The Hostage pa-2

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The Hostage pa-2 Page 40

by W. E. B Griffin

"Well, you know how busy I am here keeping the furniture polished against the remote possibility that the secretary will bring somebody here to dazzle him with his elegant official office. We both know-more important, the boss knows-that Mary-Ellen really runs things for him and that he doesn't need both of us doing the same thing."

  Castillo smiled at her.

  Mrs. Mary-Ellen Kensington, a GS-15 like Mrs. Agnes Forbison who also carried the title of executive assistant to the secretary of Homeland Security, maintained Hall's small and unpretentious suite of offices in the Old Executive Office Building, near the White House. Hall spent most of his time there. He and the President were close personal friends, and the President liked to have him at hand when he wanted him.

  "Mrs. Kellenhamp," Mrs. Forbison went on, "can supervise the furniture polishing as well as I can, and bringing her out here would also get her out of Mary-Ellen's hair."

  Mrs. Louise Kellenhamp, a GS-13 who carried the titleof deputy executive assistant, worked in the OEOB performing mostly secretarial-type duties.

  "You've given this some thought, haven't you?" Castillo asked.

  "From the moment I realized the boss, whether he wanted to or not, was going to have to have his own intelligence people. And now that we have, thanks to the President, this 'clandestine and covert' Office of Organizational Analysis hiding in the Department of Homeland Security, it seems to me that you're really going to need someone who knows her way around official Washington. And how to push paper around."

  "What do we do with him?" Castillo asked, nodding toward Major H. Richard Miller, Jr. "Send him back to Walter Reed?"

  "Eventually, he'll get out of that cast," Mrs. Forbison said. "And if he behaves himself, he can try to make himself useful around here until he does."

  "God spare us all from conniving bureaucrats," Miller said piously.

  "You know I'm right, Charley," Mrs. Forbison said.

  "You think you can talk the boss into this?" Castillo said.

  "Consider it done," she said. "The next time the subject comes up, act pleasantly surprised when the boss says 'I've had an idea, Charley, I'd like to run past you.'"

  "Mrs. Forbison, you're marvelous," Castillo said.

  "I know," she replied. "Now that that's settled, Chief, what's on our agenda this morning?"

  "I brought a satellite radio, and an operator, from Fort Bragg. Like we did when we were hunting the stolen 727, the dish has to go on the roof, and the operator's going to need a place to live," Castillo said.

  "Dick," Mrs. Forbison said, "if you'll take care of the operator, I'll deal with the building engineer. His delicate feelings were bruised the last time the chief put that thing on the roof."

  "Yes, ma'am," Miller replied, smiling.

  "And I need the passports," Castillo said.

  "They're on the way," Mrs. Forbison said. "Tom's handling that."

  "And I have to call Ambassador Silvio or Alex Darby-preferably both-on a secure line." He looked at Miller. "McNab is sending equipment for six shooters down there. I want to make sure it doesn't get lost."

  "You'll have to use the one on my desk for that," Mrs. Forbison said. "I ordered one for you this morning, but it won't be in until later today."

  "You ordered one for me?" Castillo asked, surprised.

  "You're now on the White House circuit, didn't you know?"

  "No, ma'am, I didn't."

  "Well, you are. Anything else?"

  "We'll need someplace to stay in Paris. The Crillon, if we can get in."

  "Fancy," Mrs. Forbison said.

  "And right next door to the embassy. Have them bill it to Gossinger. Four rooms."

  "Let's talk about that," Mrs. Forbison said. "You, I can put on orders. The colonel, presumably, is already on orders?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Colonel Torine said.

  "But what about the other operator and Fernando?"

  "I'll pick up the bill for the operator," Castillo said. "Then he can pocket the per diem check he gets from Fort Bragg. And I'll pick up Fernando's bill, too."

  "If we hire him as a temporary contract employee… maybe as an aircraft pilot… I can cut orders on him, too."

  "Mrs. Forbison, at the risk of repeating myself, you're wonderful," Castillo said.

  "At the risk of repeating myself, Chief, I know. But you're going to have to start calling me Agnes."

  He looked at her but didn't immediately reply.

