Homestead Air Force Base outside Miami, and by Navy fighters aboard aircraft carriers in the naval element. The naval element of the incursion force included a force of U.S. Marines who were prepared to invade a hostile shore, if this proved necessary, and to reinforce the Army.
Felter’s attention was on one of the smaller displays, which showed the area from Havana, Cuba, to San Juan, Puerto Rico. It was data-relayed, some of it real-time, from satellites passing over, and from long-distance radar aboard Air Force radar planes and from radar aboard vessels of the naval element.
Every vessel on the sea appeared on the display, not unlike the displays used in air traffic control. Every vessel had a symbol, and most of them a code, that identified them.
Some did not, including one unidentified surface vessel apparently on a course from the north coast of Cuba that would place it in the path of the naval element. It was tentatively identified as a small merchant vessel of unknown ownership.
Felter watched with interest when this vessel was suddenly surrounded by a yellow circle. He was not surprised when, almost immediately, an adjacent display screen suddenly changed its display to another, closer-in, view of the unidentified surface vessel.
He sat his teacup on the floor under his seat and walked to the row of controllers. He quickly found the controller’s display, which was a duplicate of the wall display of the close-up of the unidentified surface vessel. The controller was a Navy commander, who wore a headset, with a microphone before his lips.
The controller sensed Felter standing behind him.
“Colonel?” he asked.
“What have you got, Commander?”
The commander checked Felter’s identification badge before answering.
“A medium-sized vessel, probably a merchantman, on a course that’ll put it in the path of the naval element. But it may be a Russian intel vessel. I’m about to find out.”
He pressed a lever that activated his microphone.
“Admiral,” he said. “We have an unidentified surface vessel on a course which will cross the naval element—possibly a Soviet intel trawler.”
A vice admiral came to the controller, looked curiously at Felter, then at the display.
“Recommendation?” the vice admiral asked.
“Send a fighter from Navy Three to have a look,” the commander said.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Felter said.
“I beg your pardon, Colonel?” the vice admiral said, a little testily.
“Sir, I suspect that vessel is the Cuban vessel Uvera,” Felter said. “I would rather they not know they’ve been surveilled. I recommend that we get a satellite identification.”
“Thank you for you recommendation, Colonel,” the vice admiral said sarcastically. “Commander, send a fighter from the naval element.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Felter walked to the row of desks where the very senior officers were seated.
“Admiral,” he said to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
“What can I do for you, Felter?”
“You’re about to send a Navy aircraft to identify a ship off the coast of Cuba. I believe that ship to be the Cuban merchantman Uvera, not a Soviet intel trawler, and I don’t want them to know they’re being surveilled. I’d like it identified by satellite.”
“You’re going to tell me why, right, Colonel?”
“I believe she’s carrying a force of about 120 Cubans to Congo Brazzaville, sir. I want them to think they’re doing so secretly.”
“Excuse me, Admiral,” the Director of the CIA said. Felter had not seen him enter the room.
“Yeah, Dick?”
“I recommend you go with Felter’s recommendation.”
“Oh, Jesus H. Christ!” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs said, then raised his voice. “Tennyson!”
The vice admiral scurried to the Chairman’s position.
“If you’ve launched a plane to identify the ship Colonel Felter’s talking about, abort the mission. Get the next satellite passing over to downlink a photo, and then run it through the computer. Give the results to me, the Director, and Colonel Felter. ”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Thank you, sir,” Felter said.
“We’ll be in the movie seats, Admiral,” the Director said to the vice admiral.
“Yes, sir,” the vice admiral said.
“Thank you,” Felter said to the Director when they were in the row of seats.
“Felter, we’re on the same team. I like it a lot better when we’re cooperating, not protecting our turf like a couple of mail-men fighting over delivery routes.”
“I do, too,” Felter confessed.
“When I saw you tilting your lance at that formidable Naval windmill, Don Quixote,” the Director said, “I had one of my few inspirations.”
Felter smiled.
“Which was?”
“What we have in Africa is a war between your people and my man in Léopoldville and a love affair between your people and my man in Dar es Salaam—”