Libra - Don Delillo [31]
“We have recruits coming in all the time. They want another crack at Fidel. We train them at a camp not far from here. We’ve had no problems up to now, knock fucking wood, which is something I personally see to, working it out with the feds. But this Kennedy, he’s making all kinds of moves against us. Did you know he’s got exile leaders restricted to Dade County? They can’t travel out of the county. He’s normalizing with Castro. He’s dealing with the Soviets. They got a deal cooking. Cuba is guaranteed communist. From which Jack gets a second term unmolested by Moscow. He is interested in his own protection and security, which I believe he is correct in wishing to increase.”
He poured the bourbon.
“What about the thing in Dallas,” he said, “a couple of weeks ago?”
“The Walker shooting.”
“Did they catch the nigger that did it?”
Mackey caught the sly tone of the older man’s voice. Walker had been consuming news space like a movie star in a fever of insecurity. Being shot at over a backyard fence by a sniper on tiptoes, and missed, was just about the perfect payoff Mackey could imagine for a certain kind of fame. It reduced the man to the status of casual target for some gun-toting Mr. Magoo.
“Now, assuming I can come up with the rifles.”
“Plus scopes.”
“What do I do with them?”
“Hold them,” Mackey said.
“Who are we talking about here?”
“Keep them absolutely secure and ready.”
“What is the subject of this meeting? Because I have to know there’s complete trust between us. ”
“You do know. Take my word. Or I wouldn’t be here.”
“Don’t make me feel I’m getting too old for certain operations. This is my trade. There’s only one subject for people like us.”
Paint flakes on the desktop and floor, steel cabinets covered in dust. Inside the cabinets were Banister’s intelligence records. He kept files on people who volunteered for the anti-Castro groups in the area. He kept microfilmed records of left-wing activity in Louisiana. He had the names of known communists. He had material supplied by the FBI on Castro agents and sympathizers. Mackey had seen handbooks on guerrilla tactics, back issues of a racist magazine Guy published. There were files on other organizations renting space at 544 Camp, past and present, including the Cuban Revolutionary Council, an alliance of anti-Castro groups put together by the CIA with Banister’s help.
“People like us,” he said to Mackey, “we have this dilemma we have to face. Serious men deprived of an outlet. Once we’re pushed out, how do we retire to a chair on the lawn? Everyday lawful pursuits don’t meet our special requirements.” He laughed happily. “For twenty-some-odd years in the Bureau I lived in a special society that pretty much satisfied the most serious things in my nature. Secrets to trade and keep, certain dangers, an opportunity to function in tight spots, wave a gun in people’s faces. That’s a charmed society. If you’ve got criminal tendencies, and I’m not saying this is true of you or me, one of the places to make your mark is law enforcement.” A short happy laugh. “How much of my manhood is watery puke? That’s what I want to know. I was involved in the Dillinger case, earliest days of my career. Public enemy number one. Famous finish, got him coming out of a movie house in Chicago, sweltering night, the Biograph. I was with the Office of Naval Intelligence in the war, just like young Jack Kennedy.” He took a swallow. “Spy work, undercover work, we invent a society where it’s always wartime. The law has a little give.”
He set the mug of bourbon to one side and ran his hand over the newspapers and files to find his cigarettes.
“In John Birch,” he said, “we have a hundred thousand members. Way out of hand. Then there’s General Ted Walker going on tour with the Reverend Billy James Hargis, coast to coast, in ten-gallon hats. The Minutemen are leaner, move close to the ground. But there’s a fervor I don’t trust. They’re waiting for the Day. They’ve got their ammo clips hidden in the garage and they know the Day is fast approaching. They get their