all that. The CIA has always had close ties to the right wing in this country-in fact, that's a facet of this investigation. With the right wing controlling both houses of Congress, plans for the hearings were dumped. Finally, although he denies it, the chances that this president is going to be reelected in November are none to nil. He's almost certainly going to be replaced by a conservative from the other party, and very likely it will be somebody from the hard right. That person isn't going to make any changes in the CIA. So he decided to do something about the problem while he still had the chance. He appointed his own commission to look into the company's activities over the years. Garth and I were offered a piece of the action. We're just one team of investigators among many working on this thing. We were assigned what you might call the 'Haiti desk.' Other investigators are looking into CIA activity in Iran, El Salvador, Chile-countries all over the globe. The final report will be compiled, published, and made public before the election. Then, no matter what happens, the information will be out there, and the new president, Congress, and the American people will have to deal with it, whether they want to or not. That's what this is all about.'
Beauvil shrugged. 'For you and your brother, maybe. Our concern is with a murder investigation. What was the victim's name?'
'General Vilair Michel. He started off as a teenage Ton-ton Macoute, then grew up into a big player in both Fraph and the army. For a few years he was commandant of Fort Dimanche-Haiti's Treblinka. That's where he used to do to other people what was now done to him. In Fort Dimanche, political prisoners were raped, castrated, blinded, and had their limbs amputated. Michel got off easy.'
'You're saying you think this was a revenge killing?'
'No. I know it wasn't a revenge killing. Michel was murdered to shut his mouth, and to put a good scare into any other Haitian who might be tempted to cooperate with the investigation. The people we're after are plugged in everywhere. Somehow they found out-or guessed-that Michel would be willing to talk to us. So they made sure they talked to him first. There have been five ritual killings just like this one-all Haitians, each person a potential witness to illegal CIA activity in Haiti. Two of the murders occurred in New Orleans, one in California, and two in New York. That's why you're going to have FBIs in your pants five minutes after you finish talking to them. It's also why I suspect it was one of the killers who called you. They want the publicity; they want to terrify Haitians. The good news is that all of the victims were murderous thugs like Michel; they're the only people who know what really went on in Haiti.'
Beauvil frowned slightly. The film of fear had returned to his dark eyes. He might be an educated man living in the United States, but he was still obviously made decidedly uncomfortable by talk about voodoo and ritual murders. 'What really did go on in Haiti?' he asked quietly. 'How is the CIA connected?'
'Jesus Christ,' I said, rolling my eyes toward the ceiling. 'Let me count the ways. Let's see if I can't just sketch in the big picture. You ever catch a TV program back in the sixties called
'No,' the detective replied curtly. 'My family didn't have a television set. They couldn't afford it.'
'It was about a top British Intelligence agent who quits the service in a huff. Because he knows too many secrets and is considered untrustworthy, he's drugged and bundled off to an island that's essentially a prison. That premise could have been modeled on Haiti-or so Garth and I have good reason to believe. Right now I'm betting the CIA wishes they had shipped Aldrich Ames off to Haiti a long time ago. But then, they never considered Ames untrustworthy. This case does have its humorous side.'
'You're saying the CIA used Haiti as a penal colony?'
'Depending on who was sent there and for what reason, it was used as a penal colony, a death camp at Fort Dimanche, or luxury resort among the villas up in the hills. The problem is that all this is very difficult to prove. Former Haitian army officers who could provide hard evidence keep getting their hearts cut out. What we can prove is that Vilair Michel, along with hundreds-possibly thousands-of Ton-ton Macoutes, Fraph people, army officers, and government officials, was on the CIA payroll. CIA money has been going into Haiti for years, going all the way back to Papa Doc-who was probably a CIA creation. We think we've collected enough evidence to convince reasonable people that the whole country of Haiti served as a kind of offshore bank for the CIA, which used it to hide and launder large amounts of money generated through things like drug running, and which it then used to finance other secret, illegal operations. Needless to say, there was no congressional oversight of these affairs. That fool William Casey dreamed of setting up what he called an 'off-the-shelf' operation. What he didn't know was that people buried deep within the organization had already created precisely such a thing decades before, and it was running smoothly. Casey's another guy I'll bet the CIA wishes it had shipped off to Haiti. They probably killed him.'
The corners of the detective's mouth curled upward in just the slightest trace of a smile. 'With the CIA's infamous brain-tumor pill?'
'Ah. A flash of humor there. I take that as a good sign.'
'That would be a mistake.'
'Try to remember that paranoids often do have real enemies.'
'What about Oliver North?'
'Just a tool. North is a CIA poster boy-the kind of person the company loves to have around to run errands, and run for office. What Garth and I are trying to prove, Detective, is that that whole goddamn hellhole of a country was essentially a CIA asset. It was a company store, if you will, owned lock, stock, and barrel by the CIA. Aristide's election can be viewed as a hostile takeover. They did what they could to stop it, and gave it their best shot with the military junta, but they came up short. Now we're trying to get hold of the books of that company store. That isn't easy, since most records over there were literally just jotted notes on pieces of paper. It also isn't so easy interviewing the major shopkeepers when they keep winding up dead. And
'Jesus,' Beauvil said in a flat tone.
'None of this need concern you, Detective; as you've pointed out, your responsibility is to investigate a murder that took place in the village of Spring Valley. But that killing is just a small part of a very large conspiracy that Garth and I are digging into. We would have called you, and then we'd have called the FBI ourselves. If you cut us loose and let us continue our work, there's at least a chance that the men who did this, as well as the bigger fish who put together and run this voodoo hit squad, will be caught and brought to justice. Bring us down, cause a stir in the newspapers that could end our role in the overall investigation by the commission, and your chances for ever catching them are diminished. A great deal of work by many people could be put in jeopardy by the premature disclosure of what we've been up to these past months. It's up to you.'
The detective's hand trembled ever so slightly as he reached out to turn off the tape recorder. His eyes gleamed, and his neck was slightly flushed. He seemed about to say something when there was a single, sharp rap from the other side of the one-way mirror. Beauvil pocketed the tape recorder, then stood up. He stooped to pick up the cards he had swept to the floor, then walked briskly out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Twenty minutes passed, time I spent with my feet flat on the floor, hands folded on the table, staring at the opposite wall and trying not to look as anxious as I felt. Then I heard the door open, and I turned to find my brother standing in the doorway. His soulful brown eyes glinted with amusement, and there was a thin, wry smile on his face. He said quietly, 'It looks like you've done it again, you silver-tongued devil.'
'We're outta here?'
'Yeah. Let's get a move on before they change their minds.'
'Right,' I said, rising and walking quickly through the door Garth held open for me.
We headed down a narrow corridor, past two other interrogation rooms and a holding cell. As we turned a corner and entered the booking area I could see into a small office where Beauvil was standing and talking to a portly, gray-haired man wearing a chief's uniform and sitting behind a littered desk. The two officers who had arrested us were standing across the lobby, staring at us with curiosity. We nodded to them, then headed for the exit.
'Hold it!'
We stopped just before the exit doors, turned to see Beauvil, who had just come out of the office. Behind him, the chief was closing the blinds covering his window. Beauvil came up to us and ushered us outside.
'We're doing you two a favor because we don't want to interfere with the work of any Presidential Commission,' he said softly, squinting into the rising sun. 'Now you do us one.'
'Name it,' I replied.
'We don't want to be accused of showing any favoritism toward our local celebrity here and his famous
