[ SEVEN ].

SECRET SECRETCentral Intelligence Agency Langley, VirginiaFROM: Assistant Director For Administration Assistant Director For AdministrationFROM: 27 December 1964 1805 GMT 27 December 1964 1805 GMTSUBJECT : Guevara, Ernesto (Memorandum #5.) Guevara, Ernesto (Memorandum #5.) TO: Mr. Sanford T. Felter Mr. Sanford T. Felter Counselor To The President Room 637, The Executive Office Building Washington, D.C.By CourierIn compliance with Presidential Memorandum to The Director, Subject: "Ernesto 'Che' Guevara," dated 14 December 1964, the following information is furnished:1. (Reliability Scale Two) (From CIA sources in Bamako, Mali) SUBJECT met with President Modibo KEITA of Mali at 1105 GMT 26 December 1964 for one hour and fifteen minutes. No details of their conversation or identities of other (if any) personnel attending are available.2. (Reliability Scale Four) SUBJECT held a press conference at 1605 GMT 26 December, during which he expressed his belief that Africans and Cubans have a common goal in defeating U.S. Imperialism.

Howard W. O'Connor HOWARD W. O'CONNORSECRET [ EIGHT ].

Office of the Commander-in-Chief The Army of Argentina Edificio Libertador Buenos Aires, Argentina 1015 28 December 1964 Lieutenant General Pascual Angel Pistarini, the commander-in -chief of the Argentine Army, was sitting behind his huge, ornately carved desk, his back turned to it, his glistening riding boots resting on the sill of the window of his ninth-floor office, sipping a coffee as he looked out over the River Plate.

Pistarini, was a tall, slim, rather sharp-featured man of forty-six. He had intelligent blue eyes (his maternal grandmother was German), and when he smiled-rarely-he displayed a set of teeth so perfect some people suspected they were not his. They were. He attributed this to his mother, who had listened to her mother, and fed all of her five children as much milk as possible, well into their teenage years. This was not common in Argentina, where most children went from their mother's breast to coffee, but Pistarini's children were fed cow's milk and they all had fine teeth.

What General Pistarini was thinking, when his aide-de-camp came into his office, was that he had made a serious error in agreeing to take the parade of the First Regiment of Cavalry-the Husares de Pueyrredon; named after the Pampas estanciero estanciero who had turned two-hundred-odd gauchos into cavalrymen and run the English out of Buenos Aires-at Campo de Mayo that afternoon. who had turned two-hundred-odd gauchos into cavalrymen and run the English out of Buenos Aires-at Campo de Mayo that afternoon.

It was hot as hell, and humid, and after sitting for an hour or so on a horse in the afternoon sun, he was going to be sunburned, dehydrated, and his fresh-from-the-dry-cleaner's-uniform sweat-soaked.

There was nothing that could be done about it now, it was too late, and he consoled himself with thinking that it was his duty, as a cavalry officer, as former colonel commanding, and commander-in-chief.

"Mi general?" Teniente Coronel Ricardo Fosterwood, his aide-de-camp, called from the office door. Teniente Coronel Ricardo Fosterwood, his aide-de-camp, called from the office door.

Pistarini waved him into the office without turning around or taking his boots off the windowsill.

"Mi general, el Coronel Stumpff is in the office, and asks to see you." Stumpff is in the office, and asks to see you."

Colonel Hans-Friedrich Stumpff was the military attache of the German embassy.

"Do I have an appointment with him?" Pistarini asked.

"No, sir."

"Can't you deal with him?"

"Sir, he apologizes for the intrusion, but says that it is important that he see you personally at your earliest convenience."

"Give me a minute, then send him in. Bring Bring him in. And after three minutes, if he is still here, remind me of a meeting." him in. And after three minutes, if he is still here, remind me of a meeting."

"Yes, sir."

Pistarini reluctantly took his boots off the windowsill, turned around, opened a drawer in his desk, put the coffee cup and saucer into it, and then opened one of the folders on his desk and pretended to read it.

"Mi general," Fosterwood announced, Fosterwood announced, "El Coronel "El Coronel Stumpff." Stumpff."

Colonel Stumpff marched into the office, came to attention, and saluted.

He was in uniform. Pistarini privately thought the two-tone blue uniform of German officers made them look like pilots of some third-rate airline.

Pistarini returned the salute.

"Thank you for seeing me, mi general," mi general," Stumpff said in Spanish. Stumpff said in Spanish.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Colonel," Pistarini replied, then, extending his hand, switched to German. "Wie geht's, Hans?" "Wie geht's, Hans?"

The German was another inheritance from his maternal grandmother, who to her dying day proclaimed that German was the only language of precision, and that someone who did not speak German could not consider himself educated.

"Gut, und Sie?" Stumpff said, smiling, as he shook Pistarini's hand. Stumpff said, smiling, as he shook Pistarini's hand.

Then he reached into his briefcase and took from it a large manila envelope. He opened this and took from it a smaller, letter-size envelope and handed it to Pistarini.

"What have we here?" Pistarini asked.

"It was in this morning's diplomatic pouch, General," Stumpff said.

Pistarini tore open the crisp, expensive embossed envelope.

