It was evident even before she opened her mouth that the receptionist didn't understand a word he had said, but she made it official: "Excuse me?"

"My father, my beauty," Jack said in French, "wishes to see the ambassador. Be a good girl and tell him we're here, won't you?"

It was equally evident that the receptionist had only a distant acquaintance with the French language.

Captain Portet laid a business card on her counter. It identified him as the Chief Pilot of Air Congo, 473 Boulevard de Antwerp, Leopoldville.

The receptionist studied it.

"I'll be right back," she said, and got up from her desk. She turned and added, a bit triumphantly, "S'il vous plait." "S'il vous plait."

"Merci, mademoiselle," Captain Portet said. Captain Portet said.

A young black man in a suit came into the reception area a minute later.

"How may I help you?" he asked in English.

"You're not the ambassador," Captain Portet said, not very pleasantly, in Swahili. "I wish to see the ambassador, and I am getting tired of waiting."

Father Lunsford, having figured out what was going on, chimed in.

"You are dealing with the chief pilot of Air Congo here, my good friend," he said.

"Chief," the young man said in Swahili, "I will inform his excellency that you are here."

The ambassador, a squat, very black man in his fifties, appeared two minutes later. He smiled broadly at Captain Portet, then came around the counter with his arms spread wide.

"My dear friend!" he said in Swahili. "How good it is to see you!"

He kissed both of Captain Portet's cheeks. He turned to Jack. "And the fruit of the lion's loins!"

He kissed Jack.

"Chief, you are looking well," Father said in Swahili.

The ambassador kissed Father.

He looked at Colonel Felter and CWO Finton and smiled, but did not kiss either one of them.

"What may I do for you?"

"I need a small favor," Captain Portet said. "I need to send a message to a mutual friend of ours, and, to be discreet, I do not wish to send it through commercial channels. I thought you might be able to help me."

He handed him a sheet of paper: His Excellency, Lt. Gen Joseph Desire Mobutu Chief of Staff, the Congolese ArmyLeopoldvilleMy Dear Joseph:I have the price for that investment you are considering. Jacques and I are on our way home. Can you fit dinner with us into your schedule as soon as possible?With the warmest regards,Jean-Philippe Portet.

The ambassador read it.

"I was hoping you could send this using your diplomatic code," Captain Portet said in Swahili.

"It will be gone within the hour," the ambassador said.

"I very much appreciate your kindness."

"It is my pleasure. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, I don't think so," Captain Portet said. "Except-I hate to trouble you with something unimportant, Chief."

"Nonsense. What are friends for? What can I help you with?"

"These gentlemen need visas," Captain Portet said.

It took the ambassador about twenty seconds to decide that his orders from Leopoldville to subject all applications from Americans for visas to enter the Congo to very careful-and thus very lengthy-evaluation obviously did not apply to friends of a man who addressed General Mobutu by his Christian name.

"Of course," the ambassador said. "It will take just a minute, if you'd be good enough to wait."

[ THREE ].

Apartment B-14 Foster Garden Apartments Fayetteville, North Carolina 1620 12 January 1965 Mrs. Marjorie Portet was torn between joy at seeing her husband come through the door of their home and fury that he hadn't, as he had promised, telephoned her as soon as he knew what was going on.

Joy triumphed. She threw herself into his arms, and one thing led to another, and it was thirty minutes later before she raised the question about his unexpected appearance.

They were at the time on their new bed, and there had been proof that, due to an application of soap on various parts thereof, it no longer squealed in protest when subjected to vertical movements on the mattress.

"I thought you were going to be gone for five days," she said. "I was thinking of going to see my folks."

"You can go tomorrow," Jack said helpfully. "Actually, it's a pretty good idea. There's not much for you to do around here, is there?"

"Where are you going to be tomorrow?" she asked.

"On my way to the Congo," he said.

She didn't trust herself to speak. He interpreted this as a silent request for additional information.

"We're on the 8:20 Southern Airways flight to Atlanta; then the 12:10 Eastern flight to La Guardia-we're going to meet my father there; he's coming up from Miami. Then we take the 5:17 Pan American flight out of Kennedy to Amsterdam; and the 10:05 Air Congo flight to Leopoldville the next morning."

"Why do I suspect 'we're,' as in 'we're on the 8:20 Southern flight,' doesn't mean you and me?" Marjorie asked softly.

"Father and me, baby," Jack said. He saw the look on her face. "Hey, I'm a soldier. I go where they send me."

My God, Liza was right. I feel like screaming or weeping, or both.

"What are you going to do in the Congo?"

"Steal furniture, for one thing," he said, chuckling. "Or keep it from being stolen."

"What?" she asked incredulously.

"My father says we'll get a truck and get what we can-the best stuff-out of the house, call it personal stuff, and take it to KLM Air Freight at the airport and at least try to get it out of the Congo. Some of it's pretty nice, but I don't know where the hell it would fit in here."

"You're not going over there to steal furniture," Marjorie thought out loud.

"We're going to see Mobutu, and see if we can get him to help," Jack said.

"Your father, too?"

"Yeah. He was in Washington. He and Mobutu are pretty close."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Not long," he said. "A couple of days in Leopoldville, and a couple of days in Stanleyville."

"Stanleyville? You're not going back to Stanleyville? In God's name, why?"

"I want to introduce Father to people who can do us some good," Jack said. "And if there's anything left in the apartment, I'll bring it back with me to Leopoldville and ship it out of the Congo."

"For example?"

"Well, there's a Browning shotgun there," Jack replied. "I saw it when . . ." He paused, and then, obviously delighted with his wit, went on, ". . . I unexpectedly dropped in the last time. And my tennis racquets."

