He finally put the telephone in its cradle and walked to them, where he slumped into a wing-back chair.

"Well, Felter, what do you think?" Johnson asked.

"Think about what, sir?" Felter asked.

"For Christ's sake," Johnson flared, "give it to him!"

The Director of the Central Intelligence Agency handed Felter a radioteletype message. Felter began to read it.

"If you'd have given him that when I was on the phone," Johnson said rather nastily, "the three of us wouldn't be here staring at the goddamn table."

There was no response.

When he had finished reading the message, Felter looked at the President.

"Well, Felter?"

"It's surprising, sir," Felter said.

"Declarations of war are usually surprising, aren't they?" Johnson asked sarcastically, "and that's what that is, isn't it? A declaration of war?"

He snatched the message from Felter's hand and read from it.

" 'If one Vietnam is bad for the American imperialists, I say, give them three Vietnams,' " he read. "That's what the sonofabitch said, and he said it in front of the five hundred people at the . . . What the hell was it?"

"The Second Economic Seminar of Afro-Asian Solidarity, Mr. President," the Secretary of State furnished.

"And you didn't think he was going to cause trouble in Africa," the President said, and turned to the Director of the CIA, "and you told me it was your 'best assessment' that he wasn't."

"I can only repeat, Mr. President," the Director said, "that I think that speech was hyperbole, nothing more."

"That's what I find surprising, sir," Felter said. "There should no longer be any question that Guevara's going to act in Africa, but that he would go public with an announcement like that is surprising. The Soviets have announced they and their allies have no interest whatever in starting revolutionary activity anywhere in Africa."

"So you would say you think it's an announcement of a change in Soviet policy?"

"I think we have to move on that presumption," the Secretary of State said.

"I asked Felter," the President said. "That's why I sent for him, to hear what he he thinks." thinks."

"Yes, sir," the Secretary said.

"My gut reaction is that his mouth ran away with him," Felter said.

"I can't go along with that," the Secretary said.

"I'm still listening to Felter," the President said.

"He's been running around Africa, Mr. President," Felter said, "with the red carpet rolled out for him everywhere. I think it's entirely possible, and I don't mean to be flippant, that he's started to believe his own press releases."

"You want to explain that?" Johnson said.

"Mr. President, I've been thinking of who he really is . . . ," Felter said.

"The last I heard, he was the number-two man in Cuba, a wholly owned subsidiary of the Kremlin, Incorporated," the Secretary of State said.

"The only difference between Ernesto Guevara and a thousand other would-be revolutionaries is that he has had a chance to act out his fantasies," Felter said.

"I would not call him a 'would-be' revolutionary," the Secretary said. "I would call someone who took over a country ninety miles off our coast and just about handed it to Moscow a successful revolutionary."

"Fidel Castro took over Cuba," Felter said. "Not Guevara."

"Guevara was, is, his number two," the Secretary argued.

"I would say Fidel's brother, Ramon, is his number two," Felter said.

"For Christ's sake, let Felter talk," Johnson snapped. "I already know what you two think!"

"Guevara is a physician," Felter said. "He was Castro's medic in the mountains. Obviously, they became very close friends, which very possibly is because they were the only two intellectuals there. People tend to forget that Fidel has a Ph.D. He's very bright, and so is Guevara, and it's natural they would be comfortable with each other. And Castro, I suggest, is not above wallowing in the admiration of another intellectual who thinks he walks on water. But being a close friend of El Supremo El Supremo does not make somebody a skilled guerrilla." does not make somebody a skilled guerrilla."

"You're suggesting Guevara is incompetent?" the Director asked sarcastically.

"I hope to prove that soon in the Congo," Felter said. "That's why I want him kept alive, as a failed, incompetent dreamer, rather than the martyred guerrilla genius who was brutally murdered by fascist imperialists."

"So why has Castro been pushing his doctor doctor as the great guerrilla? " Johnson asked. as the great guerrilla? " Johnson asked.

