Laughter in the Shadows (32 page)

The colony of case officers and technicians packed up and returned to Langley. Uhuru’s ashes, scattered to the winds wafted over the Kasai savanna or hung over the Goma marshes or floated out to sea.

The Station shrank back to its original size and went back to chasing Russians, scarfing up samples of black-market uranium, and keeping a disgruntled president happy. The only vestiges that remained from the Last Covert Operation were Wally’s MERDE rock and shrapnel from a Stalin’s Organ.

The Lesson

The Angafulan war had received little attention in the American press, so I was surprised how quickly and with a minimum of debate the Senate had passed the amendment cutting off funds for the Angafulan operation. I learned the reason later.

Several months after Uhuru’s termination, a congressional delegation came to Bintang. I had been invited to the ambassador’s residence for a reception in the delegation’s honor, and while conversing with our defense attaché, I noticed a senator standing alone on the patio smoking a cigar. I walked out to join him and introduced myself. Sam Jackson, senator from Mississippi, held out his hand and said he was glad to meet me.

After an exchange about his trip, the climate and the baseball season in the States, I told the senator I wanted to ask him about something that had been bothering me for some time. Why had the Senate abruptly cut off support for our operation in Angafula? We got out of Vietnam because there was a groundswell of public opinion against the war and mounting American casualties. But Angafula? I’m sure most Americans never heard of the place, and as far as I know, no clamor in the press or public outcry about a covert action operation in a remote corner of Africa. And in Angafula we were supporting the “good guys,” two anticommunist groups fighting a pro-communist movement backed by Cuba and the USSR. Why had Congress pulled the plug on our Angafula operation and left the field to the Soviets and Cubans?

The senator puffed on his cigar while he thought about his answer. Then he put his arm around my shoulder, led me to the end of the patio where we were out of earshot, and gave me his answer: “Son, I’m going to give you a civics lesson in how the U.S. Senate works.

Most of a senator’s time is spent in his office meeting constituents or on committees hammering out legislation. Now, when a piece of legislation comes out of committee, it goes before the Senate for a vote. A bell rings in the Senate Office Building signaling that a bill is coming up for a vote.

“If it’s a ‘one bell’ call, that means it’s a routine piece of legislation coming up for a vote. We usually ignore one-bell calls, because we’re busy and the bill probably isn’t that important.

“When it’s a ‘two-bell’ call, that means a more important bill is on the floor, and we ought to go cast our vote. We usually respond to two bell calls, but sometimes we are too busy or for some other reason don’t make it over to the Capitol to vote, and the bill is passed or voted down with only a minority of the Senate present.

“Now if that bell rings three times, it means a critical piece of legislation is coming up for a vote and we should all get over to the Capitol because every vote counts.

“I remember the three-bell call when that amendment you mentioned came up for a vote. We all piled into that underground train that runs between the Senate Office Building and the Capitol and went over to cast our votes. My aide was standing beside the door leading into the rotunda, waiting to brief me on the legislation up for a vote. He told me there was an amendment on the floor sponsored by Senator Smothers calling for the cutting off of funding for Heinzleman’s “secret war” in Angafula, the war he refused to brief the Senate about.

“So, like a lot of other senators, I voted ‘yes’ and we cut off that secret war. You see, son, a lot of us were mad as hell at that arrogant Prussian [Heinzleman was born in Bavaria, not Prussia] who thought he could stonewall Congress by not briefing us on what his war was all about, how much it was costing, who we were fighting, et cetera. As I said, I voted yes, got Heinzleman, and ended your war!

“Now you may be right and maybe we made a mistake. Most of us knew nothing about Angafula or what the war was all about. I sure as hell didn’t know the Russians and the Cubans were in there supplying troops and weapons to a bunch of communists fighting your boys. Maybe if we had been better informed, we wouldn’t have been so hasty in voting down the war. We just wanted to let ‘The Doctor’ know he couldn’t cut out Congress and get away with it.

“I’m sorry about your war and that it had to end the way it did. But, son, that’s politics!”

End of lesson.

Heinzleman, whose only goal was to deny the Soviets a foothold in Africa, had been hoisted on his petard by a cabal of irate senators.

And Uhuru was left twisting in the wind.

EPILOGUE

Well, I must make a frank confession,

My noon is here, and that’s the truth.

So let me with a kind expression

Take leave of my light-hearted youth!

Thank you for all the gifts and fortune,

Thank you for your sorrow and pleasure,

Thank you for sufferings and joys,

For tempests, feasts and noise;

. . . Tomorrow I shall set out brand new ways

And rest myself from earlier days.

—A. PUSHKIN,
Eugene Onegin

F
riday was my last day in the Central Intelligence Agency. I had never thought about a “last day,” but now it had come.

