By Pierre Duvall
From the April 1987 issue of SOF
I had been smart enough to back out of some of the most intriguing offers, or so I thought, overthrows of dictators and despots in Latin and South America and Africa. Some were not so lucky. One of the most captivating cases that SOF was involved in was that of a group of witless mercs who thought they would overthrow a dictator in one of the most bizarre and reckless schemes.
My staff and I kept in constant contact with eight mercs of very South American misfortune, ready to launch an intervention rescue of the mercs after they were thrown in a Brazil slammer. At the time of their anticipated release after endless months of incarceration, we carefully monitored their progress from Brazil to Bolivia. Our sources informed us that the mercs needed cash, and fast, if they were to escape the thugs of Bolivia. They had escaped there without passports or entry documents, and we were well aware that with word of their escape making headlines around the world, the Bolivians would certainly send them back to Brazil.
We checked out every option for sending the needed funds -$2,500 held by a family member in another state-down to Bolivia, but none of the routes guaranteed delivery. My Chief editor John Coleman volunteered to courier the cash down South.
After 10 months of working behind the scenes to help the imprisoned Americans, I gave him the green light. “OK, Coleman. “Put a ticket on my American Express card. I’ll front the money they need.”
With $3,500 in $20s and $50s stuffed inside his jacket pocket and an extra grand just in case, I sent Coleman on his 17 hour adventure to La Paz, Bolivia, where he was, with a lot of luck on his side, or on the merc’s side I should say, make contact with the three men.
Hollywood could never have come up with such a breathtaking tale of twists and turns full of suspense, of greed, and just plain insanity.
In March 1986, eight Americans and nine Argentine merchant sailors were arrested while aboard ship in Guanabara Bay off Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. The Brazilian federal police seized their l20-foot oceangoing tug, the Panamanian-registered Nobistor, and six tons of weapons, ammunition and other military gear were confiscated.
The Americans claimed they were Vietnam vets and military trainers hired to guard the Nobistor’s cargo, which supposedly was purchased in Buenos Aires, Argentina by the Defense Ministry of Ghana, a country in west Africa. In reality, these men were on their way to pull off the most audacious coup d ‘etat in recent history.
What follows, in this first of a three-part series, is a personal account by the American mercenary who organized and planned this operation -and who was later cut out of it. It ‘s a bizzare tale of high-level intrigue involving American mercs and an exiled Ghanaian businessman, Hong Kong banking and gambling interests, the New York City Chinese Mafia, the Israeli Mossad and Argentine arms dealers, the FBI -and the Central Intelligence Agency.
It’s also about money and greed, cross and double-cross, and a lot of questions that will probably never be answered. SOF followed the story from day one of the operation and interviewed most of the principals in depth. Yet the complete tale of these’ ‘dogs of war” and their backers will probably never be known: Each party, when they did talk, had their own version to tell.
As of December 1986, four of the Americans were still in confinement, either in Brazil or in Argentina, which had demanded extradition of all eight. Four others escaped from a Brazilian maximum-security prison that month. Three made their way to Bolivia, where SOF Senior Editor John Coleman met them; they eventually made it back to the United States on Christmas Day. The fourth merc was still traveling via his own route home.
The story begins with SOF contributor and well-known French Merc Pierre Duvall. He is a great story teller and spins this wild tale of this wacky plot to overthrow Jerry Rawling’s government of Ghana.
I’VE been· a soldier and a mercenary most of my life. It’s what I know and do best, and I make no apologies to anyone for my work. When a job comes up and there’s enough money there to make it worth my while, I take it. That’s how I got involved in the plot to overthrow Jerry Rawling’s government of Ghana.
It was late 1985 and I was in between work. My last job, protecting some mines in Kentucky during a vicious labor dispute, had been OK in the beginning. The pay was good and we all got along pretty well together, but then it turned into a rake-the leaves-and-water-the-grass drill . I’d been a sergent-chef [chief sergeant) in the French Foreign Legion and just didn’t do that shit, so I left.
My money situation was getting tight and I was getting bored when I got a phone call in early November. It was an old friend who was a close associate of Holden Roberto, the Angolan FNLA leader. He knew someone who needed a job done. Was I interested?
