Black Ops (Presidential Agent)

by W. E. B Griffin

  Britton was waiting for them when they landed.

  The Lear had forty-five minutes' remaining fuel.

  Waiting with Britton was Chief Inspector F. W. Kramer, who commanded the Counterterrorism Bureau of the Philadelphia Police Department. Perhaps equally important, Kramer had done much of his military service with the Tenth Special Forces Group.

  "How they hanging, Charley?" Kramer greeted Castillo. "Getting much? What can we do for you?"

  "I need to be at the Four Seasons Hotel at five minutes to nine, and Corporal Bradley and Two-Gun Yung have to be there ten minutes before that."

  "I can get you there by then, but maybe not in. The President's in town, and that's where he stays."

  "I know," Castillo said.

  "Why don't we send them in that?" Kramer said, pointing to a fully equipped patrol car. "And I'll take you in mine."

  "Can they use your room to set up the AFC, Jack?"

  "Hell, no," Britton said. He tossed Bradley a door-opening plastic key. "Show that to the doorman if you get there before we do. He's a retired cop."

  [TWELVE]

  The Four Seasons Hotel

  130 North 18th Street

  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

  0855 14 January 2006

  There was no sign of the patrol car or of Bradley or Yung when Chief Inspector Kramer's unmarked car pulled up before the door of the Four Seasons.

  "I'll put the arm out for them, Charley," Kramer said. "You go on in. You don't want to keep the President waiting."

  "Let him in," the President of the United States said when the Secret Service man announced there was a Lieutenant Colonel Castillo seeking an audience.

  "Good morning, Mr. President," Castillo said. His eyes scanned the room, and he added, "Madame Secretary, Gentlemen," to the secretary of State, the DCI, the secretary of Defense, and Ambassador Charles Montvale.

  "And you didn't think he would show, did you, Charles?" the President said, then looked at Castillo, and added, "I don't think I've seen you needing a shave before, Charley."

  "I apologize for my appearance, Mr. President."

  "Don't worry about it. Needing a shave pales to insignificance beside the manifold other sins Mr. Powell and the ambassador are alleging you have committed." He paused, then turned to a steward. "Get the colonel a cup of coffee. He looks as if he desperately needs one."

  "Thank you, sir. I do."

  "Good morning, Charley," Secretary of State Natalie Cohen said.

  None of the others said a word.

  "Okay, let's get to it," the President said once the steward had delivered Castillo's coffee and left the room. "In as few words as possible, Charley, take it from the beginning. You have five minutes."

  It wasn't hard for Castillo to start. He had expected the question and had spent all of his time in the air mentally rehearsing what he would say.

  It took him longer than five minutes, however, and he wasn't quite finished when the door opened and a Secret Service agent put his head in.

  "Excuse me, Mr. President. There's a kid being held at the elevator who says he's Colonel Castillo's bodyguard. He also says he's a Marine corporal. He says he has something Colonel Castillo absolutely has to have."

  Montvale looked at the agent and blurted: "Jesus Christ! You actually came in here with something like that for me?"

  "I think he was talking to me, Charles," the President said, and looked at Castillo.

  "Corporal Lester Bradley, sir," Castillo confirmed.

  "Get him in here. I can't pass up the opportunity to see the colonel's bodyguard."

  "Yes, Mr. President."

  Bradley came into the room two minutes later. He carried Castillo's laptop, Yung's report, Torine's Proposed Operational Orders, and the AFC handset.

  He popped to attention and saluted the President, who crisply returned it.

  "You're Colonel Castillo's bodyguard, are you, son?" the President asked.

  "Sir, yes, Mr. President, I am, sir."

  "For God's sake, he's not old enough to vote," Montvale said disgustedly.

  "Sir, no sir, I'm not old enough to vote, but I am Colonel Castillo's bodyguard, sir."

  "Who has twice saved my life, so lay off him, Montvale," Castillo snapped, then heard himself. "I'm sorry, Mr. President."

