Charles Wick, the Director of the United States Information Agency orchestrated a meeting in the Oval Office so formidable it could probably fund a small country's GDP for a day or two. This gathering united a cadre of global elite, each significant not only for their wealth but also for their lasting impact on political and media landscapes. The guest list read like a who's who of the era's power brokers.
Among them was Rupert Murdoch, whose FOX media empire's influence on global politics and public opinion was—and remains—enough to make emperors of old envious. Roy Cohn, a McCarthy-era attorney known for his 'scorched earth' litigation approach, had famously mentored Donald Trump in aggressive defense tactics, serving as a kind of Yoda to future president’s Luke Skywalker. Adding to the room's legal firepower was another Trump attorney, Thomas Bolan, because, in circles like these, one high-powered attorney is never enough.
Also in attendance, though not caught on camera, were billionaire Sir James Goldsmith and self-help guru W. Clement Stone. Stone's work with the "Religious Heritage of America" played a pivotal role in adding "Under God" to the Pledge of Allegiance. It was the kind of room where casual decisions ripple out and affect millions of families across the globe for decades to come.
Despite the meeting's timing and the high-profile attendees, Charles Wick maintained (with an almost Oscar-winning straight face) that it was purely an above-board gathering, not a fundraising effort. This claim came just a month after the December Murders, and days after Reagan’s ok to overthrow Suriname in a coup, adding a certain gravitas to the whole affair. But with Congress cutting funding, Reagan needed alternative financial sources to prevent the spread of communism throughout Central America.
In the image from the Reagan Archives below, you’ll find an intriguing photograph with a standing Roy Cohn that appears to capture the precise meeting of minds mentioned in The New York Times.1
Meanwhile, Oliver North was busy fundraising of a more unconventional sort. Together with Robert Owen, he orchestrated the creation of front companies and secret Swiss bank accounts. These entities funneled funds from illegal arms sales directly to the Contras, skirting Congressional oversight and legal boundaries. At the same time, John Hull's farm in Costa Rica became a hub for trafficking arms, cocaine, and heroin, effectively bypassing any form of legal scrutiny.2
Robert "Bob" Duemling, Suriname's ambassador who had miraculously survived the December Murders after an explosion threw them from their bed, was unexpectedly placed in charge of the Nicaraguan Humanitarian Assistance Office. Yet, under North's guidance, this aid program was covertly twisted to support the Contras' military efforts. This manipulation included hiring consultants working for North and misappropriating planes, officially for humanitarian aid, to deliver military supplies and return cocaine. 3
Key to the operation were pilots willing to undertake high-risk flights into remote areas. They flew planes bought by benefactors like brewer Joseph Coors, founding member of The Heritage Foundation. Among those enlisted to run these so-called humanitarian aid missions to the Contras were ex-military figures like Fred Rich and Jim "Tank" Wester. Operating under the banner of Freedom Force One, their expertise in navigating challenging terrains proved invaluable to North's covert operations.
In 1985, Rambo: First Blood Part II, hit the silver screen and a crack commando unit called the A-Team was ready for hire—if you could find them. Magazines like Soldier of Fortune and Gung-Ho were teeming with enticing ads, offering everything from survival schools in the Ozarks to ninja training and even an Indiana Jones replica hat. Amid updates on global conflicts and international affairs, you could find ads for "dirty deeds, done dirt cheap." It's disheartening looking back on your favorite '80s movies and TV shows and wondering whether they were Project Democracy works of propaganda.
Remember Don Merl Morton from the last chapter, one of the "Freedom Fighters"? At 46, with an education degree from a college in NE Missouri, he lived in Colby, northwest Kansas, not far from where my wife grew up. He would vanish for months, returning with a deep tan to his construction job, never discussing his whereabouts.
Most neighbors and likely his three children didn't know he spent 16 months in a Haitian jail, charged with bank robbery from a failed coup attempt against President Jean-Claude Duvalier. He eventually confessed to the Colby Free Press that their group, recruited through a Soldier of Fortune ad by a New York-based organization, included a member who was killed. Newsweek called individuals like Don "soldiers of misfortune," skilled warriors with little peacetime demand. They were inspired by various motivations, from Vietnam veterans wanting revenge to Cuban Americans aiming at Castro's allies and enthusiasts seeking military adventures.4
Photojournalist Lou Dematteis was not convinced by the president's claims that Nicaraguan wolves were at America's doorstep. The region's history was much grayer than the black-and-white portrayal stateside. In 1932, El Salvador's impoverished indigenous people, tired of the oligarchs cutting their wages and taking their lands, voted for socialism. President Maximiliano Hernández Martínez then ordered the massacre of 30,000 indigenous protesters—almost 4% of the population. Over the years, the wealth gap in El Salvador widened under the rule of a series of dictators.