"Probably because it makes Cuba's-Russia's-plans for South America, as well as Africa, seem international. And there are Communists in Argentina, and thinking that an Argentine, Guevara, is a successful revolutionary is great for their image, their morale."

Johnson grunted. "The basic question is why did he give this declaration of war speech?"

"He probably believes everything he says, as he probably believes he is a great guerrilla/revolutionary," Felter said. "And the red-carpet treatment he's been given by everybody-including the Chinese-has fed that misconception. I would personally be surprised if Castro, much less the Politburo, had any idea what he was going to say about three Vietnams. They don't want to alarm the rest of the world-they want to sneak up on it and hit it from behind."

"You really think he's a loose cannon?" Johnson asked.

"Yes, Mr. President," Felter said.

"How are things going in the Congo?"

"We're in the final stages of sending the team over there, Mr. President."

"Using Intercontinental Air Cargo, Ltd.?" the Secretary of State asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Felter said.

"Colonel Felter told me about that, Mr. Secretary," Johnson said, icily sarcastic. "And my Director of the Central Intelligence Agency feels that Intercontinental Air was a pretty good idea. Isn't that so, Mr. Director?"

"Yes, Mr. President," the Director said. "We expect to be working closely with Felter in that area."

"And I'll tell you something else, Mr. Secretary," Johnson said. "General Whatsisname, the head of the Army Security Agency, came to see me to tell me that Felter wanted one of his sergeants, and if I went along with that, the entire White House communications system was going to collapse like a house of cards. So I told him to break out the signal flags"-Johnson mimed someone waving signal flags-"because I had told Felter he could have anything he needed to get this job done, and I meant it." He paused. "I think that's what they call a parable. A little story with a message. Did you get the message, Mr. Secretary? "

"Yes, Mr. President," the Secretary said.

"That will be all, gentlemen," the President said. "Thank you very much for coming."

He was back on the telephone before they left the Oval Office.

[ FIVE ].

Stanleyville Air Field Stanleyville, Oriental Province Republic of the Congo 0940 10 March 1965 The newly repaired communications equipment in the control tower came to life twenty minutes earlier than expected. The telephone message from the Kamina Air Base to Colonel Supo's headquarters in Costermansville had been very brief: "ETA 1000 Your Time 10 March Poppa."

"Stanleyville, Intercontinental Air Four-nine-three."

The voice, although clipped metallically, was obviously that of Captain Jean-Philippe Portet.

Captain Jacques Portet of Air Simba, who was wearing a white polo shirt, white shorts, and knee-high white socks, reached over the camouflage fatigue uniform shoulder of Captain Weewili of the Congolese paratroops (known to the U.S. Army as Spec7 William Peters) and took the microphone.

"Intercontinental Nine-three, Stanleyville," he said in English.

"Nine-three is at flight level ten, five minutes west of your station. Approach and landing, please."

"Nine-three, the winds are negligible. I haven't the foggiest idea what the barometer says, but it's a beautiful day here in Stanleyville. You are cleared as number one to Runway Two-six. There is no other traffic."

"Understand number one to two-six," Captain Portet said, as Major George Washington Lunsford, who was wearing the camouflage fatigue uniform of a lieutenant colonel of Congolese paratroops touched Jack's arm and pointed out the hole where the control tower window had once been. The 707 was in sight.

Jack nodded, handed Peters the microphone, and started down the stairs from the control tower. Lunsford followed him.

Colonel Jean-Baptiste Supo was standing just outside the terminal building with a small group of officers and soldiers of the Congolese Army.

Sergeant Major Tesio Chil and Sergeant Paul Joe, Supo's driver and bodyguard, were really in the Congolese Army, but Major Jemima and Captain Tomas were not.

There were-and had been, since first light-two companies of Congolese infantry on the field. All roads past the airfield had been closed and would remain so until further orders. In addition, three-fourths of the infantrymen formed a perimeter guard around the field. The remaining troops would be used to push the 707 from where it would be stopped on the taxiway to a recently emptied hangar.

