The Hamlet Warning (3 page)

“I’ve been there,” Robertson said.

He remembered how it had been, when he visited Guantánamo as a lieutenant commander on a battle-wagon, the liberty parties crossing the bay by launch to Caimanera and the railroad, then the two-hour jolting ride on wooden seats, naked children running alongside at every hamlet, fighting over coins tossed out the open windows by the sailors and marines. And he remembered Guantánamo City in Batista’s Cuba, dirty, poverty-stricken, baked in the sun, hopeless.

“Somewhere along in there,” Ogden said, “Loomis made contact with some of Fidel Castro’s rebels and was recruited.”

“He had leftist leanings?”

“Idealistic, perhaps, but not left. If you remember, Mr. President, our own State Department also was fooled to some extent by Castro’s intentions. We couldn’t very well condemn Loomis for the same mistake.”

“I suppose not.”

“He fought alongside Castro in the Sierra Maestra. After Batista fell, Loomis had a difference of opinion with Castro but managed to get out alive. He became associated with a group preparing to invade Cuba. Our people got wind of it. His old C.O. — the one who talked him into college — was by then at Langley, recognized the name, and recommended him as a potential intelligence officer. With his background, he sailed right through, and was involved in the training program for the Bay of Pigs.”

Robertson winced. “We’ve managed to find him some good duty, haven’t we?”

“It gets worse, sir. He went into ’Nam with the first teams, working with the Berets. Laos, Cambodia, the whole tour. It was in the confusion of the Diem assassination that something happened. I’m not sure yet we’ve got the straight of it. Loomis objected to some of the things we were doing. He developed a highly independent attitude, defied orders, and actually blocked one of our major operations.” Ogden paused. “He was dismissed with extreme prejudice.”

He waited to see if Robertson was familiar with the phrase.

Robertson was. “And he’s still alive?”

Ogden smiled. “He killed the first man we sent against him. And the second. Then he dropped out of sight. We know he served in Biafra, as a mercenary. And perhaps in another African war or two. He was in Guatemala, and maybe Chile. We knew vaguely where he was. Frankly, we lost interest in fulfilling the contract.”

“I can see why,” Robertson said.

“He surfaced in Santo Domingo during the last revolution as right-hand man to El Jefe. After the fighting, he was commissioned to set up the palace guard and the national security force. Now it has grown into more than that, we understand. He has no title to indicate his exact status, but in effect he is the number-one presidential adviser. And as you may know, Mr. President, the Dominican Republic has been extremely dependent upon the United States in the past, both politically and economically. Some of our best men have handled our affairs there — Edwin Terrel, Dan Mitrione, Anthony Ruiz. Then of course there was our stance during the Trujillo assassination in 1961 …”

“Don’t bring that up,” Robertson said. “I don’t want to hear anything about it.”

Ogden smiled again, unperturbed. “Point is, we had a very strong operation there. Loomis has managed to shut down our whole station. He convinced El Jefe to ‘go it alone,’ to ignore U.S. aid. This policy was popular with the people for a time, but now the shoe is beginning to pinch. From all indications, the country is on the verge of another major revolution.”

Robertson scowled. “That would screw things up good, wouldn’t it?” He sat for a moment, pondering another possibility. “Would we receive more cooperation there — would our job be made easier — if Loomis were removed?”

Ogden didn’t hesitate. “No, sir. Without Loomis, it would be chaos.”

“I agree,” Wallaby said.

Ogden explained. “Loomis is a very complex person. He can work on a certain level with his men, drinking and whoring around. He is extremely popular with the police, the military, and his men. Yet, he has this intelligence, this experience, and he is very adept at expressing himself. He has a tremendous influence on the higher echelons of Dominican government — and especially with El Jefe. If we can convince Loomis, win his cooperation, we figure he will be our ace in the hole in this operation.”

Robertson shook his head in disbelief. “And this man Loomis — the man you’ve attempted twice to kill — is the one we now must go to for help. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”

Wallaby pointed to the folder. “When he has the information in that report, he’ll have to help us,” he predicted. “He has no choice.”

Robertson pushed back his chair, turned, and walked to the window beyond his desk. He stood for a moment, his back to his visitors, looking out across Washington, slowly rolling his cigar. He hated to be the man to put Loomis on the griddle once more, but he could see no other way. Simple elimination would be kinder than what Loomis might have to face before it was all over.

After a full minute of thought, he turned back to the men from Langley.

“You’ve underestimated Loomis twice,” he said. “Let’s pray to God you haven’t this time. It’s a gamble we have to take. This Hamlet Group’s got us by the balls. Go ahead. Put your plan into operation.” 

Chapter 3

Minus
11
Days
,
20
:
55
Hours

El Jefe stirred his coffee slowly, watching the rich cream mix with the luxurious black blend. He sipped from the cup, taking time to savor the results of six years of study and experiment. “Too much
arábica
, don’t you think?” he asked.