To the south, in Nicaragua, a similar tale of wealth disparity unfolded. Foreign businesses sought cheap land, labor, and resources. The Monroe Doctrine, and its later addition, the Roosevelt Corollary, declared the U.S. had the right to intervene in Latin American countries to stabilize their economies and politics. U.S. interests took over Nicaragua's national railroad. Augusto César Sandino, a guerrilla leader, fought for national sovereignty and against the U.S. military presence. After the U.S. troops left in 1933, Sandino was killed during peace talks at the Presidential Palace, on orders from Anastasio Somoza, the head of the National Guard. This event spurred the formation of the Sandinista guerrilla movement.
Lou had a personal connection to the Somoza regime through his college dorm mate, Carlos Somoza, a nephew of Anastasio Somoza, the longstanding president of Nicaragua. Before the revolution, as the opposition party cried voter fraud, claiming victory, Lou questioned Carlos about it. Carlos's response, "My family has ruled Nicaragua for 45 years. The Nicaraguan people love my family. They always vote for us. There was no fraud. We always win," revealed to Lou the dictatorial nature of the Somoza regime.
Driven by a need to see the situation for himself, Lou attended the inauguration of freedom fighter Daniel Ortega, who had been training in Cuba since '74, as president. On his way from the airport, he observed donkey carts, shoeless children selling cigarettes, and pedestrians. He thought, “This is the country that’s a threat to America?” doubting the justification for the fear. Shortly after arriving in 1985, Reagan imposed a trade embargo on Nicaragua. Lou photographed grocery stores with bare shelves, a direct impact of the embargo. He documented the toll of war on ordinary people, capturing images of mothers mourning their children, bombed vehicles, and bodies in the streets, showcasing the human cost of the political struggle.
Lou Dematteis used his photography to reveal the real impact of political conflicts, challenging the oversimplified notion of 'heroes' and 'villains' popular at the time. His work aimed to show the true, nuanced stories of people living through these conflicts.
Meanwhile, Soldier of Fortune, led by Robert K. Brown, was a stark contrast. It vibrated with anti-Communist excitement and went beyond just reporting. The magazine became a part of the action, encouraging readers to get involved. Brown didn't just write about conflicts; he actively supported anti-Communist groups in places like El Salvador. His efforts included organizing training for local soldiers, showing a blend of journalism and activism.5
Additionally, Brown collaborated with Civilian Military Assistance (CMA), which refused to recruit in Fred and Tank’s home state of Missouri, citing concerns about radical right-wing factions—the survivalists—in the area. They said, "It scares the heck out of us." Despite these hesitations, rooted in fears of attracting extremist groups, President Reagan commended their efforts, likening the CMA to the "Flying Tigers" of WWII, who provided support to allies before the U.S. officially joined the conflict.
One such civilian of note who received support from Soldier of Fortune was "Dr. John," a clinical psychologist turned mercenary, whose transformation was featured in Soldier of Fortune magazine. His story, highlighted in the thrilling narrative "MERC RIP-OFF IN SURINAM," unveils a doctor tired of his roles in Florida's universities and the monotony of private practice.
In perhaps the most brazen "guys' weekend" lie since “The Hangover,” John misled his wife about going on a vacation with friends. Instead, he traveled to Mexico and participated in an armed raid on a drug dealer's home. The "good doctor" earned a pirate's share of the $250,000 recovered and a piece of grenade shrapnel as souvenirs. This adrenaline-packed adventure only fueled his thirst for more thrills. His next adventure led him to Nicaragua.
Dr. John's adventure took a sharp turn shortly after he arrived in Nicaragua. He accidentally aligned himself with the wrong side and was arrested by the Sandinistas for taking photos of Cuban troops and properties once owned by the Somoza family. After being released, he sought refuge with the Democratic Revolutionary Alliance, an anti-Sandinista group in Costa Rica. He then teamed up with Eden Pastora, also known as Commander Zero, a former medical student turned revolutionary leader who had split from the Sandinistas over ideological differences. Pastora had formed the ARDE to oppose the Sandinista government.