“Sure,” I told him. “Does he have any money to back it up?” “$175,000,” Jose answered. “He wants to meet you in Miami. Can you come?”
It only took me a second to decide. Ninety-nine percent of all merc offers promised money when the job was done, none upfront.
I accepted.
“OK:, but you’ll have to pay your way,” my friend said. “He’ll reimburse you when you arrive.” Jose went on to describe the man I’d be meeting at the Miami airport.
But after I’d hung up, I had second thoughts. I could scrape enough money together for the flight but would have nothing left over. I’d been through too many of these deals and had been left stranded with nothing to show for it. I just wasn’t convinced there was anything to this one, so I let it go.
My phone rang early the next day. “Where were you?” It was a voice I didn’t know, the words spoken in English with an unmistakable African accent. “I was waiting. ”
That call was enough to convince me. There was a change of plan -I would now meet my contact in New York -so I bought a ticket and caught the next Piedmont flight out.
As planned, the man was waiting at the unloading gate. He was African black, short and well-dressed. In his hand was the tip-off -a white envelope -which he held against his chest. I walked up to him and said, “I’m the person you’re waiting for. ”
He nodded and we left the airport without another word being said. The silence continued in the taxi as we headed into the city. My contact was being cautious, checking the traffic behind the cab while we rolled down the Horace Harding Expressway and exited onto Queens Boulevard. Out the window
I noticed a tall building with the sign, “Lafrak City,” on top. That was our destination.
It was one of those jam-packed, multistoried and multibuilding complexes in the heart of New York City. It was a clean, low-rent kind of place -and it had security guards. We took our business outside and around the back to a large recreation area. We sat down on a bench and he opened his briefcase, pulling out a map and some other papers.
“My name is Godfrey [Godfrey Osei) and I want you to do work for me,” he said, spreading the map open on the seat. It was a Ghana Tourist Board map of Accra, the country ‘s capital. The work Godfrey wanted done was straightforward: organize a mercenary operation to overthrow Flight Lieutenant Jerry Rawlings, Ghana’s current president, secure the capital and hold it until Godfrey could take control of the country. As simple and difficult as that.
I knew a little about Ghana and Rawlings, enough to know that he was just another African dictator of another backwater country.
I didn’t care who ran the place, and since the guy sitting across from me had the money to pay me, he’d be as good as any other.
Godfrey told me he wanted 10-30 white mercs in on the job and that he had 150-300 Ghanaians living in exile in Britain and Ghana’s neighbor, the Ivory Coast, who would fill out the attack force. I was to organize the whole military side of the operation: work out the plan, buy the aircraft or boats for the landing and all the weapons and gear we’d need.
We worked on the preliminary plan of attack for quite a while. Godfrey wanted half the merc force to storm Rawling’s house -“The Castle” it was called on the map, on the southern edge of Accra on the beach -kill him, his family and anyone else hanging around there. The rest of the force would hit the prison about five miles to the west, release and arm the prisoners, mostly influential businessmen and politicos,
Godfrey said. The two forces would then link up near the broadcasting station a couple of miles north of the beach, secure it and broadcast a prerecorded tape from Godfrey announcing the coup.
In the meantime, some Ghanaian army units would join in the operation and take over Kotoka International Airport and other key points in the city. I don’t think they were so much on Godfrey’s side as against Rawlings. In other words, business as usual in Africa.
It was pretty obvious that this was going to be a beach landing operation. Rawlings lived there and the prison was only spitting distance away. They were key targets and had to be hit immediately, and a beach assault was the best bet. That meant an ocean-going boat to get us offshore, rubber assault boats to get us on the beach -and a possible run-in with Ghana’s navy.
“Don’t worry about that,” Godfrey said, waving his hand in dismissal. “I’ve taken care of it. The navy won’t bother us.”
I’d take his word for that as far as it went, but it was time to see if we were talking business or pipe dreams.
