In Search of Enemies - A CIA Story - John Stockwell

Roberto [ 135)
if IAFEA TURE ever became another Vietnam. I was tempted not to
mention it to headquarters.
As we flew on, I drafted my report. In two pages, it was simple
enough. But my conclusion troubled me. I was intrigued that the
opposing forces in northern Angola, the MPLA, were poorly
armed, poorly led, and disorganized, offering us the opportunity
for a quick coup. It was feasible tq rush weapons into Angola,
which would decisively win the war. I knew that our policy was
not designed to win, but I wanted Washington to know that the
opportunity existed for a total victory, if we provided abundant,
immediate support. Since there was no chance of the National Security
Council taking bold action in August 1975, I might have
served my nation better if I had attempted to discourage them by
emphasizing the frailty of the FNLA army to which the United
States had affixed its prestige.
Back in Kinshasa I handed St. Martin the draft report and went
into the guest room for a long shower. When I came out he handed
it back, suggesting only that it should be changed from the first
person and put into cable format. Did he agree with it? He brushed
the question aside. I should report whatever I wanted. He had nevertheless
made several minor changes, with the compulsion of all
agency managers to edit every draft that crosses their desks. His
reluctance to discuss it made me wonder if he would file a separate
cable, criticizing mine.
On the way back from Ambriz an ominous turmoil had begun
to build in my abdomen, and by the next morning I was in the
throes of the "Angolan anguish," bacillary dysentary. The medic
at the embassy prescribed kaolin pectin and four or five days rest,
but my plane was to leave the next morning for Savimbi's headquarters
in central Angola and I would be bounced from truck to
Land Rover for the next three days. I knew that only an occasional
sip of paregoric would permit me to complete the mission,
and there was none to be had without a prescription. A CIA
medic once told me that illness, alcoholism, and emotional problems
are responsible for 99 percent of the CIA's incomplete assignments.
To my enormous relief, one of the station's operations assistants
found me at St. Martin's at six and handed me a dark vial of paregoric,
laughing sympathetically at my predicament. "Don't ask any