Schloss Greiffenberg Marburg an der Lahn22 December 1964 Teniente General Don Pascual Angel Pistarini Commander-in-Chief Argentine Army Edificio Libertador Buenos AiresBy Hand of Officer CourierMy dear friend Pascual:I had the privilege of receiving here over the weekend my dear American friend Sanford T. Felter, and Lieutenant Colonel Craig W. Lowell, U.S. Army.It came out that Colonel Lowell will shortly be visiting the military attache of the U.S. Embassy in Buenos Aires, and I would regard it as a personal service if you would receive him while he was there, and perhaps even see that he has the opportunity to sample some of your magnificent Argentine beef.Colonel Lowell, as you and me, is a Cavalry /Armor officer and very nearly as good a polo player as you are. I'm sure you will find that you have many interests in common.With the warmest possible fraternal greetings, and my most sincere best wishes for a joyous Christmas and a happy and prosperous New Year, Von Greiffenberg VON GREIFFENBERG.

Pistarini's eyebrows rose, and his lips pursed thoughtfully as he read the letter.

"It was very kind of you to bring me this, Hans," he said.

"Not at all, General."

"May I offer you cup of coffee?"

"I won't take any more of your valuable time, mi General."

"Well, if I can't get you to change your mind, then auf Wedersehn, auf Wedersehn, Hans," Pistarini said, putting out his hand. Hans," Pistarini said, putting out his hand.

Fosterwood showed Stumpff out of office and then returned. Pistarini held out the letter to him. Fosterwood read it.

"I don't believe I know this gentleman, sir," he said.

"It would perhaps be a good idea, Ricardo, if you remembered that my good friend Lieutenant General Count Peter-Paul von Greiffenberg is the chief of West German intelligence. Sometimes knowing odd little facts like that can be useful."

Fosterwood flushed.

"Yes, sir."

"Call the American attache-what's his name?"

"Colonel McGrory, sir."

"No. Not him. McGrory's that Irish Air Force idiot. The other one."

"Colonel Harris, sir. The American army army attache." attache."

"Right. See when he expects this Colonel Lowell."

"Yes, sir."

"From today, any invitations to the American military will include Colonel Lowell."

"Yes, sir."

"Call the Circulo Militar and have them prepared to put Colonel Lowell in the best available of the general officer's suites."

"Yes, sir."

"And call SIDE and see what they have on Colonel Lowell, in addition to what you're going to find out for me by checking the U.S. Army Register." SIDE was the acronym of the Argentine Secret Intelligence Service.

"Yes, sir."

"And have the sergeant bring me another coffee, would you, please?"

"Yes, sir. Sir, may I ask a question?"

"Certainly."

"Would it be helpful for me to know something about the other gentleman in the letter, Senor Felter?"

"It certainly would," Pistarini said. "I'll tell you all I know about him. He's an American, with obvious ties to the intelligence community, and with many high-placed friends around the world. That's it. That's all anyone seems to know about him."

"Central Intelligence Agency, sir?"

"I don't think so," Pistarini said. "I once had a conversation with a senior CIA official. The name Felter came up, and I was left with the distinct impression that he is cordially detested by the CIA."

"Perhaps that was disinformation, sir."

"I don't think so. My CIA official had too much to drink to try to be clever in that way. He really hates Senor Felter, whoever he is."

[ NINE ].

123 Brookwood Lane Ozark, Alabama 1250 31 December 1964 "Boy," Liza Wood said as she opened the door to find Lieutenant and Mrs. Jacques Portet standing there, "that was a quick honeymoon."

"Jack has to report back on the second-"

"The second is Saturday," Liza interrupted.

"Yeah, I know," Marjorie said. "So we figured since we had to be here anyway, we'd go to the New Year's party at the officers' club-"

"On your honeymoon?" honeymoon?" Liza interrupted incredulously. Liza interrupted incredulously.

"-so we drove up here, and are stopping here first, even before we get a motel and pick up Jack's dress blues at the uniform store, because we want you to go with us."

Liza motioned them into the kitchen without replying.

"You look like you could use a drink, Jack," she said.

"Thank you ever so kindly," Jack said.

Allan came running into the kitchen, looked up at Jack, and, visibly disappointed, asked, "Johnny?"

"Shit," Liza muttered, then squatted beside her son.

"Mommy's told you, darling, that Johnny had to go away, and that it will be a long time before we see him again."

"Shit," Allan said, kicked at her, and ran out of the room.

Liza looked at Marjorie and Jack but said nothing. She went to one of the cupboards and opened it.

"Scotch for you, Jack, right?"

"Please."

"Marjorie?"

"Why not? Thank you."

Liza made the drinks and handed them to them.

"Now, where were we? Oh, yeah. As I remember, there were three parts to your statement requiring a reply. First, there's absolutely no reason to get a motel. There's plenty of room here."

"We couldn't do that," Marjorie protested.

"Why not? The honeymoon's over, isn't it?"

"No, as a matter of fact, it's not. But I told my mother Jack and I would take a motel, and if she found out we were here with you, her feelings would be hurt."

"The invitation remains open," Liza said. "Statement two. Based on my own painful experience as an army wife, if the uniform place promised the uniform today, it won't be ready."

"I don't know," Marjorie said. "My mother said she would check on it. That may inspire them to keep their promise to have it ready."

"RHIP, right?" Liza asked, shaking her head.

"Excuse me?" Jack said.

"Rank Hath Its Privileges," Liza said.

"Really, is that what they say?" Jack said, amused.

"Boy, has he got a lot to learn," Liza said.

"He'll have a very good teacher," Marjorie said.