322 DATE WITH THE GODScourt where I had failed to appear for a certain July 15th
appointment.
Since I was living with a friend in Sherman Oaks, I
hadn't been back to my Beverly Hills apartment. My
failure to respond to my court summons led to the
issuance of a bench warrant for my arrest.
I felt like a fugitive. I was "on the lam," so to speak.
I decided to do something about this problem. I got in
my car and drove non-stop to New York to see the one
man who had the kind of political influence I needed. I
hadn't discussed this particular problem with him, but
now it was necessary. I'd thought my court case would
be a simple one, with the judge giving me a slap on the
wrist and maybe putting me on probation for a year.
That didn't seem to be the case.
I knew Harold Barton was the only person who could
get me off the hook on this one. As embarrassing as it
wa s to tell him about my legal difficulties, he wa s the one
connection that could help me untangle this legal knot.
As it turned out, I didn't get to see Harold Barton that
day. I arrived in New York on December 19, 197 4, but
since he hadn't been expecting me, he wasn't available.
In fact, I never saw him again.
While writing this book, early in 1976, I always
watched the seven o'clock evening news on CBS with
Walter Cronkite. I saw a picture of my friend and
business associate I had known as Harold Barton, flash
across the tv screen. The news announcer said he'd been
assassinated in Athens, Greece. It was then I learned
that his real name was Richard Welsh, and that he was
one of the top officials of the CIA.
I had been under the impression that "Harold Barton"
was with the International Investment Investigations
organization, the Triple I, as he called it, and that he'd
been headquartered in Lima, Peru, for many years. This