Pushing the 707 was going to be necessary because the three aircraft tractors once stationed at the field had all been vandalized by the Simbas, and the jet exhaust from the 707 would (a) almost certainly set the dry uncut grass near the hangars on fire and (b) very possibly blow one or both of the tin-sided and tin-roofed hangars down if they tried to taxi the aircraft.

Captain Portet set the 707 down smoothly a moment later, taxied to the terminal, and shut it down. A dozen Congolese soldiers pushed the stairs to the rear door. The stairs were mounted on a Chevrolet pickup truck, the engine, glass, and tires of which had also been vandalized by the Simbas.

Master Sergeant Thomas/Major Tomas had managed to get the hydraulics of the stairs themselves working again, and removed the shot-up tires. It now rolled on its rims, but it rolled.

The cargo door of the 707 opened, and Lieutenant Geoff Craig appeared at the door, in uniform, carrying a cut-down Remington 1100 12-gauge shotgun in his hand. He glanced around, made a "follow me" gesture with his hands, and started down the stairs. Everyone had more of less expected that, but no one expected that the first person to follow him would be a Green Beret just barely meeting minimum-height regulations, carrying an Uzi submachine gun, and wearing colonel's eagles on his collar points.

"Jesus," Major Lunsford/Lieutenant Colonel Dahdi said. "Felter! "

Lunsford was waiting at the foot of the steps at attention, his hand raised in a crisp salute, when Felter came down there.

"Lieutenant Colonel Dahdi, sir," he barked. "Welcome to Stanleyville. "

Felter returned the salute shaking his head.

"Let me guess, Colonel," Colonel," he said. "Daddy as in Father, right?" he said. "Daddy as in Father, right?"

"It's spelled Dee Ay Aich Dee Eye, sir," Father said. "It was Colonel Supo's idea."

"And who's that? The Good Humor Man?" Felter asked on spotting Jack in his white clothing.

"That's Captain Portet of Air Simba, Sir," Father said. "That "That was General Mobutu's idea." was General Mobutu's idea."

"And, just as soon as you found the time, you were going to tell me all about this, right?" Felter said.

"Sir, the commo and crypto equipment is on this airplane," Father said. "I was going to make all of this part of my very first report to the colonel, sir."

Felter looked at him a long moment, then smiled.

"Okay, that round goes to you, Father-excuse me, Dahdi," he said, then walked up to Colonel Supo and saluted.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, sir," he said in French. Then he spotted Doubting Thomas.

"Line them up, Sergeant," he said, gesturing at the team coming down the ladder.

"That's Major Major Tomas, Colonel," Thomas said. "All right, you guys. If anyone has a round in the chamber, get rid of it. And then form on me." Tomas, Colonel," Thomas said. "All right, you guys. If anyone has a round in the chamber, get rid of it. And then form on me."

When the team had cleared their weapons and were lined up, Tomas called attention, did an about-face, saluted, and barked, "Sir, the Detachment is formed."

Felter returned his salute, then saluted Supo again.

"U.S. Army Special Forces Detachment 17. At your orders, sir."

Supo returned the salute, then walked to the double rank and shook the hand of each man.

He walked back toward Felter.

"Okay, the parade's over," Thomas barked, hands on hips. "You know the drill. Get the aircraft unloaded."

"How long will you be with us, Colonel?" Supo asked.

"I'm going back with the airplane," Felter said. "But I wanted to bring them here to you, myself."

"How long will it take you to unload the aircraft?"

"In practice at Fort Bragg, they did it in forty-four minutes, twenty seconds," Felter said.

"But you will have time for lunch?"

"Of course," Felter said. "Very kind of you, sir."

Captain Portet of Intercontinental Air came down the ladder and put his arm around the shoulders of Captain Portet of Air Simba.