Guarding the Heir

The top floor of the nine-story Ambassador Hotel in Kansas City, Mo. is barred to casual visitors. When an elevator passes the floor below or there are footsteps on the stairs, lights flash, bells ring and a guard springs alert in a room lined with pistols, riot guns and tear-gas bombs. Once divided into six apartments, the entire floor has been remodeled into a top-security weekend retreat. Its tenant: Lieut. General Rafael ("Ramfis") Trujillo Jr., 28, the nonflying (by father's orders) chief of the Dominican air force.

Safe & Comfortable. After his usual two-day sojourn at the Ambassador last week, Ramfis climbed into a dark green Cadillac and rolled northwest along State Highway 45 to Fort Leavenworth, Kans. His driver stuck to a prescribed route, minding strict instructions to "watch the high bluffs [where a sniper might lurk] and proceed swiftly." Through the day Ramfis sat attentively with his 620 classmates at the U.S. Army's Command and General Staff College.

For weekday leisure he has rented a $450-a-month ranch house in the city of Leavenworth. The garage doors open automatically, and Ramfis disappears after classes behind shades that are always drawn. Outside, a six-man crew of private detectives watches the house and patrols nearby streets. Back home in Ciudad Trujillo, Dictator Rafael Trujillo Sr., last of Latin America's undisputed strongmen, could be reasonably certain that his heir was both safe and comfortable.

Boss of this efficient and expensive security apparatus is Walter Bradford, 57, a onetime U.S. Justice Department agent turned private eye. Hired by the Dominican embassy in Washington last fall, Bradford put 30 detectives to work when Ramfis arrived for school. Most of the agents are off-duty policemen or sheriff's deputies, who can spot a suspicious stranger instantly. To buttress their memories, the detectives use tiny cameras to snap hundreds of pictures of passers-by for comparison at Bradford's frequent briefings. The fleet of patrol cars is linked by shortwave radio to the Ambassador headquarters and to local police networks. Ramfis is accompanied constantly by two Dominican officers, and all three are armed; even the houseboy in Leavenworth packs a .32 pistol. There has been one big scare so far: a man waiting outside the hotel with a shotgun (he was carefully watched, turned out to be a hunter).

Money to Burn. The close-knit, tight-budgeted Army society of Fort Leavenworth is irritated that Ramfis "doesn't mingle" and "has money to burn." Upon arrival in Kansas City, he. opened bank accounts totaling $1,000,000. When he wants leave from school, the Dominican embassy in Washington arranges it; e.g., this weekend he headed south for a few days at New Orleans. Next week he is throwing a big party at Kansas City's Muehlebach Hotel, to which 200 of the area's best names have been invited. His classmates, many of them combat veterans, are given to wisecracks about the security net and Ramfis' exalted rank (even though he has temporarily downgraded himself to full colonel while at the staff college). Ramfis' Leavenworth neighbors, a quiet, upper-middle-class group, are jittery over the constant patrolling. "They even flash spotlights into my date's car," lamented a 17-year-old. "I've been embarrassed to death night after night. Is that any way to act?"

By contrast, Ramfis' younger brother, Rhadames, 15, is well liked at Kemper Military School in Boonville, Mo., 100 miles east of Kansas City. When he overstayed leave to attend sister Angelita's wedding (TIME, Jan. 20), he walked off his twelve demerits in the yard, like any other cadet. Bradford's agents also patrol outside the school, but are not allowed on the grounds. Rhadames' official allowance, possibly augmented by money from home, is the standard $3 a week.

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