"Patsy!": The Life and Times of Lee Harvey Oswald (23 page)

“I got no gripe with you,” Sommers whined, crouching in fear. “You're a regular guy.”

“Yeah? Well, so's my pal Ozzie. You frickin' un'erstan‘?”

“Sure, sure,” Sommers awkwardly agreed, darting away. There would be no further such incidents, not that the ribbing—now mostly behind Lee's back—abated. At least not yet.

Meanwhile, a well-intentioned sergeant sat Lee down for a talk. He explained that Lee brought a lot of this crap down on himself by talking like a communist.

“Let me give you a bit of advice, Ozzie. There's nothing more stupid in life than doing the same thing over and over again while always expecting different results. Remember that!”

*

The days spent by those marines serving in the Air Control Squadron operations room were tedious, exhausting, depressing, and utterly unrewarding. The base, built in 1938, occupied by Americans since 1950. The sprawling set of structures were located halfway down the island's westward-stretching curvature, in a southeastern area known as the Kamagawa Pefecture, straddling the twin cities of Yamato and Ayase. As to radar specialists, during work-hours they found themselves confined within a tight compartment they, on arrival, nicknamed The Bubble: a glass-enclosed top-of-tower circular room. A continuous succession of seven-man-teams occupied the claustrophobia-inducing area, machinery and other technological devices taking up the lion's share of space, for five to six hour stretches. Then one group would be replaced by the next shift. Always, and without fail, the bubble must be manned.

As a member of the Coffee Mill, his outfit's logo, Lee spent what felt like endless hours, employing an MPS-11 radar height-finding-antennae to determine what passed by. Fully dominating the enclosed area spread an immense plotting board, translucent and, in the dim light, ghostly. Here marines would mark with grease pencils the intercept route of anything above.

If a single thing always took the men's minds off such everyday miseries, this was the presence of an unknown flying object that, from time to time, appeared down there on the mile-long runway. In time they learned its name: the U2, kept in a special hangar built some distance apart from those which housed routine planes. Rumors spread about what might be the function of this large, strangely shaped, blue-black device. Descending from a flight the U2 had to be supported by jeeps on either side to keep its awkward wings from dragging. Afterwards, tractors would haul the U2 back to its private place, where a coterie of fully armed guards oversaw its exclusivity.

The jet, if that's what this bizarre creation was, could reach altitudes of more than 90,000 ft., one Coffee Mill member insisted after charting the U2's course. Nonsense, others piped in; that's not possible. You've been watching too many science-fiction films. It's our state-of-the-art reconnaissance aircraft, another ventured, tested in secret here before flying high over Russia on spy missions.

Lee never joined in any of these discussions, acting as if he did not know any more than the others and that he could care less. Actually, nothing on the base intrigued him more. The U2 was the reason why he, and for that matter all in his unit (to cover Lee's “legend”), had been assigned to this specific job in this particular place. The military had received word from high-ranking members of the confederacy of departments known in the postwar world as the intelligence community—the State Dept., the Defense Intelligence Agency; the FBI; the Office of Naval Intelligence; G-2; the National Security Agency; the CIA—that this assignment must be made at once and without question.

George had informed Lee as to what was coming in one of their private meetings several weeks before Lee and the other marines shipped out on August 22, 1957, disembarking at the port of Yokosuka on September 12. From there they were transported by truck to this base. For reasons the two would discuss at length upon Lee's return, he was assigned to, from time to time, be seen in the vicinity of the U2's hanger, even though this area was off-limits. To make Lee's “interest” more widely known, he was to purchase a camera and stealthily snap photos of the U2.

*

When Lee agreed to accompany Gator, Gordy and Zack to the Bluebird so as to complete “the final rite of manhood” (Gordy's words), Lee's only friends were stunned when he, after a few drinks, ran off at the mouth about the presence on their base of this nearly-fantastical piece of flying equipment. The others made it a point to confer with Lee about this on the way back, requesting Lee not allow himself to be singled out as some sort of loose-lipped fool or, worse, a traitor.

Lee scoffed, insisting that word had long since leaked out and these hostesses knew more about it than they did.

