"Which, he suggests, have put you on Dr. Dannelly's shitlist."

"Which is important, Jack," Lowell went on, "because Colonel Felter has just learned that Mobutu threw our ambassador out of his office when he asked for his help with Operation Earnest."

"Shit!" Jack said. "That sounds like Dannelly. And he's got Mobutu's ear."

"My original thought was to send you there, with Father, to talk to Mobutu," Felter said.

"Colonel, I'm sorry, but if Dannelly is involved, me showing up would only make matters worse. I . . . uh . . . once told him, in a hotel lobby-"

"To go fuck himself," Felter interrupted. "We know." He paused. "Your father has volunteered to go to Leopoldville and speak with Mobutu."

"You told him what's going on?" Jack asked.

Felter nodded.

"What do you think?" Lowell asked.

"If anybody can get Joseph to change his mind, he can."

"Would you recommend that he go alone? Or that you go with him?"

"If Dannelly's going to be there, alone," Jack said without hesitation.

Felter nodded.

"We may have one more hole card," Felter said. "I don't know if we'll get to play it."

"Sir?"

"Mr. Finton is a highly respected member of the Church of Latter-Day Saints," Felter said. "A bishop."

"He's coming to lunch, Jack," Lowell said. "We want you and your dad to try to guess how well he would get along with Dr. Dannelly. Separate opinions, please. Don't compare notes."

"Yes, sir."

[ SEVEN ].

Room 914 The Hotel Washington Washington, D.C.

1250 11 January 1965 One of the rooms opening off the sitting room was a conference room with a huge mahogany table and a dozen red leather-upholstered captain's tables. Its windows, too, overlooked the roof of the U.S. Mint, with the White House visible farther down Pennsylvania Avenue.

The table was now set for lunch, and there were two rolling steam carts standing against one wall. Pappy Hodges, Father Lunsford, Geoff Craig, Enrico de la Santiago, and Johnny Oliver were sitting at the table.

"You didn't have to wait for us," Felter said as he led Lowell and the Portets into the room. "Help yourselves, and let's get this started. We have a lot to talk about."

He led by example by raising the chrome domes of the steam tables and picking up a plate. There was a tureen of clam chowder, bowls of vegetables, and platters of baked ham and roast beef.

Everybody but de la Santiago had, so to speak, gone through the chow line when Chief Warrant Officer W-4 James L. Finton came into the room. He was a lithe, sharp-featured man in his early forties, wearing a gray suit, a crisp white shirt, and a dark blue necktie.

Without a word, he went to the windows, closed the drapes, and then went to the steam tables. He bent over, raised the linen drapes on one table, peered under the table intently, and then repeated the process on the second table. Finally, he took a plate and helped himself to food.

"ASA swept this room at ten, Colonel," he announced as he sat down. "Anyone been in here alone since?"

Felter shook his head, no.

"Then I would say we're secure," Finton said.

"Thank you," Felter said.

Finton bowed his head, put his fingertips together, and closed his eyes. He was obviously saying grace.

Then he opened his eyes and reached for his knife and fork.

Felter laid down his soup spoon and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.

"I'm going to go over where we are and where we're going," he said. "I suppose Argentina's as good a place as any to start. Lowell and Lunsford did a good job down there; the Argentines are on board. The next step is to get the L-23 down there. Finton is working on finding us a Spanish-speaking Army aviator who will be the pilot down there, diverting, it is to be hoped, attention from de la Santiago. We also need one with a Top Secret security clearance-not for Top Secret/Earnest; this guy will be told as little as possible about that, but because it's a requirement for anyone assigned to an embassy. So the pilot may not be immediately available. Oliver, Portet, and de la Santiago will fly it down there, taking with them Warrant Officer Zammoro from Bragg, Master Sergeant Thomas, and one of Father's guys . . ."

He paused and looked at Lunsford.

"Sergeant First Class Otmanio," Lunsford furnished.

". . . who, it turns out, speaks Spanish Harlem Spanish," Felter finished. "Zammoro was a major in the Cuban army, making it possible he's friendly with some Argentine army officers. As a young officer, he went to a couple of schools down there. Which is why he's going. He may stay, but right now, the only ones we know that are going to stay down there are de la Santiago and Otmanio."

He paused again.

"Questions?"

There were no questions.

"So what we need from you, Pappy, is to make sure the L-23 is all right to make the trip. And lay out the flight plan. And we have to get de la Santiago rated as an L-23 pilot, the sooner the better."

"Can we talk about that?" Pappy asked.

Felter made a come-on-with-it gesture with his hand and returned to his clam chowder.

"These hurry-up, rate-them-yesterday, screw-the-regulations, Mickey Mouse pilot-qualification courses of yours are about to blow up in your face," Pappy said.

"How's that, Pappy?" Lowell asked. "What we've been trying to do is comply with the regulations. And none of these people learned to fly last week. So what's the problem?"

"Geoff learned to fly last week," Pappy said.

"You're saying he's not qualified?" Felter asked.

"Can he fly twin-engine airplanes? Yeah, he can. But he was sent to Rucker to learn to fly helicopters. Students are expressly forbidden to take private instruction. Geoff started taking private fixed-wing lessons about the day after he got to Rucker, and people know about that. They also know that half the time, Lowell's Cessna is at the Ozark airport, and that Geoff is flying it, which is also against the rules. Students are forbidden to fly private aircraft while they're students. And those rules were always enforced. Until now."

"Well, that's water under the dam, isn't it?" Lowell asked. "I thought you were about to give him his L-23 check ride?"

"I am," Pappy said.

"When you pass him, he's gone from Rucker, right? So what's the problem?"

