director in on this,” the deputy director said. “And he will ask me what I think should be done. What are the choices?”
“I tell the Gresham Investment Corporation to terminate their negotiations with Portet as of the day before yesterday—”
“Which would give us this conversation: Mr. President, chuckle, chuckle, I guess the Agency just found out the man they were setting up to run a really covert airline, since Air America has become sort of an open secret, is all-American boy Portet’s father. They broke off negotiations just as they were about to write the check. For some reason, chuckle, chuckle, they don’t seem to want to have anything to do with me. Pity, he really could have done a good job for him.”
“Yeah,” O’Connor agreed.
“Or,” the deputy director said, “you get on the telephone in the next few minutes, and you tell Dick Leonard that you’re sick and tired of their feet-dragging with Portet, and to get off the dime.”
O’Connor considered that for a long moment.
“That’s another possibility,” he said. “Which would give us this conversation: You, or the director himself: Mr. President, I thought you might be interested in knowing that we’ve set up another covert airline, now that Air America isn’t the secret we hoped it would be. And we’ve found a fine man to run it for us, as a partner. All sorts of the right kind of experience, and, as a matter of interest, the father of that fine young all-American boy who jumped with the Belgians on Stanleyville. Oh, sure, Mr. President, we knew all about that.”
The deputy director picked up on the imaginary conversation: “Me, or the director: As we knew all about Felter being in the Congo, and his man Lowell in Argentina, we still feel that it’s highly unlikely that Guevara’s going to cause any serious trouble in the Congo, but we can’t be too careful, can we?”
Howard W. O’Connor grunted approvingly and smiled.
“I like that conversation a lot better,” the deputy director said. “If Portet’s holding out for something—money, whatever—give it to him. Get it done.”
“It’s done.”
“Just to be sure, keep me advised. Off paper.”
“Certainly.”
The deputy director looked at his watch.
“I’ve got to get going,” he said. He looked at O’Connor. “Try not to get any more egg on your face, Howard.”
[ SEVEN ]
Pope Air Force Base
Fort Bragg, North Carolina
1325 29 January 1965
Mrs. Marjorie Bellmon Portet, Mrs. Elizabeth Wood Oliver, Mrs. Carmen Sanchez Otmanio, Captain Stefan Zabrewski, and Warrant Officer Junior Grade Julio Zammoro drank coffee in the VIP lounge in the Base Operations building while waiting for the pilots—and other interested parties—to finalize the flight plan of the first leg—Fort Bragg-Fort Lauderdale, Florida—of their flight to Buenos Aires.
The room was furnished with chrome, plastic-upholstered chairs and couches, a coffee machine, a television set, and two coffee tables, on which sat an array of out-of-date magazines. A speaker mounted high on the wall relayed the radio traffic of the Pope tower.
Captains, warrant officers junior grade, and the wives of captains, lieutenants, and sergeants first class are not normally given access to the VIP lounge, but the AOD, a major, on duty had heard Brigadier General Paul R. Hanrahan order Captain Zabrewski to “take the ladies and Zam in there while we’re in flight planning” and was highly unlikely to challenge the general’s desires.
Through the window they could see three soldiers—two of them Green Berets—in camouflage fatigues stuffing luggage into an L-23 parked on the transient ramp. They were Major George Washington “Father” Lunsford; SFC Jorge Otmanio, and Captain Darrell J. Smythe, who had already become known to the team as “Aunt Jemima.”
There wasn’t much luggage. Weight was a real consideration. There was a uniform and a set of civilian clothing for each of the five who would be aboard, plus linen for three days and toilet gear.
Six footlockers labeled PRIORITY and addressed to the U.S. Army attaché, Buenos Aires, had been entrusted on Thursday to the Air Force, which flew a weekly round-robin around South America delivering cargo and sometimes passengers to the various embassies.
They contained the uniforms, civilian clothing, and personal gear Zammoro, de la Santiago, and Otmanio would need to stay in Buenos Aires, and additional clothing and uniforms for Oliver and Portet to use while they were there. There was no promise when the footlockers would actually arrive in Buenos Aires.
Planning the flight had mostly taken place in the kitchen of the Portet apartment, with time-outs for various distractions, including the wedding and reception of Captain and