  "Please don't tell me-I already know-that I'm nearly old enough to be your mother. But you have just become a bureaucratic heavy, Chief, and bureaucratic heavies call their executive assistants by their first names."

  "Whatever you say… Agnes," Castillo said, and then asked, "What do I do about Secretary Hall?"

  "He said that he'd like you, if possible, to come by the OEOB before you leave."

  "I'll do it." Thirty minutes later, after having spoken with both Ambassador Silvio and Alex Darby; after being informed that the Hotel Crillon would be expecting all of them; after having received his new American passport and his German passport now bearing a departure stamp from the Republic of Argentina; and after having talked to Tom McGuire long enough to be convinced that McGuire really wanted to become a member of the Office of Organizational Analysis and was going to have no problems working under a man ten years his junior, Castillo shook hands with Dick Miller and then went to Mrs. Forbison's office to say goodbye to her.

  She gave him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek and told him to be careful. He and Torine and Fernando were waiting for the elevator when Mrs. Forbison put her head in the corridor.

  "Call for you, Chief."

  "If you keep calling me chief, we're back to Mrs. Forbison. Who is it?"

  "Somebody who wants to talk about Jean-Paul."

  "Jean-Paul Lorimer?"

  "All he said was Jean-Paul, Charley."

  Castillo went into Mrs. Forbison's office and picked up the telephone.

  "Castillo."

  "You'll have to remember to turn your cellular on," Howard Kennedy said.

  "Jesus, it's in my briefcase."

  "Then it wouldn't matter, would it, if it's on or off?"

  "What's up, Howard?"

  "You have really opened a can of truly poisonous worms with that pal of yours, the one you asked me to find."

  "What kind of poisonous worms?"

  "The kind I have been absolutely forbidden to talk about on the telephone," Kennedy said.

  "That bad?"

  "Worse than that bad. Where can we meet?"

  "Where are you?"

  "Answer the question."

  "As soon as I can go by the hotel and pack some clothes, and after a stop at Hall's coffee shop on Pennsylvania Avenue, I'm going to get on an airplane for Paris."

  "What flight?"

  "Air San Antonio, flight seventeen."

  "Oh, really? Anybody I know coming with you?"

  "The same crew we had in Cozumel. You know both of them."

  "Interesting. And where will you be staying in Paris?"

  "The Crillon."

  "Lovely hotel. Unfortunately, too close for me to some former associates of mine who work close by."

  Christ, I forgot to tell, or remind, Tom McGuire to find out what Special Agent Yung of the FBI is really doing in Montevideo! Castillo thought, then said, "What do you suggest?"

  "When did you say you're leaving?"

  "As soon as we can."

  "You can't make it nonstop in that airplane, can you?"

  "No. We're going to have to refuel at Gander, Newfoundland, and Shannon, Ireland. I figure it's going to take us, factoring in two one-hour fuel stops, about ten hours."

  "Well, it's nearly half past four in Paris," Kennedy said. "If you get off the ground in an hour, that would make it half past five. Five plus ten is three o'clock in the morning. Figure another hour at least to get through customs and immigration, to get to the Crillon from Le Bourget… Is that where you're headed, Le Bourget?"

  "Yeah," Cas
tillo said.

  "It will be five o'clock when you get to the hotel from Le Bourget. Factor in another hour for delays, call it six. See you in the morning, Charley. We really do need to talk."

  There was a change in the background noise, and Castillo realized that Kennedy had hung up. [TWO] Old Executive Office Building Seventeenth Street and Pennsylvania Avenue, NW Washington, D.C. 1120 26 July 2005 "The President told me you'd had a little chat," the Honorable Matthew Hall, secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, said. "You have any questions about that?"

  "One big one," Castillo replied. "The soldier in me is uncomfortable not understanding my chain of command."

  "The simple answer to that is that you answer to the President directly," Hall said. "But I think I know what you're asking. And proving that I'm learning to be a Washington bureaucrat, let me answer obliquely. When he came up with that finding, I wondered why I had been taken out of the loop. Then I realized I had not been. It all goes to deniability. I can now honestly answer, if someone asks, and someone inevitably will, either as a shot-in-the-dark fishing expedition or because this comes out, what's my relationship to you, that we have none. You don't work for me.

