"Of course you know the community would treat you like they treat an immigrant...suspect, are you here to go through my garbage?"
What would you do?"
"I don't know...maybe start my own shop, you know become a contractor...other ex-politicians have done extremely well at that."
"There aren't many opportunities for people.
“And the birds flock to it. The company would perpetuate itself with all its warts and all its exaggerations...when the bride walked; all eyes would be on the dress...copying at least until the boots where on the ground."
The Bay of Pigs changed everything. Mick spent the spring of 1961 traveling between Miami, Washington and Guatemala City to wrap up the business of the company operation. He became the diplomat trying to explain to exiled leaders why it had failed.
A new committee replaced the old faces, and no one was surprised that the old players retained a majority of the seats at the table. The death of Castro was on the lips of the attendees and the blue lagoon swallowed the departing committee members. They simply disappeared and were given missions in other parts of this troubled world...unrelated to Castro.
It was interesting how a market for failure seemed to open doors for opportunity...and that was what this meeting was about.
"Sure he knows where we are?" "He may be here." Mick said. "I have an appointment."
"Don't worry, you'll make it."
They were in Denton County, just outside Dallas, at a lunch spot near the town square. Mick had coffee though it was well over 100. He thought of his dog Trip and how he chased the evaporation.
They didn't carry on a conversation of small talk; the subject ostensibly was all about Cuba.
They had previously met in Coral Gables just outside Miami, a hotbed for wealthy Cuban immigrants and a place to brief Cuban pilots on their way to Nicaragua. There were five men who could not let go of Cuba...and they were outlaws. There was only one secret that mattered now and that was the Group itself.
They left the cafe' and walked through a pharmacy, Mick purchased some Chap Stick. When they got back to the rental car, they saw a figure seated in the front seat. It was Ray Ray Beltray, a rustler who had a professional reputation with a rifle or a knife and for training exiles in the use of assault weapons and explosives. Neither would be required for the job they had in mind for him, “to organize covert operations."
"Well there is a wonderful opportunity in the Middle East and they have plenty of money taken from the United States...and what the hell, I could take a look at the other side, China.”
"Traitor."
"True enough and I know I'd be spoiled meat, the truth is, I know how to teach...business is not my forte."
"Don't fret about it, you'll be back."
"Working for the CIA is a double edge sword, at times you hate them, and at the moment I love them."
The members of the committee knew that the President they sought to protect from the political fallout connected to another incursion...knowing how badly JFK wanted Castro in a body bag...made it certain the President could not know that his wish was their dirty business."
And they were charged to carry it out. Even where there were deeper furrows...typically political; hence surrounding plans to invade Cuba. The resident knew and had a sense of the promised outcome from the hawks in and out of the hallowed halls of the congress. Regardless, the JA would shield the President. If it failed, the company would "kick dirt" and then take the poison pill...if it went well the President would take the glory and the company got a bonus in the next appropriation.
Secrets have a way of building their own nest.
Chapter V
THE OLD MAN WAKES
On this day, the morning found Hamilton in a good mood, rested and well fed, he sat on his bunk and continued to share with me the experience as the Curator at Langley for the CIA. Hamilton's job, requiring a read of all documents in order for them to be filed correctly, to be recovered with some efficacy and the look of professionalism.
Michael Flint climbed into the driver’s seat of the rental car, he was smiling about something...it was a secret that he could not share.
Elliott sat in the back behind Flynt to help him with directions. They were waiting for Ray Ray whose arrival would please all since his arrival would give meaning to the meeting. Ray Ray did not bring small talk. He was the cool collected assassin, tough guy the Cuban exiles would follow without question.
When the Cuban invasion failed, the CIA looked for any number of scape goats they had on the payroll...and their investigation had settled on the men in this car, plus a couple of others who were now deceased.
Ray Ray was the only man of the three who refused to sign a reprimand when the secret meetings in Boca Raton which were monitored by CIA security.
Flynt signed the reprimand. Elliott signed the letter and a Quit Claim that he also would volunteer to take a polygraph, which he had failed. Elliott's office at the new headquarters in Virginia was sealed when the investigators discovered evidence that uncovered the depth of his participation in the fraud precipitated by a few insiders.
It seems he was hiring people for the patrol of a major corporation, Westinghouse Security an ever expanding CIA front in Florida that provided cover for the CIA's new wave of operations against Cuba while heading a group that ignores orders to "stand down". Then he runs his private operation inside the CIA.
Flynt drove south out of Denton, sparsely inhabited by a few scrub trees; mesquite and abandoned pastures containing a few starving Long Horns eating the bark from the Live Oaks.
Ray Ray seemed detached.
Flynt turned right after crossing an ancient wooden bridge. They were now on a dirt road running along the banks of a creek which was dry and supporting only scorpions, snakes and frogs. Flynt pulled the car alongside a fence on property that was cleaner with Live Oaks and Hickory’s that gave sign of some prosperity. He set the parking brake. Elliott cracked his window and lit a cigarette. The two men in the front sat with their heads tilted slightly but facing forward.
Flynt broke the silence. "When my son, who is now seven, tells me a secret, his hands get to be very busy. He first hugs my neck and then le takes my wrist in both hands to keep me loose. It is his way of keeping my attention. He knows the importance of intimacy when it comes to sharing and keeping a secret.
My son enjoys telling me these things, but what this little guy doesn't realize is that secrets are conspiracies that will not let you go. Unlike other altered states, they reappear in the morning...but for a time they stop the world and I am able to see him.
A segue perhaps defining why you are here, I simple gave you a place and time. You came without comment. You didn't consider the risk to your family, your job that might inure to you by associating with Everett, after what happened at Boca Raton. You are here because you trust me and love me and because we have "run the tables" more than a few times. Unlike family we have been faithful, watching each other’s back and we all share the need for psychological drama provided by these secrets.
My son is generous with these secrets. Sometimes I wish he weren't, because they make me buy into his secret and deprive him of his uniqueness. In a world where most everything is known about you, there is yet to be a methodology developed to "read your mind." Although the United States government has some prosecutors who claim they are able to read your mind.
The car was silent.
The invasion of Cuba failed because our President went back on his word to the Cuban exiles. At the last minute, Kennedy withheld his promise to provide air cover to the boots on the beach, and many lives were lost. In Addition, our own leadership here at the CIA didn't examine basic assumptions. They got so caught up in soldering and this caused them to accept the