"Patsy!": The Life and Times of Lee Harvey Oswald (26 page)

Within minutes, lawmen swarmed all over the Sands. They quickly uncovered the wire, a federal offense. Through the maid's vivid description, they targeted Balletti and headed for his room. He was not there, but they did discover his technical apparatus, strewn over the bed, the culprit clearly in no way expecting anything like this.

All they needed to do now was find the man, the maid certain she could positively identify him. If not in his room, however, where might he be?

In fact, Balletti was even then in the showroom, enjoying Rowan and Martin along with other visitors. He'd heard that Dan Rowan was an incredibly funny man. Guessing that this might be the last opportunity to catch the fellow's act, Balletti had joined the crowd. They found him laughing the evening away, assuring himself that more likely than not, the maid would not think anything of it and all would be fine.

Assumptions, however, are dangerous. Lawmen stuck their noses into every restaurant, bar, and gambling nook before, as a last resort, they decided to check out the Sands' own showroom. The maid accompanied them. From the rear of the auditorium, she pointed out the nonchalant man seated in the jovial crowd.

Moments later Balletti was under arrest. Also attending that evening's show was Johnny Rosselli, his motivation for being there pretty much the same: catch this acclaimed act before it was over and done, if indeed Rowan proved to be guilty.

No one would ever determine that. It turned out to be one of those things in life that you never do know. Not for certain.

*

Realizing that everything that possibly could go wrong had proceeded to do just that, Rosselli—sweating heavily, rare for so cool a character—rushed to his office and called Giancana. Stunned to hear that something which had sounded so simple could without warning turn into a potentially disastrous situation, Sam—when able to form words—decided he would have to consider this carefully before making any decision as to what they might do next. As always, Giancana operated like a stealthy jungle cat.

Meanwhile Balletti, from his jail cell, called Maheu in D.C., pleading for help. Stunned, Maheu phoned Rosselli in Vegas, catching Johnny a few seconds after he'd hung up from his call to Giancana. Learning that Old Sam was going to sit back and wait to see what transpired, the two confederates decided that, as a back-up plan, they ought to cook up some sort of scenario which each would stick to, whatever might happen next.

Johnny, they decided, would at once pay a “friendly visit” to the local authorities, arranging (owing to the influence he and his organization had in Vegas) for Balletti to be released. That would not be too difficult to manage, so each blew a sigh of relief as Rosselli headed over to police headquarters.

Things might have quieted down then except Maheu's own phone had recently been tapped by the FBI. This, owing to the continued diminishment of Hoover's influence there, the Bureau turks peered into dark corners of Mobdom that J. Edgar always insisted must go un-inspected. As a result, they had commenced with keeping a close eye (and ear) on former FBI personnel who were rumored to now be in league with members of the Mafia.

Convinced this was the case with Maheu owing to what he'd heard through the grapevine, a young agent had decided to stake out the supposedly cleaner-than-clean cop. Maybe something ugly had been going on with him lately; hopefully not. Either way, it seemed an imperative to this agent that he know for certain.

Listening in on that call between Maheu and Rosselli, realizing the dirty business involved not only Maheu and the Mob but at least indirectly the despised CIA, the agent figured he'd struck gold. Immediately he rang up his immediate superior. As this man listened to the agent's account of the bizarre incidents, aware too that the agent had been smart enough to tape-record these clandestine conversations to have unassailable if less than legal proof of whatever charges might be leveled, the two decided they had no alternative but to request an indictment against the former agent and his correspondent, a Made Man.

In an irony the two agents were perhaps not fully aware of, they planned to use their own illegal wiretapping to arrest, then convict, Rosselli and Maheu of ... illegal wiretapping.

In the wee small hours of the morning, the FBI men arrived at Maheu's apartment. They confronted him with the evidence. As would happen again in 2008, when Dick Tracy fell to his death in a Vegas motel, his life flashed before his eyes. Maheu glimpsed a career dedicated to public service going down the drain, he spending the remainder of his years in prison. As a good soldier, Maheu seized control of his strained emotions. He forced himself to speak with quiet dignity and an impressive air of authority.

