Black Ops (Presidential Agent)

by W. E. B Griffin

  A moment later, he slid the handset through the slot.

  "I don't know where he is, Colonel," Ambassador Silvio's secretary said. "He went to Jorge Newbery to meet a VIP and hasn't checked in. Would you like to wait for him here?"

  Sonofabitch, they're on the way to Nuestra Pequena Casa!

  "No, thank you," Castillo replied. "When you're in touch, tell him I'll call him later."

  Castillo slid the handset back through the slot, then without a word turned from the window and took out his cellular telephone.

  A rent-a-cop laid his hand on Castillo's arm and pointed to a sign on the wall. It forbade the use of cellular telephones.

  Castillo left the building and went back into the one-hundred-degree, one-hundred-percent-humidity Buenos Aires summer afternoon. He saw that the gendarme was waiting for him.

  Castillo punched one of the cell phone's autodial buttons. Davidson answered on the second ring.

  "He's here with Montvale," Davidson said by way of answering.

  "Keep them there if you have to break Montvale's legs," Castillo said, and then began to walk on the sunbaked sidewalk toward the fine steak house called Rio Alba, the gendarme on his heels.

  [TWO]

  Jack Davidson and his gendarme were sitting at a table just inside the restaurant door. Both looked to be halfway through with eating their luncheon of steaks.

  Davidson caught Castillo's eye and indicated with a nod toward the rear of the restaurant.

  "You wait here with them," Castillo said to his gendarme, motioning to the table with Davidson and the other gendarme. Their table had a clear view of a round table at the rear of the establishment.

  Castillo walked toward the round table, seated at which were the Honorable Charles W. Montvale, the United States Director of National Intelligence who liked to be called "Ambassador"--in his long career of public service he had been deputy secretary of State, secretary of the Treasury, and ambassador to the European Union--the United States Ambassador to Argentina Juan Manuel Silvio, and a man in his late fifties, tall and trim with closely cropped hair.

  Castillo decided unkindly that the tall, trim man's suit indeed looked, as Davidson had said, as if it had come off a chromed rack at Sears, Roebuck & Co.

  At a table against the wall were two neatly dressed, muscular men who Castillo decided were almost certainly from the agency or were Montvale's Secret Service bodyguards. Montvale spotted Castillo, paused momentarily in the act of forking a piece of steak to his mouth, then completed the motion.

  "Well, what a pleasant surprise!" Castillo announced as he approached. "I was just at the embassy to make my manners, Ambassador Silvio, but they didn't seem to know where you were. And Mr. Montvale! What brings you down this way?"

  "I think you've got a very good idea, Colonel," Montvale said sharply, chewing as he spoke.

  Castillo glanced around the room, then looked back at Montvale. "Aside from thinking you've heard the reputation of the Rio Alba as the world's best steak house, I haven't a clue."

  Montvale swallowed, then sipped at his glass of red wine. "Why don't you sit down, Colonel."

  "Thank you very much."

  Castillo took his seat, looked around for a waiter, and motioned for him to come over.

  "I'm starved. I had breakfast very early," he said in English to Montvale, and then switched to Spanish to address the waiter: "Would you bring me a Roquefort empanada, please, and then a bife de chorizo punto, papas fritas, and a tomato and onion salad?"

  He picked up the bottle of wine on the table, read the label, made a face, returned the bottle to the table, and added, "And a bottle of Saint Felicien Cabernet Sauvignon, please."

  "Something wrong with that wine, Colonel?" Montvale said, an edge of sarcasm rising in his tone.

  "Well, according to the label, it's Malbec."

  "Yes. And?"

  "And, Mr. Montvale, I thought you knew. 'Malbec' is French for 'bad taste.' I don't know about you, sir, but that's enough to warn me off."

  Ambassador Silvio chuckled.

  The man in the Sears, Roebuck suit stared icily at Castillo.

  Castillo reached across the table and offered him his hand.

  "My name is Castillo, sir. Any friend of Mr. Montvale--"

  "Lieutenant Colonel Castillo," Montvale interrupted, "this is Colonel Remley."

  "How do you do, sir?" Castillo said politely.

  "Of Special Operations Command," Montvale added.

