The Day John Fitzgerald Kennedy Past. Welby Thomas Cox, Jr.

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СКАЧАТЬ of specialist he heard the term, "Stress Fatigue." Two were CIA staff psychiatrists, the other a cleared contractor in from the outside world...the place Mick Flynn found to be strange and ordinary.

      They called it semi-retirement a semantic kindness. They set him up in a teaching post and paid him a retainer to recruit likely students as Junior Officer Trainees. In a college for women, this was a comic thrust even Mick could appreciate in a bitter and self-punishing way...as if he were still on their side...watching himself from a distance.

      IS THIS THE WAY OLD SPIES GO AWAY? Do we just begin to spy on ourselves? Battered and beaten into submission at the mercy of our own personal bereavement.

      Chapter IV

      STRIPPED OF PASSION

      Louis Wagner...Sat there...his wife could not help but notice the framework of his former self...all of the attributes and physical appeal which had attracted her to him so many years ago. His certainty, driving with conviction toward any goal delivered to him, a man with a purpose who would not be denied.

      She was saddened that this spark was fading now that the company was no longer asking him to lead the research teams or the task forces and most of all the camps where men are honed into fighting machines...she knew that when you take away this juice... and the man is reduced to passion and principle that he would turn into an angry old white guy. He taps out the messages of the past, on technology requiring only the tip of the finger...telegraphing that was no longer valid for a mind in another era.

      The two men sat in Mick Flynn's new office now under serious renovation, located in the basement of The Sign of the Bull and Bear a restaurant on Main Street.

      The fluorescent lights flickered as George Waters stood momentarily.

      "You must have a weapon on you?" Mick asked. "Hell, I have to go hild...that is policy."

      "I know but the electrician is trying to rewire for new lights."

      "And you think my piece is preventing that process?" Waters said.

      "I Didn't have the problem before you arrived." "Don't be so edgy George; we have a lot to do."

      Mick was all business, pleased with the high level of energy over the new assignment providing the opportunity to once again communicate with old spies.

      Mick's presence was felt; he was tall and had the demeanor of an officer. He carried himself in a way that demanded respect. He knew his strengths. He had been in Guatemala in 1954 and they had all been together for the Bay of Pigs.

      "So they put you in a Women's college?"

      "Yeh, I'm teaching world politics...DDP thought that since I was old enough to have actually been there it would be good cover to check out the students who might be influenced to develop an interest in the CIA and world politics."

      "I see, foreign princesses...the CIA makes them while they are still young and innocent."

      "Good Lord...why so scenically?"

      Just a reality check Mick...I know on which side my bread is buttered and we in the spy industry develop certain jaundice."

      "Listen George, why don't you just say it as you truly feel...that is, that anyone who is not in the company is a liar and a total piece of shit?"

      "Well, yes."

      "But Mick you must be in awe of your place in the new structure...why you are the inspired narrator...remember what Ms. Jean Brodie said..."Give me a child at an impressionable age and she will be mine forever."

      "Will that give me another tax deduction?" They laughed.

      "Actually this has saved me, and I whisper the name (CIA) when I pray the rosary...who knows perhaps the descendant of the Immaculate Conception, a princess from a developing country...may become its next leader. How cheap would that be from a developmental standpoint?"

      He sat there approving...He and Wagner had belonged to a strategy group of military analysts and intelligence men. The group was one element in a four stage committee established to confront Castro. There were several different levels with experts coming and going.

      "Well it could have been more traumatic, at least you are here and still in the game."

      "Truly, that is a problem and I'd like to be out, but people get trapped."

      "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 СКАЧАТЬ