Free The Berlin Conspiracy by Tom Gabbay Page A

communication, resupply, everything they needed to hear. Then, after about thirty minutes, he stopped, shifted gears, and told them what they
wanted
to hear.
    “Let me add this final note,” he began, narrowing his eyes and honing in on the audience. “I’ve seen more than a few fighting forces in my time and I can tell you in all honesty that I have never seen a group of soldiers more motivated, better trained, or more vigorous than the men you will lead onto Cuban soil at dawn. You are well organized, well equipped, and well disciplined. And you are ready for battle.” He let that sink in for a moment, taking time to look every one of the young officers in the eye before hitting them with the news they’d been waiting for.
    “And so are we,” he said solemnly.
    The room went dead quiet, waiting for more. After a dramatic pause, Harkin gave it to them, playing it for all it was worth.
    “I can report to you that at this hour there is an armada of U.S. Navy destroyers sitting twenty miles off the Cuban coast. On board those ships is a contingent of United States Marines. … And let me assure you that they are ready and eager to follow you into battle.”
    I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! And he wasn’t finished yet!
    “Once you’ve held that beachhead for seventy-two hours,” he continued, “I promise you that we will be beside you for the next step.” He straightened his back, furrowed his brow, and came to the emotional climax.
    “Gentlemen … God and the United States of America are with you all the way. What more could you ask for? … I wish you every success in your mission.” I thought he was going to start crying. Instead, he turned and walked out of the room to a spontaneous round of heartfelt applause.
    I was stunned. There was no way in hell those Marines were going anywhere near Cuba. No way! Kennedy, the joint chiefs, the national security adviser, they’d all made that abundantly clear at every turn. And Harkin’s own telex to the White House the day before had confirmed it:
The Brigade Officers do not expect help from the U.S. Armed Forces,
it had said. So what the hell was this?!
    I turned to Fisher, who was clapping his hands and nodding his head enthusiastically. “Why did he say that?” I whispered.
    “Say what?”
    “That we’re gonna send in the Marines.”
    “I didn’t hear that, Jack.” He stopped clapping, turned toward me. “And neither did you.” He stood up and started shaking hands with the euphoric Cubans and I had no choice but to do the same. They crowded around, slapping us on the back and saying things like “God bless America” and “Kennedy is a man who means business.” Harkin had told themthe one thing they needed to hear—the one thing that would ensure they’d have no second thoughts about stepping onto that beach. It was a brutal deception.
    Don’t get me wrong. I’d been involved in plenty of deceitful behavior in my time with the Company—it was part of the game and I’d never been squeamish about it. But these men weren’t playing in our game; at least they didn’t think they were. They were soldiers, men we’d recruited, trained, and equipped to fight a battle that we couldn’t be seen to be fighting. Sure, it was their cause, too, but if they were willing to put their lives on the line, they should know what the deal was. At least that’s what was going through my mind while the Cubans slapped us on the back and told us how wonderful we were.
    Fisher evaded me for the rest of the night, so at around midnight, after a few rum and Cokes, I barged into his quarters. He was spread out on his cot in a T-shirt and Jockey shorts, reading a dog-eared copy of
Peyton Place.
    “Don’t bother knocking,” he said, laying the book facedown on the bed.
    “If I didn’t know better, Henry, I’d think you’ve been avoiding me.” I invited myself in.
    “It’s kind of late, Jack….”
    “Yeah, and I can see you’re busy,” I said,