Dr. John's role in the conflict escalated as he became deeply involved in guerrilla warfare. His contributions were not just in spying and planning but also in direct action. He played a key role in the Battle of El Castillo, where his strategies led to significant enemy losses and disrupted their operations. However, his activities took a toll on his health. Struck down by malaria and suffering from a high fever, he endured a grueling journey on horseback through Costa Rica's dense jungle. His condition was dire until a passing jeep offered a ride to safety and much-needed medical attention.
During this tumultuous period, Dr. John received a tip from a friend—a lead that would connect him to unfolding events in Suriname. Through Alejandro "Gringo," a contact in Pastora's network, Dr. John initially reached out to a breakaway faction known as M3. This group, under the leadership of Alvaro Taboada, a former Sandinista ambassador, consisted of disenchanted ARDE fighters in Costa Rica. M3 claimed to have 400 men under their command but could only equip 35 at any given time.
Back in the U.S., a friend tipped off Dr. John about a Surinamese man named Ed, who had formerly been the chief of security at their embassy in Washington and was in urgent need of mercenaries. Dr. John dispatched his friend to collect more details while he himself returned to Costa Rica to plan special operations with M3. However, the anticipated CIA funding for M3's activities failed to come through. After a botched coup attempt by the Council for the Liberation of Suriname in December 1983 and escalating tensions between M3 and Pastora, Dr. John decided to leave the increasingly unstable situation and head back to the U.S. Once stateside, he and a friend met Ed, a Hindustani Surinamese with a clandestine past, who had served as the head of security at the Surinamese embassy prior to Desi Bouterse's ascent in 1980.
They watched a CIA video outlining Bouterse's rise to power, his political purges, and various coup attempts. This included a focus on the Council for the Liberation of Suriname, led by the nationalistic Dr. Henck Chin A Sen, a former head of state. The Council also featured Edgar Wijngaarde, a purportedly wealthy businessman with little actual involvement; Fret Marte, a journalist who had independently hired American mercenaries for a meeting in Florida, only to leave them high and dry; and Mohammed Nasrullah and Glenn Tjong Akiet, two Council members Dr. John had personally dealt with.
In their first meeting, Ed presented Dr. John with maps of Suriname and suggested a daring plan to attack a roadblock using a crossbow. Dr. John, wary of Ed's grandiose mercenary delusions—probably inspired by Soldier of Fortune ads—was tasked with creating detailed logistical and operational plans, including cost estimates, for the Council's review.
In early January 1984, Dr. John convened with Mohammed Nasrullah and Glenn Tjong Akiet at Ed's residence in the Washington suburbs. Joining them were Dr. John's friend and Ed's neighbor, a Vietnam War veteran Marine. Unbeknownst to Dr. John, Ed had promised his neighbor and Dr. John's friend substantial compensation—$5,000 each plus $100 for every recruit they supplied for the operation. These figures were significantly higher than the $2,000 a month plus $100 per recruit that Dr. John stood to make; it all resembled something akin to a mercenary version of a Mary Kay downline.
Dr. John was tasked with securing Nicaraguan soldiers, initially aiming to recruit 150 for Plan A, a full-blown attack on the capital. Yet, the Council's demands soon escalated to all 400 soldiers, complicating Dr. John's mission. These Nicaraguan fighters were not to mercenaries in the traditional sense (receiving cash); instead, it was more financial smoke and mirrors. The M3 would receive a financial contribution for each man, along with the ownership of the provided equipment—from web gear to mortars—transportable by private aircraft for use against the Sandinistas. This strategy was designed to benefit all involved, excluding Bouterse and the Sandinistas, facilitating Suriname's liberation without CIA involvement.
By the first meeting with Glenn and Mohammed, Dr. John learned he needed to recruit all 400 soldiers, as the Council could only offer a handful of Surinamese guides and interpreters. M3's leaders were ready to commit 300-400 men. The operation's cost for a 200-man assault force and a 50-man reserve, with an airborne attack on Paramaribo at its heart, was estimated at around $1 million. The plan included simultaneous strikes on key locations to isolate Ft. Zelandia, Bouterse's residence, intending to capture him and turn the place to rubble with their Type 81 Chinese assault rifles.
“Fucking beautiful,” John exclaimed. This was exactly what he’d been waiting for. “We could film it and sell it MGM.”