  "If he's your bodyguard, I would presume he already knows what we're talking about here?"

  "Yes, Mr. President, he does."

  "Stick around, son. I want a word or two with you when this is finished."

  "Aye-aye, Mr. President, sir."

  "Okay, Charley, wrap it up. We're running out of time."

  It took Castillo another three minutes.

  "That's about it, sir."

  "It's about time," Ambassador Montvale said.

  "Shut up, please, Charles. I'm thinking," the President said.

  That took a full twenty seconds.

  "Bottom line, Charley," the President said. "Even if I believed everything you have told me, there's just not enough there for me to authorize a clandestine mission--or even an overflight, except by satellite--to look into it."

  "Mr. President, may I say how relieved I am to hear you say that?" Secretary Cohen said. "The ramifications of a black operation going wrong--"

  "Right now," the President interrupted, "the answer is no, Colonel Castillo. But I will give you one more chance to turn your Russians over to the agency. If they are able to convince the DCI there is even a remote chance that what they're selling is true, I will authorize a mission to the Congo."

  "Mr. President, I have people in the Congo," Castillo said.

  "What the hell did you just say?" the DCI barked.

  "I find that hard to believe, Charley," the President said. "Why should I?"

  Castillo turned on the AFC handset, and his speakerphone.

  "C. G. Castillo. Colin Leverette. Encryption Level One."

  I know Colin's twenty-four hours are far from up, but, please, Lord, let him answer.

  "What is that thing?" the President asked. "Some kind of telephone?"

  Sexy Susan's voice said: "Colonel Castillo, I have Mr. Leverette. Encryption Level One."

  "Hey, Charley! You bastard--I haven't been here an hour."

  "Where are you, Uncle Remus?"

  "Kisangani. You want to buy a parrot?"

  "What is that, some sort of a code?" the secretary of State muttered.

  "What are you doing in Kisangani?" Castillo asked.

  "Well, the colonel needed someplace to set up his laboratory, so we rented a house. He's using the kitchen for his lab, and I'm buying parrots in the living room. I have fifty of them and have promised to buy another hundred."

  "Uncle Remus, I'm with the President and some very important people--"

  "Oh, God! I have a sick feeling that you're not pulling my chain."

  "Do you think the colonel has come up with anything the President should hear?"

  "Yes, sir. He has."

  "Can you get him on here, please?"

  "Hold on."

  "What colonel is that?" Montvale asked.

  "Colonel J. Porter Hamilton of the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute at Fort Dietrich," Castillo said. "Ring a bell?"

  "Not with me it doesn't," the President said. "Who is he?"

  "The preeminent expert on biological and chemical warfare," the DCI said.

  "And you sent him into the Congo?" Montvale said. "You really are crazy, Castillo."

  "Charles, go get yourself a cup of coffee," the President said.

  "Excuse me, Mr. President?"

  "Come back in ten minutes--if you have your mouth under control by then."

  Montvale didn't know what to do. He hesitated, and then decided he'd wait when he heard the speakerphone come alive with a new voice.

  "Colonel Castillo?" Colonel Hamilton asked.

  "Yes, sir."

  "If this, your being with the President, is one more manifestation of that odd sense of humor of yours . . ."
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  "This is POTUS speaking, Colonel. I have just been told that you are our preeminent expert regarding biological and chemical warfare." It was a statement but sounded more like a question.

  "Good day, Mr. President. Yes, sir. There are some who have said that, sir."

  "Colonel, have you come across anything that suggests there is a laboratory or factory--"

  "Mr. President," Hamilton interrupted, his officious voice hitting a deadly serious tone, "it indeed is a far more dangerous situation than even Colonel Berezovsky suggested."

  "Colonel Berz--you don't mean the Russian?"

  "Yes, sir. What I have found here is far worse than Colonel Berezovsky suggested, Mr. President. I am not a religious man, but what I have seen here in the most elementary of investigations is an abomination before God."

  "You have proof of this, Colonel?" the President asked softly.