“I've just talked to my superior, Sheffield Edwards, Director of Security at the CIA. On his authority I will reveal to you what we had hoped would not need be revealed. Pretending to represent a number of business people, I have in fact been, for the past several months, an unofficial Company employee. My task has been to off-the-record deal with a number of men who, to be as honest as I dare be, are regarded as Mobsters.

“Yes, as I know, members of the criminal organization that you have recently set out to bring down. No question this is an awkward situation. Please be aware, none of what I've embarked on is self-serving, motivated by personal profiteering. Other than a small fee for my services, which I can assure you is less than I would require from private businesses, the sole reason I am involved in any of this, at obvious risk to myself and my reputation as your presence here now makes all too clear, is a desire to the serve the best interests of the United States.”

Maheu cleared his throat as the two FBI agents stared on, dumbfounded. He continued ...

“If this entailed doing things that ... how to put it ... might not be considered ‘strictly kosher,' then my view had to be, so be it. All of this relates, if in a serpentine manner, to the issue of national security. You have our permission, my own self and that of Shef Edwards, to relate all this to J. Edgar, as well as suggest Mr. Hoover discuss everything I have said with Attorney General Robert Kennedy, he also aware of what we've been doing. That, gentlemen, is all I have to say.”

The agents stood stock still for a while, unable to offer any coherent response. This was beyond their comprehension. They asked Maheu to take a seat, which he did, while they scurried off into a far corner to discuss the can of worms they'd opened.

One possibility was to contact someone higher up in the Bureau, perhaps Hoover. That did not strike either as viable. After all, they had, like everyone in government service, heard the rumor, around for so long it had been generally accepted as fact, that the Mob held in reserve a picture ... That didn't mean they should not now report their findings of a CIA-Mob connection, only that the old bulldog was not that person.

“If not J. Edgar, who, then?”

“Give me a moment to think ...”

Another element had to be taken into account: the recently strained relations between the FBI and the CIA. From the start of the latter organization's inception, Hoover clearly felt threatened that his Bureau might soon play second-fiddle to the Agency. Since the election, JFK clearly preferred the jet-age cowboys to those now stodgy agents best remembered for gunning down the Dillinger gang, back during the Depression.

Then the first tangible blow-up between FBI and CIA had occurred. A ranking KGB officer defected from the Soviets. He presented himself directly to the CIA, as if unaware the FBI still even existed. Worse, CIA members who had taken the man into custody, immediately informing both Kennedy brothers of this potentially explosive event, only approached the FBI as an afterthought. Hearing this, Hoover hit the ceiling.

For Hoover, here was a sign that he and the Bureau now rated as minor-league citizens. And would continue as such so as long the Kennedy clan ran things. An angry complaint was lodged. As a result, JFK did tell Allen Dulles that from now on, the CIA really ought to inform J. Edgar about such matters. Jack did so in such a contemptuous manner that Hoover became hysterical, though Dulles and Helms agreed to keep him in the loop.

The two agents now in Maheu's apartment recalled all of this. They agreed that if anyone higher up in the Bureau were to be informed, Hoover would catch wind of it in a matter of time. When that happened, holy hell would break loose. Both men were, like Maheu, the most dedicated of patriots, more concerned about what was best for the U.S. than themselves or the particular venue in the intelligence community they happened have joined.

“We're agreed, then?”

“I believe we are.”

The agents re-approached Maheu. They explained that, for the time being, they would not mention this to anyone. While they would not agree to Maheu's request to destroy the tape, the agents promised to keep it locked away to avoid precipitating a commotion that would reflect negatively on both their agencies.

“Well, I appreciate that.
Very
much.”

Maheu breathed a sigh of relief. For the moment, at least, things would likely remain under control.

*

Meanwhile, Sam Giancana prepared himself for the likely possibility that Phyllis might hear about his attempt to have Dan Rowan whacked. Terrified at the thought of now losing her forever, whether she had cheated or not, his fears and anxiety proving to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, Sam determined to let the matter of infidelity, real or imagined, drop.