  "Oh, really? Well, if we can find the time, sir, maybe we can play 'Do You Know?' I know some people there."

  Colonel Remley neither smiled nor replied.

  "Speaking of time, Castillo," Montvale said. "I'd like to get back to Washington as soon as possible. How long is it going to take for you to get your 'guests' to the airport?"

  "I have no idea who you're talking about."

  Montvale, looking over the top of his wineglass, stared down Castillo. "You know goddamn well who I'm talking about."

  The waiter arrived with Castillo's wine. Castillo took his time going through the ritual of approving the bottle, finally taking a long sip, swirling it in his mouth, then shrugging to the waiter as if signifying that it'd have to do.

  After the waiter poured the large glass half full and left, Castillo picked up the glass, looked at Montvale, and said, "Even if I did know about whatever it is you suggest that I do, a public restaurant wouldn't be the place to talk about it, would it?"

  Montvale glowered.

  "Or in front of these gentlemen?" Castillo pursued.

  "Then let's go to the embassy!" Montvale said angrily under his breath.

  "After I've had my lunch, that would probably be a good idea."

  "Castillo," Colonel Remley snapped, "you know who the ambassador is. How dare you speak to him in that manner?"

  "Colonel, no disrespect to either ambassador was intended, sir. It's just that I suspect Mr. Montvale was alluding to something that is highly classified, and I know that neither you nor Ambassador Silvio is authorized access to that material."

  "Ambassador Montvale briefed me fully on this situation on the way down here, Colonel!"

  "With respect, sir, I doubt that."

  "You arrogant little sonofabitch!" Remley said sharply, almost knocking over his water glass. "Just who the hell do you think you are?"

  "Sir," Castillo replied evenly, "the reason I doubt that Ambassador Montvale would make you or anyone else privy to what I think he's referring to is that only two people have been authorized to decide who has the Need to Know. And as I haven't done so and I have not been informed by the other person so authorized that you have been briefed, I'm reasonably certain that you have not been made privy and thus do not have the Need to Know, sir."

  "Goddamn you, Charley!" Montvale said.

  Castillo raised his eyebrows in mock shock. "If everybody is going to swear at me, I'm just going to have to be rude and change tables. I'm very sensitive, and I don't want to have indigestion when I'm eating my lunch."

  "One of my options, Castillo," Montvale said, ignoring him, "is to ask Colonel Remley to place you under arrest, then have those gentlemen escort you to my airplane."

  He nodded toward the two neatly dressed men.

  Castillo looked at them, then at Ambassador Silvio, who now looked more than a little uncomfortable, then back at Montvale. "What are they, Secret Service?"

  "Yes, they are," Montvale said.

  "And I'll bet they're armed, right?"

  "Yes, they are."

  "Do you see those three men at the table in the other room looking this way, Mr. Ambassador?"

  Montvale looked. "What about them?"

  "Two of them are officers--commissioned officers--of the Gendarmeria Nacional. If either of your Secret Service agents even looks like he's going to do anything to me, the gendarmes will come over, ask them for their identification, and then pat them down. If they are armed--the Secret Service has no authority in Argentina--they will be arrested, the
ir weapons confiscated, and then Ambassador Silvio will be forced to see what he can do about getting them out of the slam. With a little quiet encouragement from your table guest here, they might even detain you and the colonel for questioning."

  "I'll see you before a general court-martial, Colonel!" Colonel Remley exploded.

  Castillo met Remley's eyes.

  "With respect, sir, on what charge?" he said calmly. "I have always been taught that an officer is required to obey his last lawful order unless that order is changed by an officer senior to the officer who issued the initial order. You are not, sir, senior to the officer whose orders I am obeying. And both Ambassador Silvio and Mr. Montvale know that."

  "Gentlemen," Ambassador Silvio said with some awkwardness, "this is getting out of hand."

  "Mr. Ambassador, with respect, I suggest that I'm trying to keep it from really getting out of hand. And with that in mind, vis-a-vis my going to the embassy to have a private chat with Mr. Montvale, I'm going to have to ask for your word that I will be allowed to leave the embassy whenever I choose to do so."

