The Midnight Swimmer (12 page)

‘David is the Marine Corps Commandant.
He’s the only one of the Joint Chiefs who’s stood up to General Power.
May I?’
George took the JCS minutes.
‘Listen to what David had to say, he was very angry: “Any plan, General Power, any plan that kills millions of innocent Chinese, when their country isn’t even in the war, is not a good plan.
It’s not the American way.”’

Catesby noted how Shoup used ‘American’ as a synonym for ‘moral’.
That, in a way, was scary too.

George was smiling.
‘I must say, Power’s reply was a real gem.’

‘What did he say?’

‘“We can’t leave out the Chinese targets, General Shoup, that would really screw up the plan.”’

‘The plan, of course,’ said Catesby, ‘is not just a military one.
The intention is to completely exterminate communism as if it were an infectious disease.
It doesn’t matter how many civilians die in the process.’

‘There is an evangelical side to many Americans.
It is worrying.’

‘Do you think this situation will continue under Kennedy?’

‘I hope not, but it could get worse.’

‘There’s going to be a battle for Kennedy’s ear.’

‘Or another part of his anatomy – to put them in a vise.
I am not sure that our new president realises how ruthless and devious his senior generals can be.
These are men with enormous egos who think they are gods.
And Kennedy certainly has his own weaknesses.
He might want to prove he’s just as tough as them.’

Catesby remembered how valuable the bits of gossip that Fournier enjoyed relating had turned out to be.
It was clear that SIS needed more gossip and seedy secrets to build up a profile on the new president.

George looked closely at Catesby.
‘The first crisis is already brewing and about to boil over.
Kennedy wants to knock off Castro and invade Cuba.’

‘He hasn’t been in the White House five minutes.’

‘New presidents tend to hit the ground running.
Two days after the inauguration Lemnitzer turned up in the Oval Office with this.’
George passed over another document.
Beneath the security classification was the title OPERATION ZAPATA.
‘By the way, do you know Lyman Lemnitzer?’

‘I met him in Germany just after the war.
I didn’t like him.
Whenever
we tried to send a load of Nazi war criminals to Nuremberg, Lemnitzer’s gang sent them to South America.’

George smiled wanly.
‘Lyman Lemnitzer is now Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.’
He sipped his bourbon.
‘The most powerful military man in the United States.’

‘Do you like him?’

‘I hate him, strong words I know.
But I didn’t hate Lyman to begin with, I thought he was charming and intelligent – he was always smooth and smartly turned out.
He looked the part.
We were both on Eisenhower’s staff.
I outranked Lemnitzer, but he outmanoeuvred me – and then outranked me too.
He’s a dangerous man because he doesn’t look like the monster he is.
He’s long been an advocate of a surprise nuclear attack on the Soviet Union.’
George finished his bourbon.
‘But now that the Russians have their own intercontinental ballistic missiles to hit back, no US president would ever sanction it.’

Catesby felt a chill run down his spine.
The truth was otherwise.
The words he had memorised from the letter danced before his eyes
like the flames on the Baikonur launch pad:
This is a serious and tragic time for our Motherland.
Most of our best scientists and rocket engineers are now dead
.
The importance of that secret made him nauseous.
Catesby needed to change the subject.
‘Tell me more,’ he said, ‘about Cuba.’

‘It’s a tempting operation for the new president.
It would prove that his tough words on communism are not just rhetoric.
The plan is for an invasion by anti-Castro exiles which will spark off a popular uprising.
But it won’t work.
I spent a lot of my career in Latin America.
Gringo is not a compliment.
Most of the people don’t like us.
Why?
In my lifetime we have overthrown or undermined forty Latin American governments.’

‘Then why can’t you get rid of Castro?’

‘I meant we can’t get rid of him by a popular uprising.
That’s poppycock dreamed up by idiots in the CIA who believe their own propaganda.
The only way we can get rid of Castro is by invading Cuba with a hundred thousand American soldiers.
It would be a bloody mess even if it did work.
It would spark off riots in Latin America and give Khrushchev an excuse to take Berlin.
If Kennedy has a brain, he’ll keep the military out of this stupid invasion thing.’

Catesby started leafing through the ZAPATA document.
The plans looked vainglorious and doomed.

‘And when it fails,’ said George, ‘things are going to turn nasty.
Look at the AMLASH section – those are proposed plans to assassinate Castro …’

The word AMLASH made Catesby sit up.
It was also the codename of one of the telephone contacts that Jock Whitney had passed on.
Catesby turned his attention back to George.

‘… and I’ve heard that Lemnitzer is cooking up an agent provocateur scheme called NORTHWOODS.
Stupid man.’

‘You mean false flag ops?’

‘That’s right.
Lemnitzer has this theory that we can stage a series of terrorist attacks on US soil and blame them on Castro.
The idea is that the American people will be so angry it will be politically impossible not to invade Cuba.
That’s what happened when the
Maine
blew up in Havana harbour in 1898.’

‘You sank her on purpose?’

George shrugged his shoulders.
‘Who knows?
But it gave us an
excuse to invade Cuba – and grab the Philippines from Spain at the same time.’