  "Yes, sir. The first samples will be sent out via Tanzania just as soon as the natives finish construction of the parrot cages."

  "Excuse me?"

  "We--I should say Mr. Leverette, sir, who is known as Uncle Remus and who is a genius of ingenuity--are covering our incursion by posing as dealers in African grey parrots. He feels sure, and I have every confidence he's right, that when we truck out the first fifty parrots later today no one will look in their cages as they cross the border."

  "And what will happen to them in Tanzania?"

  "Well, Mr. President, I was going to suggest to Colonel Castillo, who is running the tactical end of Operation Fish Farm for me, to see if he can't have another aircraft sent into Kilimanjaro to pick them up, either an Air Force fighter or perhaps something from an aircraft carrier. That way, the samples could get to Fort Dietrich much more quickly than they could aboard our aircraft, and doing so would leave our aircraft there. I am trying to think of some way to get some of the human bodies to Fort Dietrich so that thorough autopsies can be performed. The first problem there is to get them to Tanzania without them contaminating human and plant life along the way. And, of course, we can't hide them in the parrot cages."

  The President flashed a concerned look at everyone in the room, particularly the DCI and DNI. When no one had anything to offer, Castillo thought that the look changed to a simmering anger.

  "Colonel, please think your answer over before replying. In your judgment, should the laboratory--this factory, fish farm, whatever you want to call it--should it be destroyed?"

  Colonel Hamilton did not think his answer over long.

  "Mr. President, what we have here is a fairly large and well-supplied laboratory and an even bigger manufacturing plant. I would recommend the immediate destruction of both--I repeat, both--sir. I am amazed that the processes involved have not already gotten out of control. If that happens, Mr. President, it will be a hundred times, perhaps a thousand times, more of a disaster than Chernobyl. Living organisms are far more dangerous than radiation."

  "Colonel, I'll be talking to you soon. Thank you very much."

  "Mr. President, it has been an honor to speak with you."

  "Uncle Remus," Castillo said, "get the colonel's samples in Jake's hands as quickly as you can."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Castillo out."

  "Colonel Castillo," the President said. "From your . . . I guess 'tone of command, ' one would suppose that you consider yourself still in charge of this . . . what did Hamilton call it? 'Operation Fish Farm'?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Sadly, that is not to be the case. You're just too dangerous a man to have around. Too many people have their knives out for you, and some of them have involved the press. I can't involve the press in this. You understand me, Colonel?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "You are relieved as chief, Office of Organizational Analysis. You will go someplace where no one can find you, and you will not surface until your retirement parade. Understood?"

  Loud and clear, sir.

  And so the other shoe finally fucking drops. . . .

  It took Castillo a moment to find his voice. "Yes, sir."

  "After your retirement, I hope that you will fall off the face of the earth and no one will ever see you or hear from you again. Understood?"

  "Yes, sir. I've been thinking of learning how to play polo. Or golf."

  "The same applies to everyone in the Office of Organizational Analysis. Understood?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I don't know how much of that sixty million dollars you had is left, but it should be enough to provide reasonably adequate severance pay to everyone. If it isn't, get word to me and we'll work something out."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Since we understand each other, Colonel, before you disappear, I think you have the right to hear this."

  "Hear what, sir?"

  "Mr. Secretary of Defense, you are ordered to take whatever steps are necessary to get Colonel Hamilton's samples from where Colonel Castillo will tell you they are to the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute at Fort Dietrich as quickly as possible."

  "Mr. President," Cohen interjected, "you can't just fly warplanes--"

  "I'll get to you in a moment, Madame Secretary. Right now I'm giving orders, not seeking advice."

  She started to say something but didn't.

  "I think we are in this mess because I've listened to too much well-meaning advice," the President went on. "In addition, Mr. Secretary of Defense, you will immediately prepare plans to utterly destroy this hellhole in the jungle."

  "Sir, Colonel Torine has prepared some proposed op orders," Castillo said.

