Eight. The President had failed three times to break both of his targets, which left him at Station Five. The chief had failed six times to break both targets, which left him on Station Three.
They walked back to the rear of the range.
The President gave Felter three dollars, and the chief of staff counted out six.
“You ever think that’s why you’re not a general, Felter?” the President said.
“Sir?”
“The President outranks the chief of staff, so he lets me win,” Johnson said. “The chief of staff—any general—outranks you, so you were supposed to let him win. Instead you humiliated the both of us.”
“I thought that was the name of the game, sir,” Felter said.
“I think they call that tunnel vision,” the President said. “Set your eyes on what you want to do, and pay attention to nothing else. Like a horse with blinders.”
“You may be right, sir,” Felter said.
“The Secretary of State says that our ambassador to the Congo is going to be very humiliated if President Kasavubu finds out that you—which means the U.S. government—have gone to this General Mobutu behind his back,” the President said. “And that if you could only have found the time in your busy schedule to speak with him, he could have told you your efforts were doomed to failure.”
“I’m sorry he feels that way, Mr. President,” Felter said.
“The Secretary of State tells me he has every confidence that after a cooling-down period, and after he sees the situation develop, Kasavubu will agree to accepting some help, and that all you did, more than likely, was make the sonofabitch dig in his heels more than he already had.”
“General Mobutu has agreed to accept a Special Forces team to operate covertly to deal with Guevara, Mr. President.”
“No shit?” the President asked, genuinely surprised. “What’s that going to cost us?”
“A Beaver, two L-19s, and an H-13, Mr. President.”
“What’s a Beaver?”
“A large, single-engine, six-place airplane designed for use in Canada and Alaska—”
“Oh, yeah,” the President said. “That’s all?”
“Some tactical radios, Mr. President. And a handful of additional personnel—pilots, maintenance people.”
“Goddamn, Felter, you really pulled that off?”
“Actually, sir, Major Lunsford did.”
“What’s with you commandeering the embassy’s airplane?”
“General Mobutu said the final decision would be up to Colonel Supo, the military governor in that area of the Congo. Lieutenant Portet—the young officer who jumped on Stanleyville with the Belgians—flew Major Lunsford, the assistant secretary of defense for provincial affairs, and General Mobutu’s friend Dr. Dannelly to Stanleyville to talk to him.”
“You couldn’t have told the ambassador what you were going to do with his airplane?”
“I couldn’t take the risk, Mr. President, that the ambassador might think it was a bad idea, or insist that he be part of the negotiations. In my judgment, any delay might have been fatal.”
“In other words, you’re telling me that not only didn’t you care to hear the ambassador’s opinion, but that you thought you could negotiate a deal better than he could?”
“With respect, sir, the ambassador’s negotiations had failed.”
“So the end justifies the means?”
Felter didn’t reply.
“After the Secretary of State complained about you, again, this morning, Colonel, I decided to hell with it. I asked the chief to join us here for two reasons. First, to inform him Operation Earnest was to be transferred to the CIA as soon as possible, and second, to tell him that despite the mess you had made of things, you had acted in good faith, and when you went back to the Army, I didn’t want them giving you command of a supply depot somewhere, that you had earned the command of a regiment you’d always wanted.”
“Yes, sir,” Felter said. “Thank you.”
“Mr. President,” the chief said uncomfortably. “I’m not personally involved in the selection of regimental commanders. There is a process—”
“Well, I am,” Lyndon Johnson said coldly. “I’m the Commander-in-Chief. If I say he gets a regiment, he gets a regiment. ”
“Yes, sir,” the chief said.
“Now that we understand each other on that,” Johnson went on, “it’s actually moot. I should have known Felter was going to pull his chestnuts out of the fire before they got burned.”
“Sir?” the chief asked.
“See that Colonel Felter gets whatever he thinks he needs,” the President said.
“Yes, sir,” the chief said.
“Give my best regards to Major Lunsford when you see him, Felter.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And don’t worry about the State Department. I’ll deal with Foggy Bottom.”
“Thank you, sir,” Felter said.
The President looked like he was going to say something else, but didn’t.
He beckoned to his Secret Service detail to follow him, and walked toward