Unfortunately, it was not to be. Faced with the Council's financial difficulties and the fading possibility of executing the original, costly plan, Dr. John reluctantly began to strategize alternative approaches. He devised Plan B and Plan C as more financially feasible operations, albeit with scaled-down objectives and forces.
Plan B proposed a 100-man invasion targeting Nickerie, the western coastal province of Suriname. This plan was designed to initiate a guerrilla warfare campaign within the province, aiming to disrupt local governance and military operations, potentially forcing a strategic shift in Suriname's defense posture.
Plan C was even more ambitious in scope, despite its smaller scale. It involved a platoon-sized force composed of Nicaraguans, American Vietnam veterans, and Surinamese trained by the Belgian Army as commandos. The focus of Plan C was Nieuw Nickerie, the capital of the Nickerie province. The operation aimed to strike a high-impact blow that would draw international attention and, ideally, financial and military support for their cause. If such support failed to materialize, the plan included contingencies for extraction by sea or via the Corantijn River, which serves as the natural border between Suriname and Guyana.
In the midst of financial uncertainties and strategic reevaluations, Glenn embraced the modified, budget-friendly plans with enthusiasm. He returned to Holland, armed with the new proposals, to seek further directives and support from the Council. Concurrently, Dr. John ventured to Central America, intent on securing the logistical backbone for the operation. His contacts confirmed the availability of crucial assets: personnel, a base camp, and essential military gear, including radios and weaponry.
During this critical phase, an unforeseen ally emerged like an angel from heaven. While in an American bar in San Jose, Costa Rica, Dr. John encountered an individual who, seemingly out of nowhere, expressed a keen interest in his mission. This stranger, alongside a companion who boasted credentials from the Virginia Military Institute, knew all about John's plans and his need for an aircraft. In John’s words, “It did not require a Ph.D. to figure out who these friends might be and what outfit they might be from.”
This new acquaintance quickly became a pivotal figure, introducing Dr. John to another contact who assured him that a plane could be provided at no cost. They even went as far as to request a detailed list of required armaments. Within a day, this contact confirmed the procurement of the requested arms, signaling a significant leap forward in operational readiness and boosting John's confidence in the success of his mission.
However, there was a catch. The mysterious benefactors from Costa Rica insisted that the Surinamese must make a financial contribution towards some of the equipment—a token investment in their own liberation effort. Perhaps whoever was funding the guns and supplies wanted receipts showing someone other than a clinical psychiatrist on an all-inclusive mercenary vacation.
Before we resume our story, there were not that many American’s in Costa Rica who possessed: connections to the CIA, access to available planes and airstrips, weapons at the ready and a base camp within 24 hours. But there was one man who, although not mentioned by name, met all those criteria—John Hull.
Dr. John's contract operated on a month-to-month basis, focusing on planning and organizing duties. He was directed to travel to Europe, where a ticket and hotel reservation awaited him. On January 31st, 1984, Dr. John landed at Luchthaven Airport in Brussels, proceeded to his hotel, and waited. The following day, he reunited with Glenn, Mohammed, an enigmatic Surinamese expatriate known as the "Fat Man," and a physician friend. They discussed and scrutinized their plans. The "Fat Man" shared his frustration over being cheated by a Belgian mercenary who had failed to fulfill a promise to train Surinamese soldiers.
It later emerged that the disputed sum was not $300,000 but 300,000 Dutch guilders, roughly equivalent to $90,000. The Belgian mercenary had, in fact, trained the Surinamese recruits, including in parachute jumping, but had backed out when the Council showed a lack of commitment to the mission, something that would prove to be a recurring theme.
Dr. John remained in Belgium, waiting for further instructions. However, he soon received a phone call suggesting the "Fat Man" distrusted Americans and was hesitant to invest more money.
The situation deteriorated further, and despite the initial progress, John's connections within the CIA grew increasingly restless. After he submitted his report, Dr. John revealed to his Soldier of Fortune readership that he never heard from the Council again (although there’s reason to doubt that statement). Dr. John had gleaned from his State Department contacts that the Dutch government had little interest in seeing Bouterse ousted. It seemed they were, in fact, actively shielding him. John deduced that the Dutch might have played a role in Bouterse's rise to power, only to regret it once his dealings with the Cubans came to light. They were now keen on maintaining the status quo, fearing any upheaval could lead to a scandal as significant as a Dutch version of Watergate.