"They also know that Jack, who last week was a PFC, and is now Bellmon's son-in-law, suddenly shows up as an officer and gets himself rated in just about everything in a Mickey Mouse course."

"Okay," Felter said. "And?"

"And now Enrico shows up, to go through another Mickey Mouse course to get himself rated."

"Go on," Felter said.

"I happen to know there have been bitches to Bellmon," Pappy said.

"General Bellmon (a) has orders to give us whatever we need and (b) knows why all of this was necessary," Felter replied.

"And, being the good guy Bob Bellmon is, he's prepared to swallow the gossip that he's giving special treatment to his son-in -law. That hurts him."

"Yeah, I know," Lowell said.

"And Bellmon, of course, can't tell the people who asked him what the hell is going on what's behind it, and since they don't know, they can't explain it to the guys who have been bitching to them, who are understandably pissed. And sooner or later, probably sooner, one of them-maybe three or four of them-are going to go to the IG about it. Then what?"

"Oh, goddamn it!" Lowell said. "I never thought of that."

The inspector generals of the Army, almost invariably experienced senior officers, are in a sense ombudsmen. They investigate complaints of unfairness, illegality, and so on. They are on the staff of the local commander, but have the authority- and the duty-should the local commander not rectify a situation to their satisfaction, or be at fault himself, to take the issue to higher headquarters, and ultimately to the inspector general of the Army, who takes his orders only from the chief of staff of the Army.

The problem was not that anything Felter had done, including what Pappy called the "Mickey Mouse special courses," was illegal-he was acting with the authority of the President, the Commander-in-Chief; that was all the authority he needed.

But the inspector general at Rucker would certainly investigate allegations that officers were being rated as aviators without following the regulations prescribing precisely how this should be done, and further, perhaps reluctantly, but with no less dedication, that the commanding general's son-in-law had been given special treatment.

That meant that at least the IG at Rucker would have to be told of Operation Earnest. It was possible, perhaps even likely, because of the allegations of special treatment of Bellmon's son-in-law, that he would feel he had to make a report to the IG of the Third U.S. Army, in whose area Fort Rucker was located, and/or to Continental Army Command (CONARC), which supervised all training within the Continental United States. And the IGs at Third Army and CONARC might feel they were obliged to bring the IG of the Army into the loop.

The rule of thumb-too often proven true-for classified matters is that the more people who knew a secret, the greater the chance it would be compromised. It was not that any of the IGs would have loose mouths, but there were other people involved: The junior officers, noncoms, and civilian clerks who would handle the paperwork would also learn what was going on, and experience proved this would be tantamount to unlocking the door on a secret.

"I'm not finished," Pappy said. "The L-23 Jack and I picked up at Wichita was supposed to go to the commanding general of III Corps at Fort Hood," Pappy said. "He's found out he's not going to get it, and he's highly pissed."

"How do you know that?" Lowell asked.

"His aviation officer is an old pal of mine," Pappy said. "He called me up and said, 'Pappy, my boss found out you stole his airplane from Wichita, and he wants it back.'"

"What did you say?"

"I told him I didn't know what he was talking about, and he said, 'Bullshit' and hung up."

"Great," Lowell said.

Felter stopped his spoon halfway between his bowl of clam chowder and his mouth.

"This will have to be nipped in the bud," Felter said calmly. "At both ends. Finton, call Mary Margaret and have her call the chief's office and ask for an appointment for me at his earliest convenience, and have her prepare a letter, on White House stationery, with the 'Counselor to the President' signature block on it, addressed to the commanding generals of Rucker and III Corps stating that Colonel Lowell is dealing with a classified operation at my direction."

"I'll go back to the office and do it myself, sir," Finton said.

"No, I need you for something else here. Call Mary-Margaret."

"Yes, sir," Finton said, and got up from the table.

"What did you fly up here, Pappy?"

"A Mohawk. I wanted to be able to get home for supper."

"I want you to take Lowell to Hood, and stick around there until he sees the III Corps Commander, and then take him to Rucker."

Pappy nodded his acceptance of the order.

Felter finished putting the spoonful of clam chowder in his mouth.

Waiters were just about finished clearing the table.

"You and Pappy might as well head for Hood, Craig," Felter said. "There's really no reason for you to sit in on this."

"Was that an order, or is it open for discussion?" Lowell asked.

Felter visibly thought that over.

"You can stay, which means you won't be able to see the III Corps CG today."

"I don't know," Lowell said. "If I was the III Corps CG, and my aide told me there was a light colonel from the White House who wanted to see me at my earliest convenience, I don't think I'd make him wait until tomorrow morning."

"Let's hope you're right," Felter said. He raised his voice slightly. "Okay, everybody but Captain Portet, Lowell, Finton . . ."

He looked at Jack Portet for a moment, and then went on: ". . . and Lieutenant Portet, take your coffee into the living room."

When they had filed out, Felter waited patiently until the waiters had finished clearing the table and had pushed the steam tables out of the room. Then he went to the door and closed it.

"Talking to Captain Portet about Mobutu was worth the effort getting him up here, Jim," Felter began.

Finton nodded but said nothing.

"What do you know about Dr. Dannelly?" Felter asked.

"One of the CIA backgrounds said that he is close to Mobutu," Finton said, "that's all."

"Captain Portet tells me that he is very close to Mobutu," Felter said. "And that he is a devout member of the Church of Latter-Day Saints."

"That wasn't in any of the CIA backgrounds," Finton said.

"Captain Portet also tells me that without the approval of Dr. Dannelly, it is unlikely that Mobutu will change his mind about helping us to get around Kasavubu's refusal to let us operate over there."