Chapter 16: Why Cubans?

Two men in suits that screamed “G-Man” walked into the small interview room. As usual, Billie and I were naked. The room was in a secure section of the base. Florida is not suitable for basements. The room had a card table and two folding chairs. Billie and I were going to remain standing during our interview.

“What’s going on?” one of the men asked.

“We are your interrogators this evening,” I announced. “I am Jackie Dunn and this is my sister Billie. Could you give us your names, please? False names are okay, just so we have something better than calling you Mutt and Jeff.”

For the record, another name for the Good Cop/Bad Cop game is Mutt and Jeff.

“Cat got your tongue?” Billie quipped after a long, silent moment. “Take a picture! It lasts longer. Or we can sell you some.”

“You’re naked!” Ben sputtered. “You’re not dressed for an interview.”

“It’s our interrogation technique,” Billie bragged. “the trick is getting you to talk about anything. With enough time, you’ll tell us everything we want to know. You’re already off-balance. Are we little girls so threatening?”

“I oughta spank you,” Abe mumbled.

“I’d like that,” Billie piped up. “Jackie doesn’t like hurting me. I need more spankings.”

Abe blushed.

“Since you can’t think up false names, I’ll call you Abe Lincoln and you are Ben Franklin,” I stated. “Is it okay if I call you Abe and Ben, or must I be more formal and call you Agent Lincoln and Officer Franklin?”

“Agent?” Abe sputtered. Abe was tall and lean.

“Yes, you are an FBI agent. Two giveaways are that you dress directly from the pages of the Sears catalog and you have that J. Edgar aura about you. Might as well wear a secret police uniform complete with rank insignia and a chest full of medals. A sword would be appropriate, too.”

“And what conclusions do you jump to with me?” Ben asked. Ben was husky and wore round eye glasses. I ran down the list—his English tailor, his Italian shoes, his round steel-rimmed eyeglasses, the .32 pistol in a shoulder holster. I told him that he needed to speak to his tailor, that a Colt Model M shouldn’t bulge so. “You are just a precious little smart ass, aren’t you?”

“Before Director Hoover’s boys crashed our party, Jackie and I were processing the site for clues,” Billie said. “You have our reports but found them unsatisfactory. Jackie, tell them about the rifles and Roger Lee.”

“There were six: a 7mm Mauser Model 1891 carbine, two Enfields with scopes—one in the American .30 caliber and one in the British .303--, and three Carcano rifles. One is in 7.35mm and two are in 6.5mm, one of the 6.5mm lacks a scope but the other Carcano rifles have cheap Japanese scopes. The most glaring thing about the three Italian rifles is that they all three wear the same serial number: C2766.”

“What about Roger Lee?” Ben asked, glossing over those three of five million rifles that had the same serial number.

“He told us that he had been castrated and when drafted in 1952, he was classified as 4F because he didn’t have the balls to die for his country,” Billie said, “but there is a record of a Roger Lee Bruce graduating from Paris Island and being stationed on the USS Iowa. That’s a retired battleship. After that, Roger Bruce moved to Tampa and is a student at the Dolphin Beach community college—except there is no such college. Mr. Bruce has had several temporary and part-time jobs since officially leaving the Marines.”

We omitted the fact that Roger Lee was stronger, faster and had more endurance than mere mortal humans. I got lucky when I sucker-punched Roger Lee.

“One more thing,’ Billie added. “Roger Lee had 13 names including a name used by the Office of Naval Intelligence: Alex Hidell. That identity is fronted when an ONI operative needs immediate extraction.”

“How do you know that?” Ben asked.

“I knew a guy who was in Rot-see as a naval aviator,” she claimed.

“Rot-see?” Abe asked?

“ROTC,” Ben answered. “Go on, Billie.”

“This guy had been in the Civil Air Patrol as a teen,” Billie continued. “ONI had an interest and facilitated entry into flight training. ONI has a domestic undercover operation and needs to maintain an air taxi service that doesn’t leave a paper trail. Unfortunately, that man died in an air crash during a training flight.”

“Can I have that man’s name?” Abe asked. “Trust but verify.”

“His name was Gary Markham,” Billie claimed.

“Full name?” Abe insisted.

“William Gary Markham.” Billie rattled off other information to include date of birth, address, physical description and other data on the man. “Gary was cremated. His ashes are at the national cemetery in Los Angeles.”

“How do you spell ‘Hidell?’ One el or two?” Abe asked.