his mind. I have no intention of doing so, because I know he has no intention of doing so. And I think his decision was the correct one.”
“Then you’re making a mistake,” Jack said.
“Don’t strain our friendship, my young friend,” Mobutu said coldly.
“I would not be a friend if I let you make a big mistake,” Jack said.
“If Kasavubu is to lead this country, he cannot afford to be perceived as a man who has to have white assistance to handle every minor disturbance that occurs.”
“General, you’re not suggesting that Stanleyville was a ‘minor disturbance’?” Father said.
“Perhaps, Major, ‘minor’ was a poor choice of words.”
“Stanleyville was a disaster,” Father said flatly. “And if the Belgians hadn’t jumped on it when they did, the Simbas would now be marching on Léopoldville. And when Che Guevara starts operating in that area, training soldiers, arming them with Soviet weaponry, what happened before will look like a Boy Scout rally in comparison.”
For a moment Jack thought Mobutu was either going to lash out at Father, remind him that he was speaking to the chief of staff of the Congolese Army, or simply get up and storm off.
But he surprised Jack. He took a moment to almost visibly restrain his temper, then smiled at Father.
“Jacques, you know, jumped with the Belgians,” he said.
“Yes, sir, I know,” Father said.
“And is Jacques, then, the source of your information about what happened in Stanleyville?” Mobutu asked. “With all respect to my young friend, he was only there for a few hours.”
“I was there for five months, General,” Father said in Swahili. “I know what went on in Stanleyville.”
Both the statement and the Swahili surprised Mobutu.
“You’re the man Colonel Supo told me about,” Mobutu said after a moment, in Swahili.
Lunsford looked confused.
“He was the Congolese officer with Colonel Van de Waele at Kamina,” Jack furnished.
“At his recommendation,” Mobutu said, as if to himself, “I have decorated you for your extraordinary valor. What you did was incredible.”
Father didn’t reply.
“With that in mind, Joseph,” Jack said. “Don’t you think you could at least hear what Major Lunsford has to say?”
Mobutu took a long moment to consider that, but finally nodded his assent.
“Before I get into what we know about Che Guevara, and his plans to screw up your country, General,” Father began, “let me try to put your mind at ease about one thing. Nobody will be able to accuse you of having to ask white men to help you out here. Everybody we want to send over here is black.”
“Interesting,” Mobutu said. “But let me perhaps save us both some time. What you have to do, Major, is convince me of two things. First that this Cuban is actually going to come here—”
“Colonel Felter—he’s in the house—has brought you proof of that, General, believe me,” Father interrupted.
“—and if this is actually so, why the United States government does not believe my government is perfectly capable, if this man should come here and start an armed rebellion against the Congo . . . why the army I have the honor to command cannot arrest him, try him, and stand him before a firing squad.”
“That’s the last thing we want to happen, Joseph,” Jack said. “We want to keep the sonofabitch alive.”
“What?”
“What we want to do, General,” Father said, “is very quietly— ‘invisibly’ may be a better word—help you frustrate everything Guevara tries to do. We want him humiliated, not turned into a martyr.”
“Whose idea is that?” Mobutu asked incredulously.
“President Johnson’s,” Father said.
Mobutu looked at Jack, who nodded.
“Why should I believe that?” Mobutu asked, and looked toward the house, obviously seeking Dr. Dannelly.
Jack followed Mobutu’s glance. Dannelly was not visible, but Colonel Sanford T. Felter was. He had apparently just that moment come out of the house and was standing on the patio where Finton had stood, with the same Congolese paratrooper who had pointed his rifle at Finton now pointing it at Felter.
Felter was in uniform, complete to jump boots and green beret. He looked up with contempt at the paratrooper’s face, and pushed the muzzle of the rifle away with his hand.
Mobutu called out to the paratrooper to let him pass, and when the paratrooper stepped aside, Felter marched off the patio and across the lawn toward them.
Jack thought very much the same thing his father had thought when Lieutenant Colonel Craig Lowell had appeared at his door in Ocean Reef.
Christ, he has more medals than Patton!
Felter walked up to the table.
“Joseph, may I present my chief, Colonel Felter?” Jack