Also, Old Sam knew that he would have to provide a gift so spectacular that Phyllis could not bring herself to refuse it. And, as a result, would take him back. Diamonds the size of the Ritz wouldn't work this time, nor would the most expensive mink coat for sale on Fifth Avenue. He had to outdo himself and, once that cunning mind went to work, Sam managed precisely that.

Already, he had made a top recording, radio, TV, and stage star of her. More of the same was not enough, not now. Phyllis wanted more. She had always wanted more. If she craved something, Sam would get it for her. And, as soon as he did, whatever this may have been struck her as meaningless. Always she wanted more.

In show business, ‘more' could only mean one thing: Phyllis wanted to stop being a celebrity and become a movie star.

So Sam phoned his unofficial godson, Frank Sinatra, in L.A. Now nicknamed The Chairman of the Board, as such not only a superstar but a paragon of the entertainment business, Frankie could do pretty much anything he chose as to upcoming projects.

“Not a problem, Sam. You know me. As with Charley, any favor asked is a favor honored. It'll be taken care of.”

Shortly thereafter, it was announced that recording star Phyllis McGuire would co-star with Sinatra in his upcoming big picture,
Come Blow Your Horn
, which would start shooting soon.

*

Even as Bob Maheu had breathlessly related his impromptu but convincing speech to the pair of disbelieving FBI agents, Johnny Handsome in Vegas hurriedly packed a few essentials into a suitcase. Shortly he headed for the airport where he caught a plane bound for Miami. Sam had suggested Rosselli disappear for
a while. He should assume one of his many aliases—
you haven't used ‘James
Stewart' in a while, have you
?—while in Florida.

There, Johnny would help CIA agent ‘George' and the Mob's own Santo Traffacante, Jr. to pick and choose among men then being recruited to fly missions over Cuba. Such operatives had, for some time, pretended to defect, then operated as ‘moles' and on occasion agents provocateur to try and bring down Castro.

The previous operatives sent on such perilous missions included George's favorite, young Lee Harvey Oswald.

Yet even as Maheu and Jim O'Connell had been preparing for their all-important meeting in Miami with Sam Giancana, Shef Edwards, who had initiated the project at least so far as Dick Tracy was concerned, began harboring second thoughts. He did consider the Mob connection a necessarily evil. Still, those words of warning Bob offered, kept out of Shef's conscious mind during his waking hours, now haunted his dreams. Also there was his own moral conscience which, like that of Bob, resoundingly warned him of that Biblical commandment: Though shalt not kill.

Such nightmares only increased after Edwards gave Dick Tracy the go-ahead to call Johnny Rosselli and start planning a final solution to ‘the Fidel problem.' Realizing that time still remained to complete this business without an execution, Shef called an emergency meeting of the CIA's top agents.

One man came up with a bizarre scheme that held everyone's attention. The CIA would send an operative down to Havana, have that person convince Castro's minions he had defected and wished to serve The Great Leader. The volunteer would claim to be an expert at broadcasting and offer to work for Radio Havana.

Sounds like a perfect chore for Lee
, George mused
.

As an American, the Cubans would naturally be wary, always searching the agent for hidden weapons before allowing him anywhere near their leader. Of course, he would carry none.

The plan: destroy Fidel Castro's credibility with the Cuban people. Before some upcoming public address, the agent/defector would offer to thoroughly clean the studio where Cuba's great man would shortly speak. No one would ever suspect anything as he darted about the area, spraying air freshener.

Only this would be no ordinary can. Inside, CIA experts at such secretive matters would have inserted some substance that could cause Castro to grow disoriented. Cuba's leader would make a fool of himself, live on-air. This would set into motion the beginning of his end. Meanwhile, the perpetrator would have hurried away to some waiting escape vehicle and be long gone.

“Seems reasonable. What chemical did you have in mind?”

“Lysergic acid is the official name. The government agency that's been testing this synthetic concoction calls it LSD.”