men guarding the door to the c.o.c.ktail lounge. "Bring duh car around, huh, Michael." He turned back to the Sorcerer. "How about if we meet again, say around duh middle of January. If you need me, Johnny here knows how to get hold of me. I'll nose around Havana an' see what I can see. You nose around Wall Street"-Rosselli smiled knowingly and Giancana giggled again-"an see if your friends can come up with uh poison dat could do duh trick. It needs to be easy to hide-it needs to look like ordinary AlkaSeltzer, somethin like dat. It needs to work fast before they can get him to uh f.u.c.kin' hospital an pump his f.u.c.kin' stomach out."

"I can see I've come to the right place with my little problem," Torriti said.

"You have," Rosselli said. "Mooney here does not f.u.c.k around."

"I do not f.u.c.kin' f.u.c.k around," Giancana agreed.

3.

PALM BEACH, TUESDAY, JANUARY 10, 1961.

A SWARM OF SECRET SERVICE AGENTS, WEARING DARK GLa.s.sES AND distinctive pins in their lapels, descended on the visitors as they walked up the gravel driveway.

"Would you gentlemen kindly identify yourselves," the section leader said. Allen Dulles, hobbling along because of an attack of gout, seemed insulted not to have been recognized. "I'm the Director of Central Intelligence," he said huffily. "These gentlemen and I have an appointment with the President-elect."

"We'd appreciate it if you produce IDs," the section leader insisted. Dulles, d.i.c.k Bissell, Leo Kritzky, and the Sorcerer all dragged laminated ident.i.ty cards from their wallets. The section leader studied each photograph and then looked up to compare it to the face in front of him. "Anyone here carrying?" he wanted to know.

DCI Dulles looked bewildered. d.i.c.k Bissell said, "They're asking if we're armed, Allen."

"Holy cow, I haven't had a weapon on me since the war."

Both Bissell and Leo Kritzky shook their heads. Torriti, a bit shamefaced, plucked the pearl-handled revolver from under his armpit and handed it, grip first, to one of the agents, who deposited it in a brown paper bag. Bissell coughed discreetly to attract the Sorcerer's attention. "Oh, yeah, I almost forgot," Torriti said. He pulled the snub-nosed Detective Special from its makes.h.i.+ft ankle holster and gave it to the astonished agent.

At the end of the driveway, a young aide holding a clipboard checked off their names and then led them through Joseph Kennedy's rambling house, across a very manicured garden toward the summer pavilion in the back of the compound. From behind a high hedge came the peal of female laughter and the sound of people splas.h.i.+ng in a pool. Pa.s.sing a gap in the hedge, Leo caught a glimpse of a very slim and suntanned young woman, wearing only the bottom half of a bikini, sunning herself on the diving board. Up ahead he could see Jack Kennedy sitting in a wicker rocking chair, his s.h.i.+rt sleeve rolled up, looking off to one side as a woman administered an injection.

Bissell, trailing behind with Leo, murmured, "Penicillin shots for ch ronic non-gonorrheal urethritis."

"That's a venereal disease," Leo whispered. "How do you know that?"

"Keep my ear to the ground. Want to wager the first words out of his mouth have to do with the New York Times?"

"It's a sucker's bet."

The doctor who had given Kennedy the injection said, "See you next Tuesday in Was.h.i.+ngton, then" as she turned to leave.

Kennedy rose from the chair to greet Dulles. "I take it you saw the article in the Times," he said, clearly peeved. He pulled a copy off a stack of newspapers on a low wicker table. "Front page, no less. 'US Helps Train Anti-Castro Force at Secret Guatemalan Base.' My G.o.d, Allen, they've even printed a map of the camp! Castro doesn't need spies in America. He's got the New York Times'." He shook hands with the CIA men. "d.i.c.k, good to see you again. Kritzky, I remember you briefed me last summer."

Bissell introduced the Sorcerer. "This is Harvey Torriti, a key member of our team."

Kennedy held on to Torriti's hand. "I've heard about you-you're supposed to be our James Bond."

The Sorcerer laughed under his breath. "As you can see, Mr. Kennedy, I am not equipped for some of Bond's more daring s.e.xual escapades."

Kennedy waved the CIA people to seats. His brother Bobby and his father, Joe Kennedy, wandered over from the pool. Jack bunched his hand into a fist and his father wrapped his fingers around it. The two smiled into each other's eyes. Joe Kennedy took the last folding chair. Bobby sat on the ground with his back against one of the pavilion stanchions. Jack settled into the wicker rocker. "Why don't you begin, Allen," he said.

"Mr. President-elect," Dulles said, opening the briefing, "ten days from today you will be taking the oath of office as President of the United States, at which point, as Harry Truman liked to say, the buck will stop at your desk. Its obviously vital to bring you up to snuff on the details of the operation that General Eisenhower"-Dulles's use of the word General, as opPposed to President, wasn't lost on anyone-"authorized."