“This will cost you a lot of money .. . for me, the mercs, a boat and all the gear. How much do you have?” Godfrey didn’t hesitate. “$175,000 now and I can get more. A lot more if we need it. ”
That was the figure Jose had said on the phone earlier. I wanted to see some of it. “I want $5,000 for working and expense money up-front,” I told him.
“Wait here,” the African said, leaving me on the bench with the map while he went up to his apartment. He was back in five minutes.
“$5,000. Count it.”
The plastic bag was two-inches thick and filled with $20s and $50s. I counted it and the $5,000 was all there. We were in business.
Godfrey and I were wrapping up some details -a few code names, contact telephone numbers and the like -when he dropped a bombshell on me. He hadn’t mentioned any time restrictions before and I figured there weren’t any. We’d just do the job when we were ready,
“You need to be in Accra by Christmas, ” he said, tapping the map of the city for emphasis. “Rawlings has sent 400 of his best troops to Cuba for training and they’ll be back by then.”
He was nodding his head up and down like he was answering for me. “By Christmas,” he said again.
That left me little more than six weeks. But hell … if he was paying the freight I’d do my damnedest to be on the beaches by Christmas Eve. I’d learned in my 17 years with the Legion that nothing was impossible.
Sometimes difficult, but never impossible.
I told Godfrey we’d be there.
During the meeting and the ride back to the airport, I found myself coming to like this little African from Ghana. He was kind of … well, unsettled, but he knew what he wanted, was friendly enough and had the cash to back his plan. He even bought my ticket home at the airport. But I still didn’t really trust him. I don’t trust anyone in this business.
Maybe that’s why I’m still around.
My first job was to get the weapons. The easiest and cheapest would be the ComBloc type -AKs, RPGs, light mortars and such -along with enough ammo and grenades to outfit 150 troops. They’d also be the easiest to re-supply once we hit Accra.
I had a contact who’d let me know sometime back that he had ready access to what I needed. He’d said he could get PLO AKs, so I gave him a call. I told him I was looking to buy some materials, could he help? His answer was to come on out and we’d discuss it.
Dave’s company was located out on the West Coast near Los Angeles. It was a high tech security firm and I knew they had connects with the FBI and the State Department.
They had demonstrated some of their gear to the Los Angeles Police Department for Olympic security and had tried to get State approval to send certain devices to Central America. State turned them down, but they’d slipped some through customs anyway.
Dave and his partner Jeff met me at John Wayne Airport in Orange County. They started pumping me immediately for information on the operation. I managed to put them off until we settled into Dave’s plush office in an upper-class L.A. business district.
“OK. Tell me exactly what sort of equipment you’re looking for and where you want to employ it,” Dave shot at me. Jeff sat in the comer, not saying anything. I had a feeling they were recording all of this, but I knew it wouldn’t do them any good to let it out. They’d get stung just as bad as me.
“I need 150 AKs, some light machine guns and RPGs, grenades and ammo. What’s your price?” This kind of job only called for the basics. I didn’t want any high-tech shit, just trigger-puller gear.
There was a pause and then Jeff answered. “$1,500 for each AK.”
“Bullshit. No way in hell I’ll pay that. I’ve only got $175,000 so you have to do better,” I told them.
We haggled some more, but Dave and Jeff were more interested in the plan. They pumped and squeezed for information and started guessing that the op was in Africa. I cut them short.
“Look … I’ll go outside for awhile. You guys come up with a price for the guns we can work with.” I left them both in Dave’s office and went out to call Godfrey on a pay phone. I told him we’d need a lot more money than his $175,000 to buy the weapons.
“Don’t worry about money,” Godfrey said. “I can get whatever we need.” About 20 minutes later I went back into the office. Dave wasn’t there.
“Here’s what we’ll do for you,” Jeff said. “The AKs will run $220 each if you buy in bulk -1,000 or more. The more you buy, the cheaper they get. We can get you RPG-2s for $3,500-$4,000 each. We’ll figure out a price for the rest later. Are you interested?’ ‘
Fuck no I wasn’t interested. They were scamming me and I knew it. Just then Dave came back into the office and immediately started pumping me for more information: Where were we going? When did we need the weapons? Did we need transportation? Who was involved?