  "Similarly, if someone asks the President's chief of staff what he knows about C. G. Castillo or the Office of Organizational Analysis, he can honestly say he doesn't know anything about it. If we get caught-which is a real possibility-we can hide behind the President's finding.

  "The further you distance the Office of Organizational Analysis from the President, the better. That's why he's hiding it in Homeland Security. As far as you working for him directly, there's a lot of captains through colonels-the aides, the guys who carry the football, for example-who work for him directly, and if some enterprising reporter sniffs you out, you can answer the same way they are instructed to. 'Sorry, my duties in the White House are classified. You'll have to ask the White House.' Still with me?"

  "Sir, what I was really asking was how much of what I'm doing do I tell him. Or you."

  "As far as 'or me' is concerned: Whatever you tell me I will tell the President when I think I should, and only then. The President is not interested in the means, just the end. That's what puts me back in the loop. I will tell him only those things which may require some action on his part-I'm thinking of 'Hell no, we can't do that; tell him to stop.'" He paused, then asked, "You understand?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Okay. Now is there anything you need?"

  "Just one thing I can think of, sir. I asked Tom McGuire to do it for me, but I'm not sure-don't misunderstand this, I have a profound admiration for his abilities-that he'll be able to do it."

  "You have 'a profound admiration for his abilities'?" Hall asked.

  "Yes, sir."

  "How would you like to have Tom working for you?"

  "Is that possible, sir?"

  "Joel suggested he would be very useful to you. I agree. Should I ask Tom?"

  "I'd really like to have him, sir," Castillo said, and thought, I have just proved that I, too, am learning to be a Washington bureaucrat. Those answers were, without being out-and-out lies, certainly designed to mislead. I already know Tom wants to work for me and that it's possible.

  "Okay, I will. Now what don't you think Tom will be able to do?"

  "Find out what FBI agent Yung is really doing in Montevideo. If he's doing something covertly, they're not going to tell Tom."

  "What makes you think he's not doing what he says he is?"

  "I don't think you want to know, sir."

  "Ah, you're learning," Hall said. "Has this guy got a first name?"

  "David William, sir. Junior."

  Hall pushed the speakerphone button on his telephone.

  "Mary-Ellen, will you get me Director Schmidt on a secure line, please?"

  "Right away, Mr. Secretary," Mary-Ellen Kensington said.

  He pushed the button again and looked at Castillo.

  "I know the DCI knows about the finding; he called me first thing this morning to feel me out about it. I don't think Schmidt has seen it yet. This is one-upmanship, Charley. A dirty game we all have to learn to play."

  The speaker came alive with Mrs. Kensington's voice:

  "Director Schmidt is on one, Mr. Secretary, the line is secure."

  Hall pushed the speakerphone button again.

  "Good morning, Mark," Hall said cordially. "How are you?"

  "What can I do for you, Matt?"

  "You've seen the Presidential Finding vis-a-vis the Masterson assassination, right?" Hall asked, ignoring Schmidt's abruptness.

  "As a matter of fact, no."

  "Well, hell. That makes this a little difficult, Mark. Obviously I can't talk about it if you haven't seen it. So forget I mentioned it. Just take this as a routine request for information. If you don't mind a suggestion, you might ask the attorney general what's new."

  "What sort of information do you need, Matt?" Schmidt said, his voice betraying his annoyance.

  "Would it be easier for you if I called the attorney general? I don't want to put you on a spot."

  "What information do you need, Matt?"

  "You have an agent in the embassy in Montevideo. David William Yung, Junior. He's supposed to be working on money laundering. What I need to know is what he's really doing down there."

  "What makes you so sure he's not doing what he says he's doing?"

  "We're back to that area I can't talk about," Hall said. "Are you sure you don't want me to go to the attorney general with this? I know he's in the loop, and I'm surprised that you're not."

  "I'll look into it, Matt," Schmidt said, "and get back to you."