  Castillo saw the waiter approaching with what he guessed was his meal, and he remained quiet as the waiter placed it before him, then picked up the bottle of Saint Felicien and refilled Castillo's large glass before leaving.

  "You really should try some of this, Mr. Montvale," Castillo said, raising the glass in his direction. "It's very nice and can get that 'bad taste' out of your mouth."

  Montvale just stared back.

  "And if I don't give you my word that you will be free to leave the embassy?" Ambassador Silvio asked.

  "Then I will have my lunch and leave."

  "Colonel Castillo," Colonel Remley said, his tone hard-edged, "I am about to give you a direct order--"

  Montvale held up his hand, interrupting him.

  "Drink your wine, Castillo," Montvale said. "And have your lunch. Then we will go to the embassy."

  Castillo looked at Montvale, then back at Silvio. "And have I your word, Mr. Ambassador, that I'll be allowed to leave?"

  "You have my word," Ambassador Silvio said.

  [THREE]

  Ambassador Silvio's armored BMW was waiting at the curb when everyone in their party walked out of Rio Alba fifteen minutes later.

  "I suggest that it would be easier to walk," Silvio said.

  "Fine with me," Castillo said. "If Mr. Montvale feels up to it."

  Montvale glared at him, nodded at Colonel Remley to follow, and set off down the sidewalk.

  "The embassy's this way, Mr. Montvale," Castillo said, pointing his thumb in the opposite direction.

  Montvale stopped in his tracks, then turned. He walked past Castillo without looking at him and with Remley following suit.

  They all walked single file the one block to the employees' gate in the embassy fence with the Secret Service following them, and the gendarmeria SUV following everyone.

  The rent-a-cops passed everybody through the turnstile. Then one of the rent-a-cops went to the sidewalk to more than a little arrogantly wave the Mercedes away from what was a no-parking zone. One of the gendarmes got out of the vehicle and took up a position near the turnstile. The driver held up his credentials. The rent-a-cop immediately lost his arrogance and slinked back to his station.

  Castillo saw that this had not gone unnoticed and said, "Did you ever wonder, Mr. Montvale, what diplomats, members of the gendarmeria, and six-hundred-pound gorillas have in common?"

  Montvale looked at Castillo in disgust mingled with a little confusion.

  "What did you say?" the director of National Intelligence asked.

  "They can park wherever they want to," Castillo explained.

  "Good God!" Montvale said in disgust.

  Montvale followed the ambassador into the building. When Castillo followed him, the ambassador turned to them both.

  "May I suggest you use my office for your conversation?" he asked.

  "That's very kind of you, Mr. Ambassador," Castillo said. "And, sir, would you clear it with the switchboard in case we have to have a secure telephone?"

  "Of course."

  They passed through a metal detector guarded by a Marine. Its alarm went off, but a nod of Ambassador Silvio saw them passed through anyway.

  They rode an elevator to the second floor and entered the ambassador's outer office.

  "Unplug that, please," Castillo said, pointing to the intercom box on the desk of the ambassador's secretary. "And the telephone, too, if it's capable of eavesdropping on the ambassador's office."

  Ambassador Silvio's secretary looked at her boss in genuine surprise. And again Silvio signaled with a nod of his head to do what Castillo had requested.

  "Mr. Ambassador," Castillo said, "with the caveat that what will be discussed in your office will be classified Top Secret Presidential and is not to be disclosed to anyone, including the secretary of State, you're quite welcome to come with us."

  Montvale answered for him: "Please do, Mr. Ambassador. I really would like a witness."

  "Very well," Ambassador Silvio agreed, with obvious reluctance.

  Castillo turned to Colonel Remley.

  "With respect, sir, I don't believe you have the Need to Know."

  "And what if I insist that Colonel Remley participate, Castillo?" Montvale said coldly.

  "Then we will not have our chat," Castillo said evenly. "And, Colonel, with Ambassador Silvio as witness, I now inform Mr. Montvale that he is not to tell you what is said or what may transpire in the ambassador's office."

  "I find it hard to believe that you have the authority to order Ambassador Montvale to do anything," Remley said.

  "With respect, sir, in this instance I do."

