Chasco, who had been supporting himself by selling marijuana, escaped Cuba by speedboat last month. He contacted Paez in Miami and begged him to find him pro-Cause work. Teo introduced him to Pete Bondurant and later described the meeting to me as “Love at first sight.”

You were unreachable, so Pete contacted me and recommended Nйstor Chasco for immediate Blessington and Cadre employment. I met Chasco and was very impressed. I hired the man immediately and had Pete introduce him to the other Cadre members. Paez told me that the meetings were amicable. Chasco is learning the Cadre business ropes and doubling as a Blessington drill instructor. He’ll be shuffling between Blessington, Miami and our formal facilities in Guatemala and Nicaragua-a case officer passing through Blessington noted his training skills and put in an expedite personnel request directly to Mr. Bissell.

You’ll meet Chasco at the inspection. I think you’ll be impressed, too.

3.-During the actual invasion time frame, I want you and Chasco to patrol the Cadre’s Miami business sites. Our on-island sources expect some invasion plan intelligence to leak to Cuba, and I want to make sure that local pro-Castro groups don’t try to hit us when they think we’re focusing solely on invasion logistics. It should be easy for you to get away. Miami is Annistonaccessible and you can tell Little Brother that Mr. H. sent you in to monitor pro-Castro activity.

I’ll close with an embarrassing request.

Carlos M. gave Guy Banister an additional $300,000 gun money. The man is a great friend to the Cause, and he has some very great (and I think justified) fears regarding Little Brother. Can you find out what Bobby’s plans are regarding Carlos?

Thanks in advance for considering this. See you tomorrow in Blessington.

John

59

Eyes left, eyes right. Port arms, snap the bolt-let’s see those carbon-free M-l chambers.

The drill field sparkled. The trainees moved like spic Rockettes-every turn and slapdown was synchronized.

Lockhart called cadence. Nйstor Chasco played flag bearer. The Stars amp; Stripes and Pit Bull Monster fluttered.

Pete led a white-glove inspection line. Richard Bissell and John Stanton trailed him-civilian squarejohns in worsted wool suits.

The trainees wore starched fatigues and chrome helmets. Fulo, Paez, Delsol, and Gutiйrrez stood off in a squad leader flank.

Boyd watched from the dock. He didn’t want rank-and-file recruits to know him.

Pete checked weapons and handed them back. Bissell patted shoulders and smiled. Stanton stifled yawns-he knew it was all PR bullshit.

Lockhart yelled, “Shoulderrr arms! Guide-on front and centerrr!”

Forty-four rifles went up. Chasco marched ten paces forward and about-faced.

Chasco saluted. Chasco snapped his flags out at arm’s length.

Lockhart yelled, “At ease!” The men hoisted down one by one for a nifty ripple effect.

Bissell gawked. Stanton applauded.

Boyd was eyeballing Chasco. Stanton built the little shitbird up as Jesus Christ sans mercy.

Chasco ate tarantula meat and drank panther piss. Chasco killed Reds from Rangoon to Rio.

Chasco coughed and spat on the pavement. “It is a pleasure to be here with joo in America. It is an honor to be able to fight the tyrant Fidel Castro, and an honor to introduce to joo Seсor Richard Bissell.”

Locomotive cheers went up-choo-choo-choo fifty voices strong.

Bissell waved the noise down. “Seсor Chasco is right. Fidel Castro is a murderous tyrant who needs to be taken down a peg or two. I’m here to tell you that we’re going to do it, most likely in the not-too-distant future.”

CHOO-CHOO-CHOO-CHOO-CHOO-CHOO-

Bissell stabbed the air Kennedy-style. “Your morale is high, and that’s damn good. There’s also some pretty damn high morale inside Cuba, and I would have to say that right now that morale is running about three or four brigade’s worth. I’m referring to onisland Cubans just waiting for you to establish a beachhead and show them the way to Fidel Castro’s parlor.”

“You men, and many other men, are going to invade and recapture your homeland. You are going to link with anti-Castro forces living on-island and depose Fidel Castro. We have close to sixteen hundred troops now stationed in Guatemala, Nicaragua and along the Gulf Coast, ready to be launched from coastal installations. You are among those troops. You are a crack unit which will see action. You will be backed by surplus B-26s and escorted to your homeland by a task force of U.S. Navy supply boats. You will succeed. You will spend Christmas with your loved ones in a liberated Cuba.”

Pete gave the signal. A forty-four-gun salute shocked Bissell speechless.

o o o

Stanton threw a lunch at the Breakers Motel. The guest list was White Men Only: Pete, Bissell, Boyd, Chuck Rogers.

Santo Junior owned the place. Blessington men dined and drank on the cuff. The coffee shop served starchy wop food- strictly shitsville.

They hogged a choice window table. Bissell hogged the conversation-nobody could squeeze a word in. Pete sat down next to Boyd and picked at a plate of linguine.

Chuck handed out beers. Boyd passed Pete a note.

I like Chasco. He’s got that “Don’t underestimate me because I’m puny” look that I associate with W.J. Littell. Can we send him in to shoot Fidel?

Pete scribbled up his napkin.

Let’s have him shoot Fidel amp; WJL. Jimmy’s scared amp; pissed because his Fund books got clouted amp; we’re the only ones who know who did it. Can’t we do something about it?

Boyd wrote NO on his menu. Pete laughed out loud.

Bissell took offense. “Did I say something funny, Mr. Bondurant?”

“No, sir. You didn’t.”

“I didn’t think so. I was saying that President Kennedy has been briefed several times, but he still won’t commit to an invasion date, which I don’t find amusing at all.”

Pete poured himself a beer. Stanton said, “Mr. Dulles describes the President as ‘enthusiastic, but cautious.’”

Bissell smiled. “Our secret weapon is Mr. Boyd here. He’s our Kennedy confidante, and I imagine that if push came to shove, he could reveal his covert Agency standing, and then overtly advocate our invasion plan.”

Pete froze the moment: Boyd about to lose it six ways from Sunday.

Stanton stepped in. “Mr. Bissell’s joking, Kemper.”

“I know that. And I know that he understands how complex our alliances have become.”

Bissell fingered his napkin. “I do, Mr. Boyd. And I know how generous Mr. Hoffa, Mr. Marcello and a few other Italian gentlemen have been to the Cause, and I know that you possess a certain amount of influence in the Kennedy camp. And as the President’s chief Cuban-issue liaison, I also know that Fidel Castro and Communism are a good deal worse than the Mafia, although I wouldn’t dream of asking you to intercede on our friends’ behalf, because it might cost you credibility with your sacred Kennedys.”

Stanton dropped his soup spoon. Pete let a big breath out eeeasy.

Boyd put out a big shit-eating grin. “I’m glad you feel that way, Mr. Bissell. Because if you did ask me, I’d have to tell you to go fuck yourself.”