"It's my understanding, Director, that President Eisenhower authorized the CIA to work up plans and an infrastructure for an operation, as opposed to actually authorizing the operation itself," commented Kennedy. Dulles cleared his throat. "I thought that that was what I conveyed, Jack.

Kennedy, rocking gently in his chair, said softly, "I wanted to be sure we were on the same wavelength, Allen." He motioned for Dulles to go on.

Dulles, rattled, looked at the notes he had jotted on the back of an envelope. "Make no mistake about it, Mr. President-elect, Moscow has installed a Communist puppet regime ninety miles off the coast of Florida. Castro has rigged elections, muzzled the press and nationalized sugar plantations and industry, most of which, I might add, belonged to Americans. He has executed more than five hundred political opponents and jailed thousands of others, he's surrounded himself with Marxist advisors and turned to the Soviet Union for weapons. He currently has fifty Cuban pilots training to fly Soviet MiGs in Czechoslovakia. These planes are expected to become operational by next summer. And if all this isn't reason enough to go after him, the CIA has developed intelligence proving that Castro is dispatching teams to stir up revolutions in the Dominican Republic, in Panama, in Haiti and in Nicaragua. Working hand in glove with the Kremlin, Castro's ultimate aim is to surround the United States with a string of Communist satellites and isolate us in our own hemisphere."

Bobby Kennedy rubbed at an eye. "No one doubts that Castro's a pain in the b.u.t.t, Mr. Dulles," he said, dragging out the vowels in a lethargic New England drawl. "Question is: What is the Kennedy administration"-Bobby managed to linger over the words Kennedy administration-"going to decide to do about it?"

Dulles said, "The anti-Castro operation, code named JMARC, is directed by d.i.c.k Bissell here. d.i.c.k, why don't you run with the ball."

Bissell, in his element, casually uncrossed his legs and, speaking without notes, his toe drumming impatiently on the floor, began walking the three Kennedys through what he called "the new paramilitary concept of the Trinidad plan." "We are thinking along the lines of putting somewhere between six and seven hundred fifty men from the brigade ash.o.r.e at Trinidad, a sh.o.r.e city in southern Cuba that has a reputation as a hotbed of anti-Castro sentiment. The dawn landing will be preceded by a series of air strikes starting on D-day minus two. The strikes will be flown by Cuban pilots now being trained to fly surplus B-26s out of a secret airfield in Guatemala.

Bobby mumbled, "The airstrip's less secret today than it was yesterday."

Bissell wasn't accustomed to being interrupted. He turned toward Bobby, who at thirty-five had honed the fine art of playing bad cop to Jack's good cop, and asked coolly, "Did you say something, Mr. Kennedy?"

Jack Kennedy said quickly, "Please go on, d.i.c.k."

Bissell kept his gaze on Bobby for a moment, then turned back to Jack. "As you are surely aware, Mr. President-elect, we don't expect the brigade, even with tactical air support, to defeat Castro's two-hundred-thousand-man army in combat. But we do expect the landing, which will coincide with the establishment of a provisional government on Cuban soil, to spark a general uprising against the Castro regime. It's our estimate that the brigade will double in size in four days, at which point it will break out of the beachhead. We have intelligence estimates that seventy-five to eighty percent of Cuban army personnel disagree with Castro's political system. A great percentage of the officers are believed to be ready to rebel against the government and take their troops with them. The peasant populations of several provinces, especially in western Cuba, are likely to rise up as soon as the first shots are fired. Castro's political prisoners on the Isle of Pines can be counted on to join the brigade."

"How are you going to arm all these peasants and political prisoners if they do rise up?" Jack Kennedy asked.

Leo Kritzky, who was monitoring the brigade's logistical profile for Bissell, said, "The s.h.i.+ps carrying the Cuban exiles to the landing site will be crammed with arms packages-there'll be enough recoilless rifles, mortars, ammunition, grenades, walkie-talkies to supply fifteen hundred men."

"How long can the brigade survive if it doesn't double in size and breakout?" the President-elect wanted to know.

"We figure that, with the air umbrella overhead, it could hold out on its own for four days," Bissell said.

Jack Kennedy abruptly stopped rocking. "Then what happens?"

"You're talking worst-case scenario," Dulles put in.

"Expect the worst, that way you're tickled pink when it doesn't happen," Joe Kennedy snapped.

"In the worst case, Mr. President-elect," Bissell said, "the brigade will take to the hills-in this case the Escambray Mountains-and go guerrilla. We'll be able to keep them supplied by air. They'll join forces with existing bands of guerrillas. If nothing else, Castro will have difficulty exporting his revolution t0 Latin America if he's putting down a counterrevolution in Cuba."

Jack Kennedy resumed his rhythmic rocking. The CIA men exchanged looks; it was hard to judge how the briefing was going. From beyond the high hedge came the shriek of someone being thrown into the pool, and then the splash. "Teddy's pus.h.i.+ng the girls in again," Jack Kennedy said with a chuckle.

"Naturally we don't expect you to react until you've had an opportunity to mull JMARC over," Dulles said.