CHAPTER 9
INTERNAL OPERATIONS:
NICARAGUA
H
astily exiting my junior suite at the Palmera Hilton, I almost crashed
into an overloaded housekeeping cart parked inches outside my door.
“Buenas tardes,” I said with a nod to the matronly hotel maid standing
next to the cart, arms folded across her chest. I recognized her from the
previous day. The uniformed woman remained motionless and stared at
me, one eyebrow arched, an unforgettable Oh no you didn’t! look plastered
across her face. I shot her a weak smile, squeezed past the cart, and strode
toward the hotel elevator.
I knew why she was less than pleased to see me again. This was the third
day in a row I would leave the suite in bad shape. Worse, my exit came a
couple of hours after a burly businessman who bore a striking resemblance
to former Red Sox designated hitter David Ortiz, aka Big Papi, left the
same room. A room that appeared to have been ransacked by a pack of
hungry wolves. Bedsheets were draped over the desk and chair, and pillows
were strewn around the room. Wet bath towels were everywhere. The TV
was tuned to the local MTV station, blasting nonstop Latin pop hits, like
“Humo del Cigarrillo” by Pastor Lopez, to mask our conversation.In the mid-1980s, the CIA was running a not-so-secret war in Nicaragua,
supporting the repressive anti-Communist Contras against the even more
repressive Sandinista government. I spent nearly a quarter of my time in
Latin America focused on Nicaraguan operations, which I ran from outside
Nicaragua. I developed Nicaraguan political and media sources, and I also105