“Doc, I’ll call you back in five minutes. No more than ten, promise.”
I said, “But if I don’t nail down a flight-”
“Read the newest updates. We can’t really talk unless we’re both on the same page, now can we?” The woman hung up.
I zipped my carry-on closed, checked the room and headed down the hall toward the elevator, telling myself there was no reason to be suspicious of my pal Hooker. But it was okay to call him. We were friends, right?
I dialed. No answer, and I didn’t leave a message. Next, I did what the lady suggested and opened the updates. SIGNET-D Communique (Leveclass="underline" Classified + Secret + Brown) Summary Report #12, Prepared by staff of Hon. Barbara B. Hayes-Sorrento, United States Senate, 1 Billings St., Washington, D.C., 24 January, Saturday, 11:00 EST. SUBJECT A: William J. Chaser, minor male, missing as of 22 January, Thursday, 16:00 EST SUBJECT B: FBI Addendum issued 10:00 EST SUBJECT C: NYPD Addendum issued 10:30 EST…
It was a typically staccato rendering, but it didn’t take long to get to something interesting. As I pushed through the lobby doors headed outside, I was reading: SUBJECT H: Jettisoning of Superfluous Chattel Properties of the late Castro, Fidel A., via Military Aircraft over an area yet to be designated…
Jettisoning? It was government-speak for delivering the ransom. Castro’s much-coveted personal files had been officially redesignated as trash. The military didn’t know where they were dropping the stuff, but the cover story had been established.
I didn’t smile, but it brightened my day despite the concrete chill of another New York afternoon. With any luck, it would be my last for a while. One way or the other, I was returning to Florida. If I couldn’t arrange a special flight, I would have to fly out of Kennedy International ninety minutes away.
I told the concierge desk I needed a cab, then skimmed the text, finding other interesting tidbits. SUBJECT H/Para. 4: Transport of Superfluous Materials: Aircraft: H130 Hercules Cargo Aircraft, USAF, has been assigned as Disposition Platform. Crew is on standby, Dulles Air Base, three watches, 8-hour rotation. The H130 was assigned despite the small amount of Superfluous Materials because the disposal area has yet to be designated. Aircraft range: 1800 nm+/- (BRC) with refueling aircraft on station. Status: Alert Orange…
SUBJECT H/Para. 11: Superfluous Materials consist of three (3) Industrial Cartons containing approximately 2.3 metric tons. Loading of Superfluous Materials is being finalized pursuant to variables of an undetermined disposal area…
SUBJECT H/Para. 14: Industrial Cartons have been mounted on skids and fitted with LALO parachutes for wet drop or dry drop. Final Go Confirmation expected by 1900 hours EST. FBI awaiting contact with Civilian Clients via VHF Marine Radio or electronic mail and will then advise USAF crew…
Civilian clients were the kidnappers. Castro’s possessions had been loaded on a long-distance aircraft and rigged for a parachute drop. Everything would be packed and ready to go by five p.m., which was fifteen hours in advance of the deadline. Good!
Or was it…?
I thought about it as I waited for a cab. What suddenly bothered me was that several normally inefficient bureaucracies had hammered this package together, meshing all the complicated pieces, in an extraordinarily efficient way.
Had I ever heard of a joint project being completed ahead of schedule? Hell, I had never even heard of a project that was finished on time.
Weird.
A few minutes later, sitting in the back of a cab, headed west on the road out of the Hamptons, my phone began buzzing: Barbara.
Barbara told me, “Castro was a neurotic, that was my first surprise-I’m talking about surprises in the last day or so. He was insecure when he took power in ’fifty-nine and the man never changed.”
I said, “Neurotic, hmm,” listening to the woman avoid discussing Nelson Myles by sharing revelations about the Castro Files. She hadn’t mentioned who interrupted our conversation either. Why was she being evasive?
“Castro kept two bags packed with collectibles, ready to go, in case he had to escape in the middle of the night. Valuables ”-her smile was audible-“is not the right word for what that man had squirreled away. It’s treasure, the pirate variety. I’d heard that he formed a team to salvage shipwrecks around Cuba. Now we know it’s true. There are some beautiful pieces from the seventeen hundreds: Spanish gold crosses, emeralds and jade. Small, not too heavy. Probably worth millions, and all of it easily converted into currency. There’s an emerald necklace-my God, you’ve got to see it.”
I said, “Spanish treasure, that’s always interesting.” She couldn’t avoid discussing Myles, or getting me on a plane, forever.
“There are some political shockers, too. Three boxes of files on Meyer Lansky and what was called the Jewish Mafia. They controlled most of the gaming in Havana. If the documents are made public, some of our Middle Eastern friends are going to be upset about how Israel was financed in those early years. Everything’s being photographed, of course. Still, without the original documents…”
She let me figure out the significance and moved on. “The Catholic Church takes a big hit. There are documents that prove-well, that suggest anyway-that some priests entered into an alliance with Castro
… a sort-of covenant. But I can’t go into specifics, sorry.”
I didn’t need specifics. Barbara was referring to a secret meeting that took place in Havana in 1966 between ten activist priests and Fidel Castro. In return for Castro’s political blessing, the priests activated a plan to encourage and fund Socialism in Central and South America. Over the next two decades, newspaper readers in the United States would puzzle over the political assassinations of nuns and priests in the region. It seemed outrageous to a citizenry that knew nothing about the covert wars going on worldwide, so they suffered with mental images of murdered Flying Nuns and kindly Bing Crosbys.
I said to Barbara, “A covenant with the Catholic Church, that is a surprise. Was it around the time of the Bay of Pigs invasion… or the assassination?”
She thought she was being properly evasive, replying, “We found documents our intelligence agencies aren’t going to like. One or two people could face prosecution. Men in powerful positions who betrayed us, their country… I mean, if the information’s accurate.”
I said, “Bay of Pigs. An informant gave Castro’s people the landing date and time. Didn’t the informant go by a code name? I’m trying to remember…”
Barbara said, “Why do you do this? Instead of manipulating me to get information, why not come right out and ask?”
“Okay,” I said, “who was the traitor?” If it was Tinman, would she have even mentioned it?
The woman said, “I can’t tell you.”
“Lady, you can be so frustrating-”
“Not on the phone. There were two informants. At least two-not related to the assassination, so don’t assume that please. But there is something very interesting I learned about the day Kennedy was shot.”
The woman had lowered her voice. She was enjoying this, I realized, which I found heartening because it reminded me that I was still her confidant… and probably always would be her confidant. We shared an ultimate secret, the secret of her blackmail video. Barbara Hayes-Sorrento might try to distance herself from me, but if she slammed the door she would lose the one person in the world to whom she could say any damn thing she wanted to say with no fear of retribution.
“Castro kept the phone logs from the morning President Kennedy was shot,” Barbara said, her voice still low. “There were more than two dozen calls to his residence within twenty minutes.”
I wasn’t just listening now, I was interested. I waited a few seconds before I said, “And…?”