During that first visit, Lee drank but refused to gamble. That would come in the carefully schematized narrative he now controlled while seeming to be a powerless tag-a-long.

I'm a chess-champion, the puppet-master. Just like George!

Best of all, in the minds of his buddies, Lee rose to the occasion after slipping into a narrow room with a whore. After some coaxing, Ozzie did her proper, then marched proudly into the club's main cooridor, flashing that insane grin. Every marine present, with the exception only of Sommers, cheered him on. The men did not call him “Mrs. Oswald” ever again.

Initially, though, rumors as to Lee's sexual preference did continue. Whenever he traveled the further distance to Tokyo for a weekend, Lee always insisted on going alone, even if his best friends were also headed there. Talk had it, initially at least, that he visited several of the male prostitutes who haunted that city of shadows. Others, now convinced of Lee's masculinity, had another theory; he was off to visit Communist headquarters there, passing information about our latest radar-height finding antennas to the enemy and, worse still, his photos of the U2.

A third possibility trickled down to the enlisted men from a surprising source: their officers. Word leaked out that Lee had
been in Tokyo frequenting a high-class (i.e., expensive, with truly beautiful women) brothel known as The Queen Bee. Most men below the rank of lieutenant never went near it less owing to
restrictions than cost: more than $100 for the night, hardly affordable for men whose pay ranged between $70 (Buck Private) to $90 (Sgt.) a month. Yet according to several officers able to afford a visit, one PFC had been in attendance on Friday
and
Saturday during a single weekend. Where did the money come from?

Some marines did not believe Ozzie could get near, much less handle, the most attractive prostitute: The Dragon Lady, her nickname hailing from the seductive Asian villainess in the popular comic strip
Terry and the Pirates
. It was rumored that even the most tight-lipped of johns spilled all to this dark beauty while in her elegant boudoir. Everyone gasped with disbelief when, one day, the Dragon Lady traveled down from Tokyo to Atsugi to spend a weekend with L.H.O. Majestic, at least an inch taller than the runty marine, the spectacular beauty proudly marched
around the base, gripping Lee's arm as if he were ... Sinatra. Lee showed her ‘the sights'.

I need a favor. Come on down to the base so I can show you off. When you do, act like I'm ... I don't know ... have you read the James Bond novels? 007; Yes? Great! I'll act nonchalant and you as if you can't keep your hands off of me. In return I will provide those pictures of the U2's interior ...

Yet whenever one among them marched over to headquarters and requested to file a report, nothing ever came of it. As for Lee, he continued his tirades. Gator shocked everyone when he, finally growing uncomfortable with Lee, admitted during a late-night poker game that Lee had actually suggested defecting.

*

On October 18, 1957, his eighteenth birthday, Lee strolled from the wooden two-story barracks in which the 117 man MACS-1 unit was quartered, this located on the easternmost perimeter of the Atsugi base near the main entrance, to the compound's far side. None of the others had ever gone over there, though Lee visited the ‘compound within the compound,' as some referred to the two-dozen nondescript buildings, on a daily basis. Officially referred to as “The Joint Technical Advisory Group” (most marines did not have a clue what that meant), this secretive area housed the CIA's headquarters in Japan.

Here was where Ozzie arrived each morning to pick up his encoded messages containing the latest orders from George. These pertained to his weekend passes, Lee enjoying prostitutes on The Company's tab (the CIA, not his assigned company) while passing disinformation George knew would confuse Soviets once Lee's false ‘facts' were added to the KGB's mix on the U2.

“Hi, Lee,” the pretty brunette known only as Sara brightly said. “No message today. But you're to call George. The cable-connection is set up and all ready to go.”

This surprised Lee if only because it had never occurred before during the two months he'd served at Atsugi. As Lee and George had carefully planned, Lee earlier arrived at the Naval Air Technology Training Center in Jacksonville, Florida in late March, 1957. There he was promoted to Private First Class, soon cleared to handle documents marked Confidential and/or Classified. This to the dismay of Allen Felde, a squad member who had been with Lee since San Diego and was fed-up with Lee's rants.