  "Give them to the secretary, please," the President said. "I'm sure he will find them valuable in preparing the plan, or plans, I want presented to me yesterday."

  Cohen again tried to reason: "Mr. President, you're not thinking of actually--"

  "And what you are going to do, Madame Secretary," the President interrupted her, "is return to Washington, where you will summon the ambassador of the Democratic Republic of the Congo to your office. You will tell him (a) that you are sorry to have to tell him that without the knowledge or permission of his government this--what did Hamilton call it?"

  " 'An abomination before God,' sir," Castillo offered, earning him dirty looks from the others.

  "That this abomination before God has been erected on his soil, but (b) not to worry, because his friend the United States of America is about to destroy it and no one will be the wiser.

  "If he gives you any trouble about our airplanes overflying his country--or anything else--tell him his option is that we will destroy this abomination and then take it to the goddamned United Nations.

  "Natalie, say, 'Yes, Mr. President,' or I will with great reluctance have to accept your resignation, then have the bastard appear in the Oval Office tomorrow and tell him myself. They knew goddamn well it was there. Palms were greased."

  After a long moment, the secretary of State said, "Yes, Mr. President."

  The President turned to Castillo.

  "I hope this eases the pain of getting the boot a little, Charley."

  "It eases it a great deal, sir. Thank you."

  "For what? For defending the United States from all enemies, foreign and domestic? That's what I was hired to do."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Is there anything else I can do for you before you start vanishing from the face of the earth?"

  Castillo had seen this question coming, too, and was prepared for it.

  "Yes, sir. Three things."

  The President made a Let's have it gesture with both hands.

  "First, sir, I would like to see Corporal Bradley here promoted to gunnery sergeant in the Marine Corps. He loves the Corps, but obviously, tainted with this, and knowing what he knows, he could never go back. He'll have to take a discharge."

  The President pointed to the secretary of Defense.

  "Do it," he ordered, then turned back to Castillo. "And?"

  "I'd like to see Berezovsky and Alekseeva taken off the Interpol warrants.
They didn't embezzle any money. And three, I would like myself, and anybody else connected to me, to be taken off the FBI's 'locate but do not detain' list--and any other list we may be on."

  The President pointed at the DCI. "You can take care of that. And since the Russians have not defected to the CIA, I want the CIA to take no action to encourage them to do so. Understood?"

  The DCI did not appear the epitome of happy. "Yes. Mr. President."

  The President looked at Castillo.

  "I'm sorry it turned out like this, Charley. But bad things happen to good people."

  He put out his hand.

  Castillo shook it, then he and Bradley walked out of the room.

  [THIRTEEN]

  McCarran International Airport

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  1530 14 January 2006

  Castillo had made two calls on the AFC from Jack and Sandra Britton's suite in the Four Seasons.

  The first was to Dr. Aloysius Francis Casey. Casey told Castillo that while he'd said no problem to Charley's request to get Dmitri and Svetlana to Cozumel, he admitted now that he'd instead brought them to Vegas, and what he suggested was that Castillo come, too, until he could straighten things out.

  The second call was to Major Dick Miller in the Office of Organizational Analysis. He lied to Miller. He said he would explain the whole thing when he had the chance, but right now the President wanted them both out of sight, and he was going to go out of sight in Vegas, and the way they were going to do that was that Miller was going to meet him at BWI, where they would turn in the Lear, pick up the Gulfstream, and fly out to Nevada.

  That had a secondary reaction. Castillo decided that there was no reason Jack and Sandra Britton should not enjoy the cultural advantages of Las Vegas. For that matter, Two-Gun Yung either.

  The G-III went wheels-up out of Baltimore and four hours and forty minutes later touched down at McCarran. Somewhere over Pennsylvania, Castillo had called Aloysius again, told him who was now aboard the Gulfstream, and asked that rooms for one and all be arranged.

  "Our last excursion, so to speak, on the tab of the Lorimer Charitable and Benevolent Fund."

  "I'll send somebody to meet you," Casey said.