They sat at the glass-topped table in the kitchenette off El Jefe’s apartment. The coffee sampling had become a ritual during the last few months, providing an excuse for their long discussions.

Loomis sampled the coffee in his own cup. The
arábica
was a departure from El Jefe’s long preoccupation with African
robusta
. Loomis couldn’t find much difference in the taste. Still, there seemed to be a lingering quality of faint bitterness. “It has a slight bite,” he said.

“Surely there is an
arábica
bean of softer quality,” El Jefe mused.

Loomis knew that if a softer bean existed, El Jefe would indeed find it. He currently had buyers stationed in Ethiopia, Brazil, and Kenya.

“Five hundred thousand pesos,” El Jefe said with an ease that indicated the two subjects — money and coffee — were not far removed in his mind. “Eleven men for five hundred thousand pesos. I think Ramón must be very happy with the exchange.”

“Probably.”

“Colonel Escortia responded very well this morning,” El Jefe said. “He anticipated their movements, and was waiting. Your work of course was even more exemplary. Yet, five hundred thousand pesos are missing. Tell me, what did we do wrong?”

Loomis never knew for certain what was in El Jefe’s mind during these conversational rambles. “I don’t think we did anything wrong,” he said evenly. “You just can’t win them all.”

El Jefe frowned. “I can’t accept that philosophy. A man in my position
must
win them all.”

He studied Loomis for a moment in silence. Loomis sipped his coffee, trying not to show his irritation. He waited, wondering where the discussion was headed. Oblique ploys were a part of El Jefe’s stock-in-trade.

He was a handsome man, big, almost as tall as Loomis, and of heavier build. He weighed close to three hundred, and there was little fat on him, Loomis happened to know. They often worked out together in the gym, and El Jefe easily handled weights that gave Loomis difficulty. His skin was deeply tanned — a golden brown — for he spent much of his time in the
palacio
pool, now well protected by high brick walls.

El Jefe abruptly took the conversation off on another tangent. “You are, for all practical purposes, a stateless soldier of fortune,” he said. “Have you ever wondered why I have trusted you with my life?”

Loomis
had
wondered, from time to time. He voiced the only conclusion he had reached. “Because I’m a professional, I suppose.”

El Jefe considered the answer. “Not just that alone,” he said. “True, I must have experienced men about me. And your job certainly requires professionalism, a toughness that your background supplies. But there’s more to it. You have been betrayed many times, and in each instance you have fought back — sought revenge — for those betrayals. Against Castro, your own government. Every instance. I believe you have a deeper appreciation of honesty than most men. Do you agree?”

“Perhaps,” Loomis said.

El Jefe leaned forward to peer intently into Loomis’s face. “Tell me,
amigo
. Do you trust me? Do you believe that in the moment of truth I will protect your interests as well as my own?”

Loomis also had often pondered that question. “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t reached that conclusion,” he said.

He knew that El Jefe was an emotional man. Yet he was surprised at his impulsive shoulder punch of affection. “Good,” El Jefe said. “It’s imperative that we trust each other.” He crossed to the silver service and poured more coffee. “I have a fear that this incident this morning — the bank robbery — has a deeper significance than the act itself. What do you think?”

Loomis nodded. “It’s a new wrinkle.”

“Not just another nuisance raid or act of terrorism,” El Jefe said. “A well-planned, well-executed feat. Clearly, Ramón needs money. But for what? More guns?”

“No,” Loomis said. All reports from well-placed sources indicated Ramón had plenty of weapons.

“Then what? Men?”

“Perhaps.”

El Jefe watched Loomis’s face intently. “Could he buy many men?”

“He wouldn’t need many,” Loomis said. “A half-dozen of your generals would do.”

El Jefe’s gaze didn’t waver. “Can he buy them?”

“Not now,” Loomis said. “But if he should appear, even momentarily, to be winning …”

“Then he
would
be successful,” El Jefe said, completing the sentence. 

“We’re as ready for him as we’ll ever be,” Loomis said. He didn’t add that, in his own assessment, the sooner Ramón made the effort, the better. El Jefe’s support was slipping, week by week.

El Jefe finished his coffee and slowly poured another cup. “I no longer know what to expect from the people,” he said. “If fighting should break out in earnest, which way do you think they would go?”

“Fifty-fifty,” Loomis said. “Half the population will barricade themselves in their houses and sit it out. The other half will be split right down the middle.”

“A cold-blooded assessment,” El Jefe said. “And probably accurate. In other words, I can expect support from only one-fourth of my people.”

“I prefer to think positively,” Loomis said. “Let’s say that only one-fourth will oppose you.”

“That is a more comforting view, I suppose,” El Jefe said. “And it has been my experience that at least a quarter of the human race is against anything. Looking at it that way, I don’t have to take it personally.” He frowned, hesitated, and for a moment seemed to be searching for words. “Are we in agreement that Ramón’s raid on the bank this morning may signal a new phase of his preparations for revolution?”

