“Actually, he’s an Argentine. Ernesto Guevara de la Serna, M.D., born June 14, 1928, in Rosario. His father is of Irish descent, his mother of Spanish.”
“Why the Congo?” Captain Portet asked.
“His ultimate ambition is to take over all of South America,” Felter said. “The Congo is the first step. I don’t think he gives a damn about the Congo, except that if he can take it over, he will appear unstoppable, prove that Cuba was not an aberration. And, of course, I suspect that he believes it’ll be relatively easy for him.”
“That’s bad news for the Congo,” Captain Portet said, and then asked, “Did I understand you to say he’s a doctor?”
“Class of ’53, the University of Buenos Aires,” Lowell said.
“There are two ways to deal with the problem,” Felter said. “One is to terminate him. . . .”
“You mean kill him? Or have him killed?”
Felter nodded. “That would, of course, turn him into a martyr. Recognizing this, President Johnson has approved a plan in which he will be kept alive while his operations in the Congo are thwarted. We intend to make him fail in the Congo. Covertly, of course.”
“Interesting,” Captain Portet said thoughtfully.
“There are a number of people, and governments, who think that terminating him is the best solution for the problem. Colonel Lowell and Major Lunsford have just returned from Argentina, where they succeeded in convincing the Argentines that keeping Guevara alive makes more sense than killing him.”
“Hell, I’m almost on the side of those who would like him dead,” Captain Portet said. “Emotionally, I certainly am. I finally got Hanni to tell me what she saw the Simbas do in Stanleyville.”
“Lunsford and Jack are forming a team of Green Berets, Swahili-speaking American Negroes, at Fort Bragg. They will go to the Congo with the dual mission of making sure that Guevara fails and isn’t killed while failing.”
“You’re sending Jacques to the Congo?” Captain Portet asked. His tone made it clear that he didn’t like that at all.
“Not into the bush,” Felter said. “His skin is the wrong color. We can’t take the chance that someone would see him, or, worse, that he would be captured. But it was my intention to send him there, for short trips, to help Major Lunsford make contacts— and, of course, to take advantage of his knowledge of the Congo.”
"’Was your intention’? Does that mean you’re not going to send him?”
“What I have in mind for Jack to do now is to go there and see what he can do to get General Mobutu to get around the ‘no-American -military-under-any-conditions’ disaster our ambassador has created with Kasavubu. The Ambassador tried this, and Mobutu literally pushed him out of his office. I’m hoping Jack can do better.”
“Joseph can be difficult,” Captain Portet said wryly. “Particularly if he’s been drinking, which, rumor has it, is whenever the doctor’s not around, and sometimes when he is.”
“I got the impression that he and Jack are pretty close,” Felter said.
“Mobutu’s known Jacques since he wore short pants,” Captain Portet said. “He was still Sergeant Major Mobutu of the Force Publique.”
“And Lieutenant General Mobutu made good on his promise to decorate Jack for what Jack did at Stanleyville,” Felter said. “A private bill will be introduced in Congress tomorrow, so that Jack can accept it.”
“I asked Mobutu one time why he was only a lieutenant general when every other chief of staff in Africa was at least a full general or a field marshal,” Captain Portet said thoughtfully. “And he told me the doctor had given him a life of George Washington to read—that if being a lieutenant general was good enough for the Father of the United States, it was good enough for Joseph Désiré Mobutu.”
“Interesting,” Lowell said. “Who is this doctor you keep mentioning? ”
“Actually, he’s a physician,” Portet said. “He’s a Mormon. A missionary, I guess.”
“And what’s his relationship to Mobutu?”
“One of the few white men he trusts,” Portet said.
“Like you and Jacques?” Felter asked.
Lowell noticed that Jack had become Jacques.
“More than that,” Captain Portet said. “He’s sort of a . . . Mormon Jesuit, I guess. Mobutu turns to him for advice.”
“What’s his name?”
“Howard Dannelly,” Captain Portet said.
“How do you get along with Dr. Dannelly?” Felter asked.
“We know each other,” Captain Portet said. “He’s a good man. He’s good for Mobutu.”
“How does Dr. Dannelly feel about Jacques?” Felter asked.
“He’s . . . uh . . . not in Jacques’s legion of admirers,” Portet said.