There were those who would regret my leaving, those still left in that thinning line of covert cadets, recruited when the Agency was young. My departure would remind them that they too, would soon be put out to pasture.

A secretary handed me the box containing the medal I had deliberately left behind in the safe. Medals make a mockery of the spy’s covert trademark, anonymity. Next to come would be Nathan Hale Day parades and case officers, in cloak-and-dagger finery, passing in review.

I put the medal in the box with other operational mementos: a “Cosmos Command” plaque from the Saigon bar that sheltered us from a Viet Cong car bomb, an autographed picture of General Ouane, agent of influence now like me, hors de combat; the piece of shrapnel from a Stalin’s Organ; a leopard skin toque from Bongo, and Wally’s MERDE rock.

My files had been shredded. I walked down the corridor to the rotunda, taking care not to step on “The Truth Shall Set You Free” mosaic. All that was left was to hand my badge to the guard.

I turned in my badge and was heading toward the revolving door when I remembered the capsule, the “quick-fix” elixir in my rear molar to ensure a silent departure before the “long sleep.” Working my fingernail under the gold crown, I pried out the “L” tablet. I looked at the pill in my palm, rolled it between my fingers, and flipped it toward an ashtray that stood upright next to the wall. My aim was bad, and the pill ricocheted off the ashtray and dropped onto the tile mosaic.
A cockroach that resembled the cafards that populated the bars of Saigon emerged from a crack at the bottom of the wall. The cafard stood still as its antennae swept the rotunda, finally homing in on the white capsule lying on the mosaic.

Keeping its target in sight, the cockroach, its six legs marching in cadence, made its way across the mosaic toward the capsule. When it reached the “L” pill, its pincers opened wide and like tongs grappling for prizes in a penny arcade game, clamped onto the capsule, ripping it open, the white powder spilling onto the mosaic.

Using its tentacles as chopsticks, the cafard began popping the white grains into an orifice concealed behind its black armored helmet. When it had its fill, it turned around and began to march back across the mosaic toward the crack in the wall.

The cafard never made it. Halfway across the rotunda the cadence of the cockroach slowed and it began reeling drunkenly from side to side. Finally, it collapsed and rolled over on its back, its six legs twitching in the air until rigor mortis kicked in and the twitching stopped.

Le cafard had bought the farm.

I nodded to the bust of Nathan Hale and went out into the cold.

Shall it be my lot to go that way again,

I may give those that desire it a full account

Of what I am here silent about.

Meantime I bid my reader adieu.

As for me, my work ends here.

Let another deal with what comes next.

—XENOPHON

Respectfully submitted,

Stuart Methven, Case Officer

Good-bye, my book! Like mortal eyes, imagined ones must close some day. And yet the ear cannot right now part with the music and allow the tale to fade, the chords of fate itself continue to vibrate; and no obstruction for the sage exists where I have put, The End.

—VLADIMIR NABOKOV,
The Gift

INDEX

Afghanistan,
75

Africa,
131–33
. See
also
Angafula
;
Buwana

agents: functions of,
38–39
; recruitment,
39–45
,
113–17
,
119–27
; Soviet in Cham,
78

Air America,
71
,
109

Air Angafula,
143–44

Air Buwana,
142
,
143
,
145

air drops: in Cham,
69–72
,
83–84
; in Operation Uhuru,
158
; training in,
16

Ali, Muhammad,
132

Ambrizio: fall of,
163
,
166
; final offensive against,
162
; Korean cannons in,
157–58
; mercenaries in,
151
,
153
; parachute battalions in,
160
; psychological warfare from,
158–59
; Rebello in,
142
; visits to,
147–48
,
155–56

American Chariot
,
140
,
143
,
145

Amherst College,
3

Angafula: and Cabrola,
160–61
; coordination of task force in,
142
; description,
134–36
; exodus out of,
143
; and Soviet Union,
135
,
138–41
,
145–46
,
149
,
156
,
161–63
,
167
,
168
; Stalin’s Organs in,
155–56
; U.S. senator’s visit to,
161–62
. See
also
Operation Uhuru

Anne Marie
,
149

anvil,
69–74

Army of South Vietnam,
98
,
99

Ban Ban: airport,
66–67
,
69–70
,
72
; visit to,
63–69

Bangkok: evacuation to,
79–80
,
105
; supplies in,
59
,
70

Bangkok World
,
80
,
105

Beech, Keyes,
98

Belgian Congo,
132

Bell, Bill,
113

Benguela railroad,
139
,
159

Bentavo, Luis,
147–48
,
159

Bintang: airport,
138
; communism in,
113
; congressional delegation in,
167–68
; family life in,
112–13
; mercenaries in,
152
,
154
; paramilitary officers to,
139
; supplies for Operation Uhuru in,
140
,
143–45
,
149