John wasn't alone in his assessment. Albert Jüdell, the publisher of the Surinamese Resistance Newspaper (Weekkrant Suriname) based in the Netherlands, concurred. Bouterse's regime had brutally killed Jüdell's entire family, and he was now providing office space for the Council for the Liberation of Suriname, which was heavily populated by former Surinamese politicians. Jüdell believed that the Dutch saw Bouterse’s coup as way to end corruption in their former colony and establish a full-fledged rule of law in Suriname. But when Bouterse consolidated power, and surrounded himself with leftist academics who’d studied in the Netherlands, and things started to shift towards a Cuban model, everyone got nervous.
Upon his return to the United States, with only a week remaining on his contract, and less than 60 days after the Council denied having taken part in another failed coup, John was surprised by a call from Glenn. He was urgently asked to fly to Miami, just hours before his contract ended, for a meeting with a former Olympic sprinter and intelligence officer, Roy Bottse. Glenn explained that a group of two dozen Surinamese, many of whom had military backgrounds, were awaiting John's leadership at a camp in French Guiana. They were hoping to execute John's Plan C and needed his expertise to train them and lead the mission into Suriname. Despite warnings from his contacts in Washington and fellow veterans, John accepted the mission, for a simple, yet pressing reason: he needed the money.
John negotiated an extension of his $2,000 monthly contract with the Council on one condition: they must recruit another American. His experiences, particularly mishaps in Nicaragua, taught him that inexperienced officers could be a liability. Moreover, he had promised his wife after the shrapnel incident that he would take steps to ensure his safety.
With the Council's agreement, John returned to New York. A week later, he received a plane ticket for Martinique, with a one-night layover before proceeding to French Guiana to join Glenn, Roy Bottse, and the recruits.
However, upon landing in Martinique, John delved into the makeup of the Council and the dynamics of the Surinamese community, both within Suriname and among the expatriates in the Netherlands. He found that the Netherlands was home to approximately 150,000 Surinamese, many of whom had left their homeland before the revolution took hold. The majority were economic refugees, and a significant portion had become Dutch citizens, largely thanks to their status as former colonial subjects. A notable number of these individuals were receiving welfare, which was notably generous in the Netherlands.
John discovered a significant concern among Council members about the potential risks to their welfare benefits. As economic refugees, they feared that any actions taken against Suriname could result in the loss of these benefits or even expulsion from the Netherlands.
The Council was originally led by the former Surinamese president, Henk Chin A Sen, known for his opposition to armed conflict. However, a few months earlier, key founding members—journalist Fred Marte and businessman Edgar Wijngaarde— whose son Frank was a journalist killed by Bouterse in the December massacres—resigned in disillusionment. Edgar expressed his frustration, highlighting a shift within the Council from resistance to a focus on financial compensation, stating,
"Resistance is war. But some members of the council wanted a salary, wanted an expense allowance. That made me furious. That was not resistance."
Their replacements were inclined to action— Progressive Labourers' and Peasants' Union member Anita Ligion and Paul Somohardjo who’d been accused by Bouterse of organizing a counter-coup by Surendre Rambocus in March 11, 1982.
Dr. John noted a stark contrast in motivation between the current Council members and the refugees he had encountered, such as his time with Hugo Spadafora, the leader of the southern Miskito Contras in Nicaragua. There, the drive for resistance was palpable and rooted in anger of displaced indigenous peoples whose lands were nationalized by the Sandinistas and given no soft pillow like the Netherlands to land.
As John and Glenn finally arrived in Cayenne, French Guiana, they were greeted by two Surinamese men: a former policeman and a self-proclaimed hustler who had once dealt heroin and operated a prostitution ring from his bar in Amsterdam. However, their mission faced immediate setbacks. The original contingent of 24 Surinamese recruits had shrunk to just 10. The others had lost patience and returned to Amsterdam, lured, in John’s opinion, by the prospect of welfare benefits. Furthermore, the arsenal they were promised was woefully inadequate for any form of serious conflict, consisting of only a couple of single-shot shotguns, a 16-gauge, a 12-gauge, and two .22 caliber firearms.
Undeterred, they commandeered a farm owned by a Surinamese expatriate to set up their training camp, displacing the owner and his workers in the process. John was unfazed by this. Their first night echoed with laughter and storytelling, reminiscent of 17-year-old recruits at Ft. Jackson.
