AMERICAN TABLOID by James Ellroy

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“I’ve been waffling on a date, and Bissell’s been pressing me. I know you’ve been doing that anti-Castro work for Mr. Hoover, so I know you’re at beast somewhat…”

“I am somewhat conversant on Cuba, at least from a proCastro-group standpoint.”

Bobby cracked the whip. “Cuba’s always been a bit of a fixation for you, so go to Florida and make something positive out of it. Visit the CIA training camps, and take a swing through Miami. Call back and tell us if you think the operation has a chance to succeed, and do it damn fast.”

Kemper said, “I’ll leave now. I’ll report back inside forty-eight hours.”

o o o

John almost died laughing. Kemper almost called a cardiologist.

They sat on Stanton’s private terrace. Langley let him upgrade to the Fontainebleau–hotel-suite living was contagious.

A breeze blew up Collins Avenue. Kemper’s throat hurt–he repeated the phone talk replete with Jack’s Boston bray.

“John…”

Stanton caught his breath. “I’m sorry, but I never thought presidential indecisiveness could be so goddamn funny.”

“What do you think I should tell him?”

“How about, ‘The invasion will guarantee your re-election.’”

Kemper laughed. “I’ve got some time to kill in Miami. Any suggestions?”

“Yes, two.”

“Tell me, then. And tell me why you wanted to see me when you knew I was swamped in Alabama.”

Stanton poured a short scotch-and-water. “That civil rights work must be vexing.”

“Not really.”

“I think the Negro vote is a mixed blessing. Aren’t they easily led?”

“I’d call them slightly less malleable than our Cubans. And considerably less criminally inclined.”

Stanton smiled. “Stop it. Don’t make me start laughing again.”

Kemper put his feet up on the railing. “I think you could use a few laughs. Langley’s running you ragged, and you’re drinking at 1:00 p.m.”

Stanton nodded. “This is true. Everybody from Mr. Dulles on down would like the invasion to go off some time in the next five minutes, and I’m no exception. And to answer your initial question, I want you to spend the next forty-eight hours devising realistic-sounding intelligence on troop readiness to submit to the President, and I want you to pre-patrol our Cadre territory with Fulo and Néstor Chasco. Miami’s our best source of street-level intelligence, and I want you to assess just how far and how accurately rumors pertaining to the invasion have spread within the Cuban community.”

Kemper mixed a gin and tonic. “I’ll get on it right away. Was there anything else?”

“Yes. The Agency wants to set up a Cuban ‘government in exile,’ to be housed at Blessington during the actual invasion. It’s mostly cosmetic, but we’ve got to have at least a facsimile of a consensus-chosen leadership ready to install if we get Castro out within, say, three or four days of our go date.”

“And you want my opinion as to who gets the nod?”

“Right. I know you’re not too well versed on exile politics, but I thought you might have picked up some opinions from the Cadre.”

Kemper faked deep thought. Steady now, make him wait–

Stanton threw his hands up. “Come on, I didn’t tell you to go into a goddamn trance about–”

Kemper snapped out of it–bright-eyed and forceful. “We want far-right-wingers susceptible to working with Santo and our other friends in the Ouffit. We want a figurehead leader who can maintain order, and the best way to re-stabilize the Cuban economy is to get the casinos operating on a full profit margin. If Cuba stays volatile or the Reds take over again, we’ve got to be able to draw on the Outfit for financial assistance.”

Stanton laced his hands around one knee. “I was expecting something a bit more enlightened from Kemper Boyd the civil rights reformer. And I’m sure you know that the donations of our Italian friends only account for a tiny percentage of our legitimately funded government budget.”

Kemper shrugged. “Cuba’s solvency depends on American tourism. The Outfit can help insure that. United Fruit is out of Cuba now, and only a bribable far-right-winger will be willing to de-nationalize their holdings.”

Stanton said, “Keep going. You’re close to persuading me.”

Kemper stood up. “Carlos is down at the Guatemala camp with my lawyer friend. Chuck’s going to fly him to Louisiana in a few days and hide him out, and I’ve heard that he’s getting more pro-exile by the day. I’m betting that the invasion will succeed, but that chaos will reign inside Cuba for some time. Whoever we install will fall under intense public scrutiny, which means public accountability, and we both know that the Agency will be subjected to intense scrutiny that will limit our deniabibity in all matters pertaining to covert action. We’ll need the Cadre then, and we’ll probably need a half-dozen more groups as ruthless and autonomous as the Cadre, and we’ll need them to be privately funded. Our new leader will need a secret police, and the Outfit will provide him with one, and if he falters in his pro-U.S. stance, the Outfit will assassinate him.”

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