  "I need this information yesterday, Mark," Hall said. "So I have to ask, how long do you think it will take for you to get back to me?"

  "I'll get back to you just as soon as I can. Probably this morning."

  "I appreciate that, Mark. Thank you."

  "Anytime, Matt."

  Hall pushed the button, breaking the connection.

  "See how it's done?" he asked. "I'll bet you two dollars to a doughnut that Schmidt is already trying to get the attorney general on the horn. The attorney general will tell him about the finding, and that he has to go along with it. Which will also make the point that I knew about it before he did, suggesting he's not as important as he likes to think he is."

  "It's childish, isn't it?"

  "Absolutely, but that's the way things work," Hall said. "Now that I've annoyed him, is there anybody else you'd like me to annoy?"

  "Sir, when he calls back, could you ask him to contact the FBI people in Paris-and in Vienna, come to think of it-and ask them to give me whatever I need?"

  "I will tell him that the chief of the Office of Organizational Analysis wants to make sure they know that when they are contacted, they will make any information they have on any subject available to him, and that they will probably be contacted by a man named Castillo." He paused, and then went on. "And I will contact Ambassador Montvale and tell him to do essentially the same thing vis-a-vis his CIA station chiefs in Paris and Vienna. And Montevideo, too, if you'd like."

  "Thank you. It would probably be a good idea when you speak with Director Schmidt to ask him to tell the FBI in Montevideo to give me what I ask for."

  Hall nodded his agreement.

  "Anything else, Charley?"

  "I can't think of anything else, sir."

  "Let me run this past you," Hall said. "You're going to need someone to handle your paperwork, someone who knows her way around Washington. What would you think about me asking Agnes Forbison if she'd like to work with you?"

  "I could really use her."

  "I'll have a word with her as soon as I can," Hall said. [THREE] Over Wilmington, Delaware 1225 26 July 2005 They had been in the air only a few minutes when Castillo sensed the Lear had changed altitude from climbing-to-cruise-altitude to descent. There was only one reason he could think of for that; they were about to land.

  Oh, sh
it, that's all I need! Red lights blinking on the panel! The goddamn bird is broke!

  He got out of his seat, walked to the cockpit, and dropped to his knees between the pilot's and copilot's seats.

  "What's going on?"

  Fernando, who was in the left seat, looked over his shoulder.

  "Please return to your seat, sir, and don't interfere with the flight crew in the performance of their duties."

  "What's wrong with the goddamn airplane?"

  Colonel Torine took pity on him.

  "You really didn't want to go to Paris without saying goodbye to your girlfriend, did you, Charley?"

  Castillo didn't reply.

  "Does it make any real difference if we get to Paris at four in the morning, or five?" Torine went on. "I'll top off the tanks, get us something to eat en route, get the weather, and file the flight plan to Gander while the Secret Service runs you back and forth to the hospital."

  When Castillo didn't reply to that, either, at least partially because he didn't trust himself to speak with the enormous lump in his throat, Torine went on: "Tom McGuire called and set it up."

  Castillo laid a hand on Torine's shoulder, and then got off his knees and went back to his seat. [FOUR] Department of Oral and Maxillofacial Surgery Fifth Floor, Silverstein Pavilion Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania 3400 Spruce Street Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 1340 26 July 2005 As the Secret Service Yukon pulled up outside the hospital, the agent sitting beside the driver spoke into the microphone under his lapel.

  "Don Juan arriving."

  Fernando chuckled. Castillo gave him the finger. He wondered, now that he had been given a hell of a lot of power, if it would be enough to have the Secret Service change the code name Joel Isaacson had given him when he'd gone to work for Secretary Hall.

  The Secret Service agent led them to the elevator bank, waved them inside, and then said, "Fifth floor, Mr. Castillo. We'll be right here."

  A tall, stocky woman-visibly some kind of Latin- was standing in the lobby of the fifth floor when the elevator door opened. Her hair was drawn tight against her skull, and Castillo could see the flesh-colored speaker in her ear. He could also see a bulge on her left hip that was almost certainly a handgun.

  "This way, please, Mr. Castillo. Special Agent Schneider has been put in five-twenty-seven."

 

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