At 0600 hours, John and his makeshift squad assembled in full gear. The day began with John firing his 1911A1 pistol into the air, a symbolic act meant to signify their transformation from civilians with questionable pasts to soldiers determined to liberate their homeland.
A few days after setting up their base at "Ft. Mango," Roy Bottse joined, as well as an American, a trooper from the 101st Airborne Division's Long Range Reconnaissance Patrols, known by the codename “Boss.” Together, they transformed the area into a robust training ground, aptly named for the bounty of fruit trees surrounding them. The recruits, though few, were keen and motivated, united by the powerful desire to reclaim their homeland.
Gradually, the much-anticipated supplies began to materialize, shrouded in mystery but welcome nonetheless. The cache included uniforms, web gear, packs, bayonets, compasses, boots, and hats—essentials for any fighting force. John managed to secure a scoped Armalite AR-180, while Boss was equipped with an XM16. With these acquisitions, the possibility of engaging in combat became more real.
After three intense weeks of training, both night and day, four of the eight original recruits, all of whom were over 30, reached a commendable level of combat readiness. However, despite their progress, a significant gap remained in their operational planning: a detailed understanding of Suriname.
Accepting the challenge head-on, John embarked on a reconnaissance mission, a lone figure armed and navigating a dugout canoe through waters teeming with piranhas. He braved the relentless sun, navigated through jungles fraught with malaria, and avoided encounters with hostile wildlife. His destination was Albina, a resort town strategically located on the border, across the Maroni River from the historic French penal colony of St. Laurent du Maroni. This town was a hub for cross-border traffic, offering a weekend getaway for those from Paramaribo and bridging French Guiana with Suriname. The local Kaliña villagers affectionately referred to Albina as Kuma’ka, named after the prominent kankantrie (kapok) tree gracing the waterfront.
In Albina, with his .45 pistol at the ready, John identified key military assets: four military police officers at the port of entry and a detachment of 50 off-duty soldiers stationed at the garrison for the Surinamese National Army. He meticulously documented potential landing sites and targets, capturing valuable intelligence on two rolls of film. Upon John's return to camp, however, the complexity of the mission in Albina intensified. News had reached them of the capture of a couple of their spies, leading to heightened security measures in the town. Despite this increased vigilance, the security measures were not deemed sufficient to thwart a potential operation. John concluded that, if push came to shove, he could take the town himself.
He may have been right. Once, the commander of the Akoentoe Velantie barracks in Albina was jokingly asked, "What would you do if suddenly a detachment of legionnaires crossed the Marowijne River, heading straight for Albina?" The commander's answer was, "According to instructions, I must strike back and hold my ground. But personally, I tell you, given my armament, I would take to my heels and pass the same on to my men, with the restriction that they stay behind me and not try to overtake me."
John devised three possible attack plans from Fort Mango only to have them all canceled at the last minute by the Council for the flimsiest of reasons.
Amidst these challenges, covert assistance arrived from the French, the identities of whom remain closely guarded. John was impressed, noting that, "Langley might take a page from these folks' playbook." Although the French government was leftist, these fine civil servants assured John they were right no matter which way the government went.
One significant development facilitated by these Frenchmen “who shall not be named” involved arranging a meeting between the Council for the Liberation of Suriname’s Dr. Chin A Sen and a French government minister. However, the meeting didn't proceed as hoped when Dr. Chin A Sen presented a list of demands instead of establishing rapport. Moreover, communist members of the French cabinet became aware of the mercenaries presence in French Guiana and demanded their immediate expulsion.
In response, a bold decision was made to deploy four elite members of the attack force into Suriname. Their mission: execute a raid and then either fall back to French Guiana or join forces with reinforcements for an assault on Albina. Just before this mission, the mysterious "Fat Man" reemerged, funding an additional half-dozen recruits, consisting of either seasoned veterans or those trained by the previously mentioned Belgian. Despite the crunch for time, these recruits adapted quickly to their training.
The plan was for these new recruits to continue their training under Bottse's supervision while Boss, the four "commandos," and John would penetrate Suriname. Their goal was to either converge on Albina for a coordinated attack or slip back into French Guiana unnoticed.
Yet, once again, the Council postponed the operation, leaving Boss and John bewildered about the Council's true intentions for war. Despite captured spies and suspicions of Bottse's loyalties—John thought he might be collaborating with the Dutch—they proposed a daring plan: they alone would kickstart the conflict. John declared, "the fucking two of us would start their goddamned war for them." This proposal, too, was rebuffed.