Dave started coming on with the big buddy act, the we’re-all-in-this-together line.
“Hey, we know it’s in Africa and we can help you out. Is it Nigeria? We know people there and can set up a staging area for you.”
We went back and forth some more, then somehow Dave latched onto Ghana as the target and wouldn’t let go. I just didn’t say anything and the talk went back to the weapons buy.
“To get the stuff you need we’ll have to go to Hong Kong,” Dave said.
“We can buy a boat there and load the weapons directly. But it’s going to cost you an extra 15-20 percent commission.
“Tell you what. We’ll carry out the entire operation for $2.5 million -weapons, transport, recruiting … everything that needs to be done. Give us the $175,000 as a down payment and we’ll get it rolling.”
I thought about it for a second. “What do I get out of this deal?”
“You’ll be in on it. We’ll cut you in on the profits,” Dave promised.
Sure they would. Then Jeff suggested putting John Early [a veteran of the Vietnam and Rhodesian wars, technical adviser for the movie “Red Dawn” and one-time SOF contributor] in charge of the operation. At that point I said I had to get back and talk with my contact.
“We can get this thing underway while you’re gone,” Dave told me.
“Leave me $2,500 as a good faith payment and we’ll get moving on it.”
I didn’t trust either one of them, but I knew where to find them again. They knew that too. I counted out the money, then Jeff drove me to LAX (Los Angeles International Airport). He kept pumping me for information all the way to the ticket counter, then waited while I arranged my flight. He wanted to see where I was going.
New York was my destination, but I bought a ticket to Denver for Jeffs benefit. I told him I’d be in touch. I connected to New York from Stapleton Airport in Denver. The flights were good enough, but I wasn’t happy at all about Dave and Jeff in Los Angeles.
I booked a room at the Holiday Inn near LaGuardia Airport in New York and called Godfrey. I didn’t tell him anything on the phone but told him to meet me at the hotel. He arrived a little while later, excited to hear what I had to tell him about my trip. His mood changed soon enough. He bitched about the cost of the trip, the cost of the weapons and the $2,500 I’d left with Dave. While we were on the subject, I told him that his 175 grand wouldn’t even be close to what we needed. The weapons alone would eat it up and we still needed a boat and a lot more gear. Plus, he’d have to pay the mercs’ fee and the cost of their transport.
He wasn’t very happy, but told me again that he could raise the cash.
Godfrey started pacing the room, worried that we couldn’t get the job done by Christmas.
He started going over the plan again, talking more to the room than to me. The more he talked, the more I was convinced that the U.S. government was involved in this deal.
Finally I asked him. “Have you contacted the CIA about this job?”
Godfrey didn’t try to cover up anything. “The CIA and FBI flew me to Washington,” he said. “I met Casey and McFarlane, and then went to Langley.” (William Casey was the head of the Central Intelligence Agency, headquartered at Langley, Virginia).
Robert “Bud” McFarlane once headed the National Security Council.) I wasn’t really surprised to hear that. The Agency’s involvement with Ghana was no secret.
Godfrey told me that some people at Langley and with the FBI had gone over his plan with him and made some suggestions. They were the ones who said a boat op was the way to go, and had made some markings on Godfrey’s map of Accra. He said he still had contacts with the Agency who would supply him with information. Then he changed the subject and started talking about why he was doing this job.
“I was a businessman in Accra,” he said, still pacing with a worried look. “I owned a trucking company and was well off. Then Rawlings came in. Government changed and was too restrictive and I had to show all my assets. When they saw how much I had, they just took it away and put me in jail. They took all my trucks and property.”
He was talking nonstop now, a worried little man trying to overthrow a country.
“Rawlings also put the other rich businessmen in jail too, especially those who ran the diamond and gold mines.
“I was held at The Castle, where Rawlings lived. My wife smuggled me in a pistol.
I escaped and, with some other people, took over the radio station, to tell the people to throw Rawlings out.”
He stopped talking and looked at me like I’d just arrived. “I was sentenced to two years for trying to overthrow the government.
The Swiss organized my release and the INS (Immigration and Naturalization Service) let my family and me into the United States.