"My God!" Marjorie said.

"Hey, it's safe, baby, at least for the time being. Mike Hoare's mercenaries ran the Simbas out. And, come to think of it, probably stole everything that wasn't nailed down in the apartment."

"You'll be gone how long?"

"Two days to get there, five days there, two days to get back. I should be back on the twenty-second. We have have to be back on the twenty-sixth." to be back on the twenty-sixth."

"You have have to be back on the twenty-sixth?" to be back on the twenty-sixth?"

"Yeah, we're going to Argentina on the twenty-eighth," Jack said.

"Argentina? Isn't that strange? I can't remember ever hearing a word from you about Argentina." Isn't that strange? I can't remember ever hearing a word from you about Argentina."

"A lot of this just happened in Washington, baby."

He saw the look on her face.

"What?" he asked.

"What what?"

"What are you thinking?"

"How long are you going to be in Argentina?"

"About the same time, ten, twelve days," Jack said. "But why do I suspect that's not what you were thinking?"

"I was thinking I was going to miss you," Marjorie said.

What I was thinking was that I'm going to go out of my mind in the apartment, wondering where the hell you are, and whether I'm ever going to see you again, or whether Red Hanrahan and the chaplain will show up at the door here with uncomfortable looks on their faces.

"Hey, it's not as if I want to go," he said. "They're sending me."

You're not consciously lying, my darling, but that's not true. You want to go. Maybe you can't control it, but you want to go.

"I know, baby," she said. "Sorry."

She kissed him, and one thing led to another, and it was another thirty minutes before she got around to asking whether he was hungry, and did he want to eat in the apartment or go out.

[ FOUR ].

SECRET.

FROM: CIA LANGLEY 12 JANUARY 1965 1805 GMT.

TO: STATION CHIEF LeOPOLDVILLE.

SUBJECT: TRANSMISSION OF CIA MATERIAL.

MR. SANFORD T. FELTER, COUNSELOR TO THE PRESIDENT, WILL BE IN THE REPUBLIC OF CONGO ON A PRESIDENTIAL MISSION, ETA 15 JAN 65.

CIA WILL TRANSMIT CERTAIN CIA CLASSIFIED MATERIAL TO HIM VIA CIA COMMUNICATIONS. ON RECEIPT YOU WILL DECRYPT SAID MATERIAL AND FURNISH ONE COPY ONLY TO US MIL ATTACHe WHO WILL PASS TO MR. FELTER.

SHOULD MR. FELTER INITIATE CONTACT WITH YOU, YOU ARE DIRECTED TO PROVIDE WHATEVER ASSISTANCE HE ASKS FOR, TO INCLUDE ACCESS TO CIA CLASSIFIED MATERIAL. UNDER NO REPEAT NO CIRCUMSTANCES WILL YOU INITIATE CONTACT WITH MR. FELTER. CIA WILL BE ADVISED IMMEDIATELY OF ANY CONTACT INITIATED BY MR. FELTER AND OF ASSISTANCE REQUESTED AND FURNISHED.

FOR THE DIRECTOR:.

HOWARD W. O'CONNOR ASSISTANT DIRECTOR FOR ADMINISTRATION.

SECRET.

SECRETFROM SEC STATE WASH DC 12 JANUARY 1965 2110 GMTTO AMBASSADOR LeOPOLDVILLE (EYES ONLY)COUNSELOR TO THE PRESIDENT SANFORD T. FELTER WILL SHORTLY TRAVEL TO LeOPOLDVILLE AND POSSIBLY OTHER POINTS WITHIN THE REPUBLIC OF THE CONGO ON A MISSION ORDERED BY THE PRESIDENT. HE WILL BE ACCOMPANIED BY A PARTY OF THREE US ARMY OFFICERS. FELTER HAS PRESIDENTIALLY AUTHORIZED ACCESS TO DEPARTMENT OF STATE CLASSIFIED MATERIAL OF WHATEVER NATURE.CONTACT BETWEEN MR. FELTER AND US EMBASSY WILL BE THROUGH US ARMY ATTACHe UNLESS INITIATED BY MR. FELTER. FYI FELTER IS COLONEL, GSC, USARMY. FELTER IS AUTHORIZED ACCESS TO USEMBASSY COMMUNICATIONS FACILITIES AND MILATTACHe WILL BE DIRECTED TO PROVIDE WHATEVER ASSISTANCE HE REQUIRES, WHICH SPECIFICALLY INCLUDES USE OF AIRCRAFT UNDER CONTROL OF MILATTACHe. MILATTACHe WILL ALSO SERVE AS CONTACT BETWEEN FELTER AND CIA STATION CHIEF. MILATTACHe WILL BE ADVISED OF FELTER'S ETA AND WILL MEET HIM AT LeOPOLDVILLE AIRPORT.SECSTATE WILL BE IMMEDIATELY INFORMED OF ANY CONTACT INITIATED BY FELTER, AND REASONS THEREFORE, AND ANY ACTIONS TAKEN BY US EMBASSY IN REGARD THERETO.FOR THE SECRETARY OF STATERONALD I. SPIERS, ADMIN ASST TO SEC STATE [ FIVE ].

Schipol International Airport Amsterdam, The Netherlands 1000 14 January 1965 Captain Jean-Phillipe Portet, chief pilot of Air Congo, boarded the Boeing 707 that was Air Congo's Flight 2117, nonstop service to Leopoldville as a passenger, but after stowing his briefcase in the overhead compartment, walked toward the cockpit and motioned Jack to follow him.

The pilot, a Belgian, Captain Henri Ratisse, and the first officer, Marcel Defarre, a Frenchman, turned in their seats.