“I don't get it,” Felde openly stated, sometimes in front of Lee. “If they'd clear this Red bastard, they'd clear anyone.”

As for Ozzie, he in response simply lowered his head slightly and drew his mouth into that twisted half-grin ...

It's working. My “legend” is established. Word will spread, and in due time, the Commies will contact me ... and believe all I tell them about our secrets ... my disinformation ...

“Did he say what it's about?” Sara shook her head while raising her eyebrows and gritting her teeth, the brunette's manner of communicating ‘I don't have a clue!' She escorted Lee into a small, tidy office, the only adornments a pair of old photographs, one of Pres. Eisenhower in his WWII dress uniform, the other that famous shot of marines raising the flag atop Mt. Surabachi during the battle of Iwo Jima. Sara handed Lee a tattered
Life
to read, then left, providing total privacy.

Lee flipped through the magazine, particularly interested in the cover story about John Fitzgerald Kennedy, his lovely bride Jackie, and their children. It wouldn't be hard to mistake either husband or wife for a movie star, so picture-perfect were they. Lee chuckled, recalling what George had confided during their drive to the desert; fascinated by the sedate, sincere, sweet smiles on their faces. This was how the public at large was allowed to see the likely next occupants of The White House. Lee and a few others knew the truth behind that dazzling façade!

When the phone rang, its brittle sound shook Lee out of his reverie. He answered; there was George's voice, barely audible.

“Lee? We have a problem. Good Karma!”

After a moment's hesitation, Lee replied: “Bad Karma!”

That constituted The Company's password for, and required response to, any discussion of Achmed Sukarno, the now 56-year-old president of Indonesia. Highly educated, fluent in numerous languages, the area's Javanese-born power-broker since 1945 did not sit well with those who ran America's Invisible Government.

The first issue against Sukarno was that, during WWII, he aligned with the Japanese. Now, of course, that country was an ally. Sukarno, however, did not subscribe to the idea that the U.S. ought to be welcome to enter and establish military bases. He accused America's current world policies as “fascistic” and spoke positively about “New Emerging Forces” in the Third World.

Whereas in those situations the U.S. tacitly defended right-wing dictators against rebels, here America took the opposite approach: as Muslims instigated a possible coup against Sukarno, U.S. forces were readying to back up any such action.

Not that the CIA and others of their ilk were comfortable with these insurgents. Far from it! As always in the Eisenhower era and, perhaps more significant, the age of John Foster Dulles as the key to foreign affairs, one rule was repeated over and over.

Any enemy of my enemy is my friend ...

For what it was worth, the name Sukarno roughly translated in English to ‘Good Karma'. At any rate, George explained that the area was heating up. The marines were about to ship out and possibly participate in a violent invasion via a route through Borneo. If that occurred, the likelihood of combat in question but placement of marine divisions in strategic areas certain, Lee's radar unit MACS-1 would accompany them as a communications team. Which meant Ozzie would go along for the ride.

This, George had not anticipated and did not appreciate. Lee Harvey Oswald was needed right where he was: in Japan.

“Isn't there anything you can do about it from there?”

“Believe me, Lee, I've looked into it. Of course I could arrange an immediate transfer. But that would stick out like a sore thumb. Chances are, your cover would be blown. Forever.”

With that, as Lee well knew, he would become dispensable. All he'd achieved gone like a wisp of smoke. That must not be allowed to happen. He could certainly ship out with the others.

“What should I do?”

“You're a big boy now. On your own. Your call.”

*

Nine days later, at eight-thirty on the evening of October 27, 1957, Lee sat in his barracks on a lower bunk assigned to Robert Augg. That marine was at the P.X., enjoying a Coke and a burger. Even as Augg strolled back at a swift gait to hit his bunk before Taps, a shot rang out, discharged by a small weapon.

As Augg darted inside he spotted Lee, his right arm bleeding, grimacing in pain. Beside Lee on Augg's bunk lay a .22 caliber silver-plated derringer, a thin coil of blue-gray smoke circling upward. Already, a Navy corpsman had appeared.