“I’ve been working very hard ever since to go back,” he finished.
It was interesting, but I didn’t really care about his reasons. I was more interested in the job we had to do right now.
“Tell me more about what the government did for you in Washington,” I pressed him.
Godfrey sat down on the bed and looked at some of his papers. “Contacts,” he answered.
“They talked to some people in Hong Kong and the Israelis at the
N. “
It was vague, and he turned his attention back to me. “You’ve got to get this done before Christmas! His troops will be back from Cuba by then!” He started pacing back and forth again.
“You must neutralize Rawlings, his family, everyone in The Castle -and anyone on the first night who shoots at you. You have full authority to do everything you need to do!”
That was fine with me, but first things came first. We talked about money again. He said he wanted 30 white merc troops, and I said I wanted $3,000 per man per month, a $10,000 bonus and round-trip ticket for each. He’d need a lot more money than he had.
“I can get the money from the Chinese Mafia in New York,” Godfrey answered. ”They represent Hong Kong banking people.
They want to move their business to Ghana and work there. So do the gambling casino people. That can only happen when I’m president, so they’ll give me the money you need.”
I told him I’d keep working on getting the weapons. We talked about a few more things, mainly money, and left it at that. I made another trip to Los Angeles to see Dave and Jeff. They told me they were working on the weapons, but they still needed more money -and information. They didn’t get either from me.
The next few weeks were spent recruiting mercs and trying to find another source of weapons and gear in case the L.A. connection fell through. I had a lot more luck with the first than the second.
Godfrey wanted American mercs for this job. I wanted Legionnaires. Americans plan too much and want too much equipment. Legionnaires just need a rifle and a place to point it. But I was running out of time, so I ran up a $600 phone bill bringing Americans in on the job.
I had another meeting with Godfrey in New York around the first part of December and brought him up to date. There was no way we’d make it by Christmas and I told him so. He didn’t seem too worried about it. I told him I needed more money. He said he could get it from the Chinese Mafia at 1000 percent interest. He didn’t seem worried about that either. He also said he’d been in contact with the CIA and told them about Dave and Jeff’s involvement with the weapons buy.
“They said they didn’t know that Dave was in the mercenary arms business,” Godfrey said. “They weren’t pleased at all!”
By this time I’d talked with Dave a few times on the phone. They were stalling me, trying to take over the operation. They wanted Godfrey to come out to the West Coast and deal with them directly. They really wanted me out of the operation entirely and I knew it.
I’d had enough of their bullshit. I called Dave just before Christmas and told him the deal was off and I wanted my $2,500 back. He hedged.
“Take it easy,” he told me. “We’re working on raising the $2.5 million to pull this deal off for you. ”
“Fuck you. You’re out of it and I want my money back.”
“Now you look here,” Dave shouted back at me over the long-distance line. “That $2,500 is expenses for my time! I earned it. ”
That finally broke my back. ” You’d better get me my money right now or I’ll kill you. And kill your family.” I didn’t need to shout. He knew I meant it.
That shut him up fast. Then I added, “The Agency knows you’re in this deal and they’re pissed off about it. Get my money or …. ” I left the rest unsaid.
“Call me back in two days,” Dave said quietly. ”I’ll have your cash.” That was the last contact I ever had with Dave, Jeff or their company. My calls to their office on the Coast went unanswered. So did my calls to Dave’s apartment and his hangout in Las Vegas. They just dropped out of sight and so did my $2,500.
Godfrey was highly pissed off when I gave him the word . He accused me of stealing the money. I hadn’t, but I was going through my initial $5,000 pretty fast without a lot to show for it. I told Godfrey to sit tight, that I had other sources to check for weapons. Since we’d already blown the Christmas deadline, there was no longer any rush. He said to keep in touch.
I wasn’t really worried about finding a source for the weapons we’d need to take out Rawlings and his crew. What worried me were the money and the time factor. If I didn’t start producing soon, Godfrey might cut me out of the job and find someone else to do it. And I didn’t want to miss out on this op. It was the kind of work I was good at, and there hadn’t been much of it floating around lately.
