"I can think of someone to manage it," he said. "And if you're not asking too much, perhaps I can even come up with a group to take it off your hands."

"I would be grateful if you could, Joseph," Captain Portet said.

"Nonsense, Jean-Philippe," Mobutu said. "We have been friends for a long time. Friends help one another, no?"

Particularly, Jack thought, unkindly, Jack thought, unkindly, when the helper, in helping the helpee, gets to buy something like Air Simba at a distress price, less fifty percent. when the helper, in helping the helpee, gets to buy something like Air Simba at a distress price, less fifty percent.

And then he remembered what had happened in the casino in Baden-Baden just before he'd gotten his draft notice. His parents had been on vacation there, and he'd had a forty-eight-hour lay-over in Brussels and he'd driven down to join them.

After an initial run of luck playing vingt-et-un, he'd drawn a king to a ten and a two, and gone bust. He had gone through not only the money he had had in his pocket but two monthly pay-checks from Air Simba.

When he stood up and turned from the table, his father had been standing behind him. He had been so concentrated on the cards that he hadn't been aware of it.

"Been there long?" he'd asked.

"Long enough," his father had said, and handed him a drink of scotch. "I thought you probably would need this."

"To precede a lecture on the price of gambling?"

"Hey, not only wasn't I dealing the cards, or holding you down in your chair, but you're a big boy now. If you want to go bust trying to break the bank at Baden-Baden, that's your business. "

"Sorry, Dad," he'd said, genuinely contrite. "I don't like making an ass of myself with people-especially you-watching."

"You want to know what you did wrong?" his father had asked.

"Gamble?"

"There's nothing wrong with gambling-life is a gamble. But what you haven't learned is when to quit. When the cards are running against you, you have to take what you've got left, and get up from the table. That leaves you with a stake for the next time you sit down to play."

That's what the old man is doing here, knowing when to quit, and walking away from this game with a stake-maybe a little one, but a stake-to play again, this time with the CIA.

Dr. Dannelly and Mr. Finton came out of the house a few minutes later.

"About ready for lunch, Joseph?" Captain Portet asked. "And where would you like to eat? Here, or in the house?"

Mobutu didn't reply.

Finton came off the patio and walked toward them; Dr. Dannelly stayed on the patio.

Mobutu, without a word, got up and walked across the lawn to the house, then followed Dannelly inside.

"Noki," Captain Portet called out in Swahili. "Lunch, here, whenever you're ready."

Noki and Nimbi had just finished setting a table when Dannelly and Mobutu came out of the house.

With Dannelly following him, Mobutu walked directly across the lawn to the luncheon table and sat down at the head of it. Dannelly sat down beside him. Mobutu signaled for Noki to get him a beer, then smiled and waved at Father Lunsford, Felter, Finton, and the Portets to join him.

Jean-Philippe Portet thought: The first time Joseph Desire Mobutu sat at my table, he was genuinely surprised at the invitation, and was made uneasy by the choices he was going to have to make between three forks, three spoons, and two knives. And I told him what my father had told me-if you don't know which fork to use, watch your host-and he was grateful. The first time Joseph Desire Mobutu sat at my table, he was genuinely surprised at the invitation, and was made uneasy by the choices he was going to have to make between three forks, three spoons, and two knives. And I told him what my father had told me-if you don't know which fork to use, watch your host-and he was grateful.

But of course, he was then Sergeant Major Mobutu of the Force Publique, and he's now Lieutenant General Mobutu, chief of staff of the Congolese Army. Now he sits at the head of my table-any table in the Congo-and doesn't have to worry about his manners.

"Sit by me, Major," Mobutu said to Lunsford, pointing to the chair across from Dannelly.

"And where would you have me sit, Joseph?" Captain Portet asked.

Mobutu looked at him coldly, but then smiled.

"Am I in your chair, Jean-Philippe?" he asked.

"If you are at my table as my old friend, you are," Captain Portet said. "If you are sitting there as chief of staff of the Congolese Army, you're not. The chief of staff, like a 250-kilo gorilla, can sit wherever he wants to."

A look of alarm-My God, is Portet going to make Mobutu angry now?-flickered across Felter's usually unreadable face.

Mobutu smiled, but there was no telling what the smile meant.

"In that case, let me say something to Colonel Felter as one soldier to another," Mobutu said. "And then we can have our lunch."

He looked at Dannelly, then at Felter.

"Your ambassador-I mentioned his French leaves something to be desired-apparently did not make it clear to President Kasavubu what he was proposing," Mobutu said. "He gave him the impression the U.S. government wanted to send troops here. That's obviously out of the question, and Kasavubu told him so. The Congolese Army is perfectly capable of dealing with the present emergency, and any emergency in the future, including the Cuban Guevara. That is not to say the Congolese Army might not find it useful to have the assistance, in a purely training capacity, of someone with the expertise of Major Lunsford, and with several caveats, I have no problem with that."

"What are the caveats, General?" Felter asked.

"First, that it not appear that President Kasavubu has changed his mind. He is a strong-willed man, who-as you well know, Jean-Philippe-has great difficulty admitting he has ever made a mistake."

"That's certainly true, Joseph," Captain Portet said.

"So, unfortunately, we are going to have to keep this purely military decision from him, you understand?"

"Yes, of course," Felter said.

"That may be putting the cart in front of the horse. I would decide that your trainers, trainers, Colonel Felter, would be of use to the Congolese Army only if Colonel Supo agrees that they would be of use to Colonel Felter, would be of use to the Congolese Army only if Colonel Supo agrees that they would be of use to him him-"

"Colonel Supo?" Felter interrupted.