John's frustration grew, not just with the Council's hesitancy but with their focus on shaping public perception and securing financial backing. They even attempted to leverage John's media contacts, aiming to cast the mercenaries as freedom fighters in a skewed narrative. Reluctantly, John agreed, despite his reservations.
The idea of having embedded war reporters cover the coup might have significantly bolstered support from Suriname's underground resistance, assuming press coverage could penetrate the country. However, the grip Desi Bouterse held over the media presented a formidable obstacle. Even with an invasion underway, the efforts of the mercenaries, or 'mercs,' would likely go unnoticed by the majority of the populace if Bouterse directed the press to disregard their actions.
Undeterred by these challenges, CNN decided to cast a spotlight on the unfolding events by dispatching their very first special assignment correspondence, Chuck Di Caro.6Chuck was a reservist from the 20th Special Forces Group who’d covered John’s time with Eden Pastora, and Ken Kelsch, a photographer for Soldier of Fortune and Special Forces veteran of Vietnam, to Suriname. Their mission to secure an interview with the dictator was met with failure, yet their footage underscored the oppressive nature of Bouterse's regime. Their time spent at Fort Mango was insightful, with Ken, drawing from his Vietnam experience, expressing admiration for the commitment and proficiency displayed by the troops.
During the interview, Chuck asked the question that everyone was thinking: "Are you working for the Central Intelligence Agency?" With an unflinching gaze, "Dr. John" denied any CIA affiliation, stating that while he always cleared his operations with the United State government, he didn't work for the government, but he certainly didn't work against it.
Ken zoomed in on the American flag John's shoulder patch “It's sort of a courtesy move on your part?” said Chuck
“Exactly,” replied John, adding a rigorous head nod for emphasis.
The CNN team managed to covertly film French officials who had arrived at Fort Mango, unaware of the camera's gaze—footage that would later cause them embarrassment. Kelsch ingeniously left the camera running on the car's hood, capturing the officials in its frame. This footage became a point of contention when John was later detained in Martinique; the French Secret Service demanded he urge CNN to handle the footage sensitively. CNN's reaction was anything but subdued; they relished the prospect of a First Amendment Rights battle against the French government on American soil.
The release of CNN's film report was originally intended to coincide with the planned attack. However, John refused to let them film the assault, citing challenging conditions and safety concerns. Consequently, the reporters returned to the United States, waiting for the green light on the impending invasion that never came to pass. One Thursday night, John and Boss received word from their contacts that the French gendarmes were gearing up to raid their camp, shut it down, and deport everyone. They even faced threats of weapons trafficking charges. Rumors were rife that the Foreign Legion, merely 20 kilometers away, might intervene.
Faced with this dire threat, John and Boss demanded expense money for themselves. Their plan was to check into a hotel and wait for instructions from the Council, giving the situation time to either calm down or for European affairs to be resolved. They were prepared to wait until hell froze over, if that's what it took.
By the following Monday, their allies from the French right-wing circles informed them that on Saturday, March 24th, 1984, the camp had indeed been raided, and everyone was deported to Curacao, primarily because most had Dutch passports, pending extradition to Holland.
These new French allies facilitated John and Boss's escape from the country. Boss's itinerary was from Cayenne to Martinique, then to Paris, Amsterdam, and finally back to America. John's ticket was to Martinique, with a connection a few days later to New York. They departed on the same plane: Boss stayed onboard for Paris, while John disembarked in Martinique.
Upon arrival, John was greeted by French police wielding metal detectors, which were set off by the contents of his bag. As the gendarmes began eagerly tallying up charges, a couple of John's French comrades intervened, dismissing the officers with a mere wave of the hand and assuring John not to worry. They informed him that his weapons would be safely stored while he was in Martinique and returned upon his departure. They also mentioned that President Mitterrand wished to avoid any embarrassment for France. Although they were pleased with John's efforts, they firmly stated he couldn't undertake such actions on French soil.
The French allies, all former parachutists and staunch anti-communists, spent time with John discussing invasion logistics and expressing their appreciation for his endeavors. Once business was concluded, they even proposed going out for drinks, a testament to the strong bonds formed among paratroopers across borders.