I got on the phone to Bob Foti, a fellow I’d worked with on the mine security job in Kentucky. I didn’t trust him, but he might have the right connects to buy some weapons.
“I’ve already been in on this deal before,” he told me. “Some friends of Godfrey’s in the gold mining business in Ghana hired us to do a feasibility study on taking the place out.”
He and four other mercs had been hired for $25,000 each, Foti said. They’d spent a month in a London hotel working the plan. One guy had flown to Accra to check it out and make contact with the organizers. They submitted their plan but the gold mining people had chickened out. Foti and the others didn’t bother to return their unused expense money but had split back to the States instead.
“I can get you the stuff you need from Beirut,” Foti said, “but it’s going to cost a lot . .. a couple hundred thou at least.”
By this stage I didn’t know how much money Godfrey had to spend on the operation. He was getting tight with his pocketbook.
“Look, we haven’t got that kind of cash to spend. Just forget I talked to you,” I told him.
But Foti didn’t want to let it go that easiIy.
“Wait a second. Sounds like you’ve got a good deal going here so let’s don’t blow it. Let’s just milk Godfrey for as much as we can get .. . lead him along for as long as we can. ”
I may be a lot of things, but that shit wasn’t my style. Double-cross too many people in this business and pretty soon you’re out of it -or dead.
“No way,” I told him. ” But if you can come up with some money backers or a ship, I’ll cut you in on the job.”
Foti told me he’d work on it.
I had another meeting with Godfrey in New York in January to discuss progress. I had his 30 meres lined up, but still no solid line on weapons or transport. I told him I was still checking for sources -maybe Beirut -and financial backers to help pick up costs. Godfrey thought he had some connections in Spain to get the weapons and some people in London who could organize a boat.
We also talked about an incident that helped confmn my feeling that
Uncle Sam was involved in all of this. A little while earlier, the FBI had busted three Ghanaians in Newark, New Jersey. It had been a sting operation, a setup. The Ghanaians had tried to buy weapons from an agent posing as an arms dealer, and they had $200,000 in cash to do it.
The big question was why.
“Rawlings sent an envoy to the White House,” Godfrey said. “He told them that the Ghanaian government knew the U.S. was letting dissidents use the U.S. to stage a coup, and Rawlings wanted something done about it. ”
He shrugged his shoulders. “It was a goodwill gesture. It appeased Rawlings. And it got our opposition out of the way,” he added, smiling.
“Did the CIA set this thing up to give us a free hand?” I asked him pointblank. He just shrugged again and said, “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t involve us.”
I got back in touch with Foti to see what he’d turned up. He said he’d found some investors and a line on the weapons, and wanted to meet with Godfrey. I set it up. I wasn’t there when Foti came to New York and saw Godfrey, but Godfrey said later that he’d paid Foti $500 to cover his expenses. He didn’t say anything else about their meeting.
By this time I knew we couldn’t get the weapons in the U.S. It probably wasn’t a good idea anyway; too many U.S. laws would be broken, and Godfrey wanted to steer clear of doing that. He also dropped the idea of 30 mercs and asked if I could get 10-15 for $3,000 each. No problem. He said again that he’d arranged to get more money from the Chinese Mafia -at 1000 percent interest.
Since I was sure Godfrey was tied in with the Agency on this, I asked him why he didn’t get the CIA to set up the weapons and boat.
“I have,” he told me. ” They will supply all the materials, you just come up with the people!”
I did. But now Foti was trying to cut himself in in a big way. He wanted $12,000 up-front and $12,000 after the job was done for each man, and a bonus. He was talking directly to Godfrey, telling him fuck knows what, but Godfrey seemed interested. I told him he’d be wasting too much money, and to check with the Agency on Foti and his partner, John Early.
A couple of days later he got back to me. He’d talked to his contact at the Agency and they weren’t happy at all with Early’s involvement.
“Too much drugs and alcohol.” Godfrey said.