"He's in charge of cleaning out the remaining insurgents in Oriental, Equatorial, and Kivu Provinces," Mobutu said. "He's already met Major Lunsford and Jacques. And second, it has to be clearly understood that your people would serve at Colonel Supo's orders, and only at his pleasure."

"Agreed," Felter said immediately.

"Then I suggest that Major Lunsford and Jacques meet with Colonel Supo as soon as possible," Mobutu said. "He's in Stanleyville, or perhaps Costersmanville."

"The army attache has an airplane, an L-23, at his disposal," Felter said. "Would you have any objection, General, if Jacques and Major Lunsford were to fly there using it?"

Mobutu thought that over before replying.

"Would there be room for Dr. Dannelly and one of my aides?"

"Sure," Jack said.

Why is he sending Dannelly? So that he can report back what Supo said? His aide could do that. Maybe, even probably, to tell Supo that he really has the power to say no.

"Tomorrow morning?" Mobutu asked. "Say, eight o'clock at the airport."

Felter nodded.

"Then it is done," Mobutu said. "And we can have our lunch."

He started to get up from the table.

"Sit there, Joseph," Jean-Philippe Portet said. "I'll sit here."

He sat at the other end of the table.

Jack started to reach for his beer, when he saw that Dr. Dannelly's head was bowed in prayer. With a quick look at Mr. Finton, he saw that he was also praying a silent grace, which didn't surprise him. But then he glanced at Mobutu, wondering if Mobutu would honor the praying of the others.

One hand on his beer bottle, the chief of staff of the Congolese Army had his head bowed in prayer, too.

XII.

[ ONE ].

The Residence of the Ambassador of the United States Leopoldville, Republic of the Congo 1845 16 January 1965 "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Ambassador, " Colonel Aaron Jacobs said as he walked into the ambassador's study. Another man, also in civilian clothing, followed him into the room.

Jacobs was a tall, muscular man who wore his hair in a crew cut. The ambassador was tall and thin and wore rimless spectacles. A pleasant-looking man in his thirties, who looked as if he had played baseball, not football, in college sat in a leather armchair, a drink in his hand.

"Anytime, Aaron," the ambassador said, smiling. "You know that. Should I run the CIA away, or is he cleared for whatever you want to say?"

"I thought those fellows were cleared for everything," Jacobs said. "How are you, Charley?"

"Aaron. Hey, John," the CIA Leopoldville station chief replied.

The CIA station chief knew Major John D. Anderson, one of the assistant military attaches, well. Anderson, a tanned, lithe man in his early thirties, was an assistant military attache. He was the senior of the two army aviators assigned to the embassy, and thought of as "the embassy pilot."

"Charley," Anderson said.

"What's on your mind, Aaron?" the ambassador asked.

"I just had a call from Mr. . . . Colonel . . . Felter," Jacobs said.

"We were just talking about him," the CIA station chief said.

"He wants to go to Stanleyville and/or Costersmanville tomorrow morning," Jacobs said. "In our airplane."

"Did he say why?" Charley, the CIA station chief, asked.

"Uh-uh. What he said was that he wanted to go to Stanleyville and/or Costersmanville tomorrow morning, and would I make sure the airplane was ready at half past seven."

"And you said?" the ambassador asked.

"That you, Mr. Ambassador-I didn't mention you, Charley-were planning to go to Bujumbura, and that I didn't think you would have any problem with dropping him off at Bujumbura, that it's not at all far from Costersmanville."

"And he said?"

"He said that he was sorry but he was going to need the airplane for two or three days, and that there wouldn't be room to take you along, Mr. Ambassador."

"The sonofabitch!" Charley said.

"He's blessed by Lyndon himself," the ambassador said. "You saw the message-'milattache is directed to provide whatever he requires, which specifically includes use of aircraft'-or words to that effect. So fly him to wherever he wants to go, Aaron. And try to smile."

"Sir, I'm not sure about this-it was only after he hung up that the hairs on my neck started to rise-but I'm not sure he wants me to fly the aircraft."

"Who would fly it?"

"Well, he's staying with Captain Portet, I saw him at the airport. With his son and two other people," Jacobs said.

"The son's in the Army, right?" Charley asked, but it was a statement. "The long arm of the draft board caught up with him way over here in Darkest Africa."

"He's a pilot," the ambassador said. "He's a nice kid, who suffers from erectis permanitis." He waited for the expected chuckle, then went on. "Do you think he's going to fly it?"

"He couldn't be an Army aviator, Mr. Ambassador," Major Anderson said.

"Why not?"

"He was drafted a year ago," Colonel Jacobs answered for him. "That means he was an enlisted man. Three months in basic training, then six in Officer Candidate School. Flight training- and they usually don't send kids straight from OCS to flight school. Or if he went into the warrant officer program, to learn to fly choppers, that's eight months or so. He's not an Army aviator, I'll bet on that."

"So what you're asking me is what do you do if you go to the field and find that either Captain Portet or his son wants to fly our airplane?"

"Yes, sir."

"First of all, I don't think you should go to the field," the ambassador said. "John is the senior pilot-responsible for the airplane. Have him at the field at half past seven."

"Yes, sir," Colonel Jacobs and Major Anderson said, almost in unison.

"You will introduce yourself as the embassy pilot, John, and inform Colonel Felter that you are prepared to fly him anywhere he wants to go."

"Yes, sir."

"If it develops that he wishes either Captain Portet or his son to fly the aircraft, after (a) inquiring into their qualifications to fly an airplane of that type, which may be, probably are, nonexistent; and (b) making them aware of the extraordinarily hazardous flight conditions in the Congo, you will offer no further objections or comments. They will take the airplane-" the ambassador said.

"Which, with a little bit of luck, will never be heard from again," Charley said.

The ambassador gave him a dirty look.