subsidiary of the Kremlin, Incorporated,” the Secretary of State said.
“The only difference between Ernesto Guevara and a thousand other would-be revolutionaries is that he has had a chance to act out his fantasies,” Felter said.
“I would not call him a ‘would-be’ revolutionary,” the Secretary said. “I would call someone who took over a country ninety miles off our coast and just about handed it to Moscow a successful revolutionary.”
“Fidel Castro took over Cuba,” Felter said. “Not Guevara.”
“Guevara was, is, his number two,” the Secretary argued.
“I would say Fidel’s brother, Ramon, is his number two,” Felter said.
“For Christ’s sake, let Felter talk,” Johnson snapped. “I already know what you two think!”
“Guevara is a physician,” Felter said. “He was Castro’s medic in the mountains. Obviously, they became very close friends, which very possibly is because they were the only two intellectuals there. People tend to forget that Fidel has a Ph.D. He’s very bright, and so is Guevara, and it’s natural they would be comfortable with each other. And Castro, I suggest, is not above wallowing in the admiration of another intellectual who thinks he walks on water. But being a close friend of El Supremo does not make somebody a skilled guerrilla.”
“You’re suggesting Guevara is incompetent?” the Director asked sarcastically.
“I hope to prove that soon in the Congo,” Felter said. “That’s why I want him kept alive, as a failed, incompetent dreamer, rather than the martyred guerrilla genius who was brutally murdered by fascist imperialists.”
“So why has Castro been pushing his doctor as the great guerrilla? ” Johnson asked.
“Probably because it makes Cuba’s—Russia’s—plans for South America, as well as Africa, seem international. And there are Communists in Argentina, and thinking that an Argentine, Guevara, is a successful revolutionary is great for their image, their morale.”
Johnson grunted. “The basic question is why did he give this declaration of war speech?”
“He probably believes everything he says, as he probably believes he is a great guerrilla/revolutionary,” Felter said. “And the red-carpet treatment he’s been given by everybody—including the Chinese—has fed that misconception. I would personally be surprised if Castro, much less the Politburo, had any idea what he was going to say about three Vietnams. They don’t want to alarm the rest of the world—they want to sneak up on it and hit it from behind.”
“You really think he’s a loose cannon?” Johnson asked.
“Yes, Mr. President,” Felter said.
“How are things going in the Congo?”
“We’re in the final stages of sending the team over there, Mr. President.”
“Using Intercontinental Air Cargo, Ltd.?” the Secretary of State asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Felter said.
“Colonel Felter told me about that, Mr. Secretary,” Johnson said, icily sarcastic. “And my Director of the Central Intelligence Agency feels that Intercontinental Air was a pretty good idea. Isn’t that so, Mr. Director?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” the Director said. “We expect to be working closely with Felter in that area.”
“And I’ll tell you something else, Mr. Secretary,” Johnson said. “General Whatsisname, the head of the Army Security Agency, came to see me to tell me that Felter wanted one of his sergeants, and if I went along with that, the entire White House communications system was going to collapse like a house of cards. So I told him to break out the signal flags”—Johnson mimed someone waving signal flags—“because I had told Felter he could have anything he needed to get this job done, and I meant it.” He paused. “I think that’s what they call a parable. A little story with a message. Did you get the message, Mr. Secretary? ”
“Yes, Mr. President,” the Secretary said.
“That will be all, gentlemen,” the President said. “Thank you very much for coming.”
He was back on the telephone before they left the Oval Office.
[ FIVE ]
Stanleyville Air Field
Stanleyville, Oriental Province
Republic of the Congo
0940 10 March 1965
The newly repaired communications equipment in the control tower came to life twenty minutes earlier than expected. The telephone message from the Kamina Air Base to Colonel Supo’s headquarters in Costermansville had been very brief: “ETA 1000 Your Time 10 March Poppa.”
“Stanleyville, Intercontinental Air Four-nine-three.”
The voice, although clipped metallically, was obviously that of Captain Jean-Philippe Portet.
Captain Jacques Portet of Air Simba, who was wearing a white polo shirt, white shorts, and knee-high white socks, reached over the camouflage fatigue uniform shoulder of Captain Weewili of the Congolese paratroops (known to the U.S. Army as Spec7 William Peters) and took the microphone.
“Intercontinental Nine-three, Stanleyville,” he said in English.
“Nine-three is at flight level ten, five minutes west of your station. Approach and landing,