As the dust settled from the tumultuous events in Suriname, questions lingered about the true nature of the Liberation Council's intentions. Despite their insistence that they were not attempting a coup, the CIA viewed the situation differently. To them, Dr. John's invasion, tied to the Council for the Liberation of Suriname, posed more problems than solutions.
Commentary in the National Intelligence Daily stated, “These arrests deal a serious blow to the exile’s plans and are likely to have ended any prospect in the near term for insurgent operations against Bouterse.” John’s crew was too small and poorly armed. The cross-bows assault idea was naive and Dr. John’s Butch Cassidy shootout wasn’t much better. Were the Council to succeed, they needed better planning, proper funding and sufficient firepower. But their very existence and CNN's coverage of the situation brought the international attention the fight for the liberation of Suriname. It also gave credence to Bouterse’s invasion warnings and provided him an excuse for further crackdowns—curfews and other repressive measures likely to limit democratic reforms.
After a week filled with uncertainty, Boss made his unexpected return to America. The journey back was fraught with complications, starting with a counterfeit ticket provided by the Council. The written instructions he brought back painted a picture of a group more concerned with their personal welfare and maintaining their Dutch residency than with launching any immediate military actions.
In their second press release within four months, the Council adamantly reiterated that their efforts did not constitute a coup attempt. Instead, they framed their activities as organizing resistance and fostering communication with the Surinamese people. This distinction was crucial for them, emphasizing their intent to mobilize support rather than seize power directly.
Dr. John revealed a contentious claim that the Council for the Liberation of Suriname might have been initially funded with CIA support, funneled through a foundation. However, it seems more plausible that if the Council was indeed a facade, it was likely a front for Project Democracy, managed via the National Security Council. This period predates the public exposure of the Iran-Contra affair, leaving Dr. John possibly unaware of the nuanced differences between these funding streams. Members of the Council disclosed to John that a staggering $400,000 of their $500,000 annual budget was consumed by airline travel and meeting expenses, hinting at the operational challenges and competing priorities that sometimes overshadowed the Council's stated mission.
As Dr. John wrapped up his account of his mercenary endeavors for Soldier of Fortune, he left the readers with a potent message. "Bouterse should be overthrown: His administration is that bad. But when Bouterse falls, the Council for the Liberation of Surinam should have no part in a new government. The Surinamese people deserve better."
But this would not be the last we'd hear from Dr. John, the "Fat Man," the heroin-dealing pimp from Amsterdam, or the Council for the Liberation of Suriname, for investigative journalist Jurgen Roth was about to blow the lid off exactly what they had planned for round two. However, this time, there would be international support, proper battle plans, and an unlikely rebel leader known as "the black Robin Hood."
“Photo: C12464 (01).” Ronald Reagan Presidential Library & Museum, January 18, 1983. Roll Number C12464 (01), Photo Numbers 5-12. Ronald Reagan Presidential Library & Museum. https://www.reaganlibrary.gov/archives/photo/c12464-01.
Google. “John Hulls Ranch.” n.d. https://maps.app.goo.gl/tb9jjZ131djXycN49. The location of John Hull's ranch was located just south east of Hotel Iguana Azul. Based on a map in The CIA Contra Connection—Drugs for Guns (1987)
“Memorandum from ‘TC’ (Robert Owen) to ‘BG’ (Oliver North), ‘Update,’ February 10, 1986 | National Security Archive.” The George Washington University, February 10, 1986. National Security Archive. https://nsarchive.gwu.edu/document/16592-document-04-memorandum-tc-robert-owen-bg.
The Kansas City Star. “Adventure.” July 31, 1986.
Herald and Review. “Central America Draws U.S. Mercenaries.” September 10, 1984.
Chuck de Caro, a journalist with a knack for covering conflict zones, took his reporting in Suriname to the next level by blending it with strategic influence tactics. This wasn't just another assignment for him; it marked the beginning of his journey in using media as a powerful tool to shape political outcomes. Known for developing the "SOFTWAR" method, de Caro uses media and information not just for reporting but as strategic tools to influence public opinion and political decisions. His innovative work in Suriname, where he started by covering the conflict and evolved into using media to impact the situation, laid the groundwork for his future roles. He went on to advise the military and work in national security, showing the world the potential of merging journalism with strategic thinking to influence global affairs. This approach made de Caro a pioneer in the field of information warfare and strategic communications, highlighting his unique blend of journalistic skills and strategic insight.