Loomis nodded.

“I think, then, that there are certain precautions we must take,” El Jefe said. “I have a job for you that requires trust and delicacy. I wouldn’t ask just anyone to do this thing. It will not be pleasant for either of us.” Loomis waited, apprehensive.

“It concerns my brother. I don’t believe you’ve met him.”

“No.”

“But you understand that our political philosophies differ.”

Again, Loomis nodded, waiting.

“I believe it would be to his interest, and to that of his family, for me to consider placing him under my protection. Despite his wishes, if necessary. I want you to go to Santiago and to bring him back here. My brother, and his whole family.”

El Jefe didn’t like to receive unsolicited advice in some areas. But Loomis felt he should point out something. “That might not be politically expedient at the moment.”

“I’m well aware of that,” El Jefe said. “My brother may be more popular with — shall we say — self-styled intellectuals than I. If I’m forced to place him under virtual house arrest, and if that action is misinterpreted by some, then that’s their problem, not mine. I have far greater concerns. There is the possibility that Ramón may try to get to me through him — or through his family. My brother and I may be different breeds of cats, politically, but he
is
my brother. That fact at the moment is a liability to both of us.”

“What if he refuses to come?”

“Bring him anyway.”

“Bound?”

“If necessary.”

“By helicopter, or by plane?”

“By car. As you may know, my brother’s wife, Juana, was in a plane crash and critically injured several years ago. She thinks she survived only through divine intervention. Apparently she doesn’t want to trouble the Lord to perform any more miracles on her account. She has vowed never to fly again. I will respect her wishes.”

Loomis hesitated. He was trained in helicopters and preferred their effortless efficiency. A 175-kilometer trip through country plagued by rebel guerrillas offered unnecessary complications. But El Jefe obviously had taken that into consideration. Loomis searched his mind for the files on the Manuel de la Torre family: a daughter, twenty-eight, and a son, fifteen, by a first marriage, and two children by the second, a boy and a girl, five and six. The second wife was known as a religious fanatic. The older daughter, María Elena de la Torre, was a movie actress and political activist.

“We’ll need two cars,” Loomis said. “And some sort of heavy weapons group.”

El Jefe nodded impatiently. “I have intended to bring Colonel Rodríguez down to the
distrito
. For the last two months, he has had the difficult duty of protecting Manuel’s family, against their wishes. He will understand our problem. We can now kill two birds with one stone — relieve Rodríguez and move the family here for better protection. Rodríguez can provide your escort.”

The plan made sense. There would be no need to drain troops from the capital at a crucial time. Loomis had worked with Rodríguez. He was a competent man.

“When?” Loomis asked.

“Tomorrow night, I think. We should move rapidly. You will go as my personal emissary to impress upon my brother the necessity that he accept our hospitality. Manuel is not a realist, but if he is faced with the inevitable, I don’t think he will resist. María Elena may give you the most trouble.”

“And how far should I go with her?”

El Jefe frowned. The reason for Loomis’s question was plain. María Elena de la Torre commanded a world press. She could raise a tremendous stink if she chose to do so.

“Her safety is paramount,” El Jefe said. “You have a blank check.”

Loomis looked ahead to the problem of having the De la Torres in the
palacio
. María Elena de la Torre would be a prize hostage for Ramón, focusing worldwide attention on his movement.

“With the family, we probably should increase protection here at the
palacio
,” Loomis said.

“What do you suggest?”

“I think it’d be best if, outwardly, we keep things as normal as possible, to indicate to Ramón that we’re not scared yet. We might increase the guard at the gates. That’d be natural, after the robbery. And I’ll have Bedoya place a few machine guns on the balconies at strategic places not visible from the street.”

“An excellent idea,” El Jefe said. “And tell me. What did you think of our friend Colonel Escortia?”

“I was impressed,” Loomis admitted.

“Do you trust him?”

“Hell, I just met him.”

El Jefe persisted. “What’s your inclination?”

Loomis shrugged. “My inclination is to trust him.” He hoped the question wouldn’t be asked about some of the other army brass.

“I also tend to trust him,” El Jefe said. “I plan to promote him. And to place him in command of the Distrito Nacional. What do you think?”

Loomis had found no fault in Escortia. He rather liked him. But the promotion would jump Escortia over at least four men who presently outranked him — men whose support El Jefe might need during the next few days. Loomis chose his words carefully. “I hope the disadvantages don’t outweigh the advantages. There are some who would advise against it.”

“If I worried about what people thought, I wouldn’t have brought you into the
palacio
,” El Jefe said. “I don’t know whether you know it or not, but half the staff thinks you are a CIA plant.”

“What makes you think I’m not?” Loomis asked.

El Jefe laughed. “You couldn’t be that deceitful if your life depended on it.” He put his arm around Loomis’s shoulder, escorted him toward the door, and then grasped his hand. “Have a pleasant trip,” he said. “And take care. I have the feeling I will be needing you in the days to come.”