  "Wait here, Remley," Montvale ordered. "I have the feeling that shortly I will be able to point out to Colonel Castillo how far out of line he is."

  Ambassador Silvio waved them into his office, followed them in, and closed the door.

  "Is there anything I can get for anyone?" Silvio asked.

  "I'd like a minute or two in there, Mr. Ambassador," Castillo said, pointing to the ambassador's private restroom. "The waiter in Rio Alba kept pouring the soda water, and I kept drinking it, and my back teeth are awash."

  "Jesus Christ, Castillo!" Montvale said in disgust.

  "Help yourself," Ambassador Silvio said, not quite able to restrain a smile.

  When Castillo came out of the restroom, Silvio was sitting behind his desk and Montvale was on a couch. Castillo sat in an armchair upholstered in what appeared to be some type of silk fabric, took a leather cigar case from his trousers pocket, and went through the ritual of trimming and lighting a long thin black cigar.

  "If you're quite through with doing that, may we begin?" Montvale asked.

  "I'm waiting for you, Mr. Montvale," Castillo said.

  "All right, where are they?"

  "Where are who?"

  "Colonel Dmitri Berezovsky and Lieutenant Colonel Svetlana Alekseeva of the SVR."

  Castillo saw interest jump into Ambassador Silvio's eyes.

  "Next question?" Castillo said.

  "You're not going to deny that you have them, for God's sake?"

  "That would depend on what you mean by 'have,' Mr. Montvale."

  "I'll be goddamned! Now he thinks he's Bill Clinton!"

  Again, Ambassador Silvio could not completely restrain a smile.

  "What this is about, Ambassador Silvio--and since Lieutenant Colonel Castillo . . ."

  Castillo thought his pronunciation of "lieutenant colonel" turned the rank into an obscenity.

  ". . . has elected to make you privy to this, I can tell you--is that Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, without any authority whatsoever, took it upon himself to completely ignore the carefully laid plans of the CIA station chief in Vienna to cause these Russians--important Russians; Berezovsky was the rezident in Berlin and the woman the rezident in Copenhagen--to defect and flew them here."

  "Speaking hypothetically, of course," Castill
o put in, "what makes you so sure that the station agent in Vienna shared anything with me? I never laid eyes on her. How could I ignore something I didn't know?"

  "Then what were you doing in Vienna, for Christ's sake?"

  "Carrying out my orders to locate and render harmless those responsible for the assassination of Mr. Masterson."

  "And Berezovsky and Alekseeva just popped into your life?"

  "Actually, that's just about what happened. Hypothetically speaking, of course."

  "You're going to explain that, of course?"

  "If you think you can get your temper and indignation under control--and keep them that way--I'll give it a shot."

  Montvale made a grand Go to it gesture.

  "In a twenty-four-hour period starting the day before Christmas Eve, there were three assassinations. Two of them you called to ask me about: the garroting of the Kuhls in the Stadtpark in Vienna and--"

  "You told me you had never heard of the Kuhls," Montvale interrupted.

  "And I hadn't."

  "Am I permitted to ask questions?" Ambassador Silvio said, then went on without waiting for a reply. "Who are the Kuhls?"

  "Were," Montvale corrected him. "For a very long time, they were deep-cover CIA assets in Vienna. Primarily, they were involved in identifying Russians--and others--who could be influenced by others to defect. They had a number of successes over the years."

  "And they were identified and killed?"

  "That's what it looks like," Montvale said.

  Montvale and Silvio watched while Castillo relit his cigar.

  Then, after exhaling a blue cloud of smoke, Castillo went on: "At just about the time the Kuhls were assassinated, a correspondent of the Tages Zeitung, Gunther Friedler, was murdered in Marburg an der Lahn. That's a small city sixty miles or so north of Frankfurt am Main, best known for Philipp's University. The body was mutilated in an attempt to paint the murder as the result of a homosexual lover's quarrel. Friedler was investigating the Marburg Group, a collection of German businessmen known to have profited from the Iraqi oil-for-food scam. Specifically, Friedler was looking into the connection between these people and a chemical factory operating on what had been the West German nuclear facility in the former Belgian Congo."

  "May I ask how you know this?" Silvio asked.