“Pardon me all to hell, Mouse,” he said. “The Commander-in-Chief, himself, as you will recall, gave me two demerits for a mussed uniform. I am trying to straighten up and fly right.”
Felter was not amused.
“I want to get out of here before the others arrive,” he said. “I had Finton send the ASA over to sweep one of the private rooms in the club.” The Army Security Agency was charged with signal counterintelligence, which often entailed “sweeping” rooms to detect electronic eavesdropping devices.
“Why do I suspect there is more to this meeting than you’ve told me?” Lowell asked.
Felter flashed him an angry look, then announced: “I just learned that Kasavubu has told our Ambassador (a) if Guevara shows up in the Congo, he will put him in front of a firing squad; and (b) that he has the entire situation under control; and (c) he absolutely refuses to have any American military personnel in the Congo.”
“Guevara?” Captain Portet asked. “Che Guevara? In the Congo?”
Lowell looked as if was going to say something, but at the last minute did not.
“When you’re finished,” Felter said. “Please bring Captain Portet to the club. I want to make sure the ASA has been there.”
[ FIVE ]
The National Aviation Club
The Hotel Washington
Washington, D.C.
0955 11 January 1965
Lowell led Captain Portet into a small, private meeting room in the Aviation Club. The roof of the U.S. Mint could be seen through the windows. Felter was sitting at a round table surrounded by red-leather-upholstered captain’s chairs. There was a coffee thermos and the associated paraphernalia on the table.
“They were still here when I got here,” Felter said. “For a minute, I didn’t think they were going to let me in until Finton cleared me.”
“Yes, thank you,” Lowell said, “I will have some coffee. Thank you so much.”
“I’m really in no mood for your sophomoric humor, Craig,” Felter said. “I think the first thing we should do is clarify the telephone call. Porter was suggesting the long hand of Langley was involved in something, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he was,” Lowell said.
“What?”
“You tell him what happened, JP,” Lowell said. “I have to take a leak.”
“Well, Sandy?” Lowell asked when he came back into the room.
“They already own Air America,” Felter said. “Why not another airline?”
"’They’?” Captain Portet parroted. “You’re talking about the CIA?”
“The CIA,” Felter said. “The question is where did they get your name? Off the top of my head, I don’t think they have made any connection with Earnest.”
"’Earnest’?” Portet parroted again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sandy, I think you better start with Earnest,” Lowell said. “Hold off on Kasavubu until Jack gets here.”
“What have you told him about Earnest?”
“Just that I was in Argentina trying to convince the Argentines not to blow him away,” Lowell said.
“You shouldn’t have told him that much,” Felter snapped, then turned to Portet. “Captain Portet, some time ago I asked Colonel Lowell to look into the CIA’s financial practices. “Would you please tell Captain Portet what you learned, Colonel?”
“Yes, sir,” Lowell said, and Felter did not miss the sarcasm.
“We’re pressed for time, Craig,” Felter said.
Lowell looked at him for a long moment.
“Okay,” he said finally. “JP, from what I understand—actually, from what Porter found out for me—the Agency, the Company, is into all sorts of businesses. They look for a business that seems to be a suitable cover for their covert operations. Preferably one in financial difficulty. They send somebody to see the guy, let him know—they don’t say they’re the agency, of course, they probably have a half-dozen variations of the Gresham Investment Corporation scattered around—that they’re interested in making an investment in a business like his.”
“And people aren’t suspicious?” Portet asked.
“People in financial difficulties tend to believe they need just a little help to weather the storm,” Lowell said. “Okay, so since they’re not trying to buy him out at distress prices, just invest in his business, the guy sells them a piece—say, thirty, forty percent. Business starts to pick up; he thinks he made the right decision, and then it goes bad again, and he needs just a little more help to weather the storm, and the agency winds up with fifty-one percent.”
“And eventually they own the whole thing?” Portet asked.
“No. They don’t want to own it. They want, should something come up, to be in a position to control it. Day to day, they want Mr. Clean to continue to operate a legitimate business in which they can hide their covert operations, and they