I told Godfrey to cut Foti and Early out of the job. For one thing, Foti wanted too many guarantees. He wanted too much money. He wanted back-ups and back-ups to the back-ups. This was a trigger-puller job, simple as that. We didn’t need big guns and high-tech, just guys to hit the beach and do the job -like Legionnaires would have done. That’s why I wanted Legionnaires. Americans plan too much and want too much, just like in Vietnam. Foti was trying to make his own deal with Godfrey, and I didn’t trust Early or some of his friends. Godfrey didn’t talk about them again and I didn’t bring the subject up.
Around mid-January, Godfrey flew to Washington for a meeting. He came back and told me the CIA would be sending a handler down who would act as a liaison officer. The guy would go with them to Accra on the boat and would be making arrangements. Godfrey told me his name was Ted and that he had been a CIA contract player! Air America pilot for a long time. As I got some more details later, I found out that Ted had worked with the Vennell Corporation in Iran, flew a lot in Central America and had smuggled TV sets into Mexico on black-painted C-47s. He was currently operating out of a little Texas town called Plano, near Dallas.
My first meeting with Ted was in room 164 of the Best Western Midway Motel in Flushing, New York. He was around fivefoot- eight with thinning, sandy hair, and I pegged him at about 150 pounds and 45-50 years old. He did have a Texas drawl-and he knew the whole plan.
He laid out detailed maps of Ghana and Accra, and also some navigational shipping maps , on the bed. All the maps were covered with notes, azimuth plottings and what looked like code numbers of some sort.
We talked for quite a while . Ted was friendly enough and I got the feeling that he was on the level. He told me an Israeli Mossad agent had left just before I arrived. The Israeli had agreed to organize a boat for the job and to set up the anus buy with an Argentine banker in Buenos Aires.
“The Israelis owe us a favor,” Ted explained.
“The Mossad uses this banker for some things, and he ‘ll rent us a boat and crew for $1,000 a day .
“This guy owns the shipping company, owns a bank in Zurich . . . and owns the arms companies in Argentina where we’ll get the weapons -150 of their version of the FN FAL, rocket launchers, machine guns, pistols, rubber boats, medical stuff … everything.”
“Godfrey’s got the money for this?” I asked him.
“$750,000 will be here tomorrow. The Israelis are going to do us a favor on that too. We’ll make the deposit in a foreign bank here and have it transferred to Buenos Aires. But the records will indicate that the deposit was made outside the United States,” Ted told me. The banker in Argentina would be getting $10,000 up-front also organized by the Israelis -to get the ball rolling.
The job was getting better. Things were finally corning together. We spent some hours working out requirements for the mission and how much it would cost. The boat and crew would run $34,000; 150 FNs at $320 each, including 10 magazines and 1,000 rounds; about $150,000 for Argentine machine guns, rocket launchers, pistols, light mortars and ammunition, as well as rubber boats, uniforms, medical gear and radios; $48,000 for round-trip tickets for 30 mercs to Argentina (we’d gone back to the number 30 instead of Godfrey’s 10-15, figuring the money’ d be there to cover the extra cost); $120,000 to cover the meres’ one-month fee and $10,000 bonus at the end; and $60,000 to pay for 120 Ghanaians living in exile in the Ivory Coast who would be part of the attack force .
It totaled out to around $650,000, leaving us with $100,000 for contingency funds.
Godfrey had joined us in the room and he and Ted left to get the money. Godfrey had pretty much told me it would be coming through the CIA , but I had the feeling he was still dealing with the New York Chinese Mafia. That turned out to be true.
They came back about an hour later without the cash and bitching about the Chinese. They had wanted a full accountability from Godfrey on the initial $225,000 they had loaned him (Godfrey ‘d told me he had $175,000 for the job. What he’d done with the other $50,000 I’ll never know.). They thought he was stealing from them and they weren’t happy about it. They’d made noises about what would happen to Godfrey and his family if that were true.
Ted and Godfrey had managed to cool them down and were to meet them later and pick up the $750,000. I went out for some food. When I came back, Ted and Godfrey took me down the street from the motel and into an apartment building. We climbed up two flights of stairs and went into a room.
Three Chinese men were waiting for us. The deal, as I understood it, was for each to put up $225,000. They were repping for Hong Kong banks and casinos and figured they’d get a hefty return if the plan worked.