‘What,’ said Catesby, ‘would you do if you were Head of British Intelligence?’

George’s watery blue eyes looked unbearably sad as well as frank.
‘I’d dig a very deep bomb shelter – or emigrate with all my loved ones to Australia.
I don’t think that you fellows have a chance.
Your island is in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘Thanks.’
Catesby smiled.
‘I’ll tell him that.’

‘I’m going to bed.
I’m a silly old man who talks too much.’

Catesby sat alone for a while in the sitting room watching the fire turn into ash and embers – and tried not to think of London doing the same.
There were sounds of cutlery coming from the kitchen.
He turned out the light and went to help.

Caddie was standing over the kitchen sink with her back towards Catesby.
There was a radio tuned to a classical music station playing Copland’s ‘Appalachian Spring.’

‘Shall I do the drying up?’
said Catesby.

‘No, I’ll do it.
I know where things go, to put them away.
You can finish the washing.’

Catesby slipped on the washing-up gloves that Caddie had just slipped off.
He was oddly content.
There was something calming about shared domestic chores.

‘I’m not sorry,’ said Caddie, ‘that I called you a fucking bastard.
But I am sorry I made Uncle George feel uncomfortable by yelling at you.’

Catesby began to scour a saucepan with a Brillo pad.
He felt
Caddie’s
eyes studying him in profile.

‘You’re a bit common, aren’t you?’
she said.

Catesby laughed.
‘Well spotted.
I’m glad I don’t come across all lah-di-dah.’

‘So what are you then?’

‘I come from a fishing port called Lowestoft, but there’s also ship building and canning factories.
You’d probably find it a bit rough, but I like it.’

‘Was your family poor?’

‘Very – why are you asking these questions?
I’m supposed to be a fucking bastard.’

‘I’m wondering how someone like you ended up with the job you have now?
Sometimes you sound educated.’

Catesby shrugged.
‘I don’t like being interrogated about my background.’

‘But I bet you interrogate lots of other people?’

‘I suppose I do.
It’s part of my job.’

‘That’s why you’re a fucking bastard.’

‘Even if that is true, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.’

‘It sounds like you want to justify your actions, your life.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Good.
All justification is weakness.’

‘Are you as hard as you sound?’

‘No.’

‘By the way,’ said Catesby, ‘if you want to write a letter to Kit, I’ll take it back to London with me – but it will be a while before he gets it.’

‘I will write to him – and I suppose you’ll read it.’

‘I won’t,’ Catesby smiled, ‘it’s not my job.’

Caddie nodded at the pan.
‘You might want to leave that to soak.’

‘I don’t like leaving a job unfinished – I suppose you would
diagnose
me as an obsessive.’

‘I gave up psychiatry because I like working with my hands.’

‘So do I.’
Catesby continued scrubbing for a few minutes in silence.
‘There, it’s clean.
Can I ask you something?’

‘Go on.’

‘What did you think of your cousin Jennifer?’

‘I hated the bitch.’

‘Because she had designs on your brother?’

‘Jennifer had designs on everyone.
Her ego required men to lust after her – she thought she was
la belle dame sans merci
.
But in the end, she was just a cheap slut.
In fact,’ Caddie laughed, ‘she would probably have even got off with you.’
Caddie looked closely at Catesby.
‘Would you have liked that?’

‘Maybe I would have.’

Catesby caught the expression out of the corner of his eye.
For a second Caddie’s face seemed contorted with pain as if he had slapped her.
Her jealousy seemed almost tangible, but she tried to brave it into a joke.
‘And I hope she would have given you a case of the clap.’

‘I’m sure you’re a much nicer person.’

‘So am I, but I’m not as pretty.’

‘Are you fishing for compliments?’

‘Don’t make fun of me – too many people have done that.’

Catesby noticed that she was gripping the tea towel so tightly her knuckles were white.
‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘Don’t say sorry if you don’t mean it.’

‘I do mean it.’
Catesby looked closely at her.
She was tall and gawky, but also pretty in a way that was more appreciated in England than the USA.

‘Well I’m sorry I’ve been so ratty.
I’m very tired.’

Catesby put his arms around her.
She was still for a second; then put her arms loosely around his neck.
Her eyes were bright and damp.

George was frying eggs and grilling bacon when Catesby came into the kitchen the next morning.
There was a welcome homeliness of condensation, bacon fat and coffee smells.
Caddie, still in a dressing gown, was sitting at the table finishing a letter to her brother.
For a second, Catesby was happy.
But he quickly remembered that his life was elsewhere and otherwise.
Caddie knew it too.
It was why they hadn’t made love.
But they had gently kissed and held each other for a long time without saying a word.

Catesby pitched in with the breakfast by toasting bread.
‘I’m an expert,’ he said.

‘Then you ought to stay longer,’ said George, ‘we need experts.’

‘I wish I could, but I’ve got to be in Washington this afternoon.’

‘One of us will give you a lift,’ said George looking at Caddie.

‘Thanks, but someone’s picking me up.’

Caddie stared at him for a second, then finished her letter and sealed it in an envelope.
‘Do I need to address it?’