“Polo, huh? You play polo, Carlos?”
“Frankly,” Sweaty said, “he’s not very good at it. Barlow is spelled B-A-R-L-O-W. You want the phone number? The country code is zero one one-”
“I won’t be calling,” Juan Carlos interrupted. “It probably costs ten dollars a minute to call down there.”
“Closer to seven dollars, actually,” Sweaty said.
Juan Carlos put his notebook back in his shirt pocket.
“Well, like I said, I have things to do,” he said. He drained his glass, nodded at everybody, and then draped his arm around Castillo’s shoulder.
“Pay attention to what I told you, Carlos. I really want to keep you alive.”
“I know,” Castillo said. “It’s just that I wanted to help if I could.”
“The best way for you to help is go to Uruguay. Or Argentina. Go work on your polo game in Argentina, Carlos.”
Juan Carlos Pena punched Castillo painfully in the upper arm, shook Fernando’s hand, nodded at the others, then quickly walked off the porch and got into his Suburban.
Ninety seconds later, both Policia Federal vehicles had disappeared in a dirt cloud down the road through the grapefruit orchards.
Castillo filled his wineglass, then said, “Comments solicited.”
“A dangerous man,” former SVR Major Stefan Koussevitzky said.
“But I think he really likes Carlos,” former SVR Lieutenant Colonel Svetlana Alekseeva said.
“That makes him less dangerous?” Koussevitzky challenged.
“I didn’t say that,” she said.
“Are you interested in what I think?” Don Armando Medina asked.
“Of course,” Castillo said.
“Some of the things he said were absolutely true. If you don’t get in the way of the drug cartel people, they leave you alone. We have had no trouble with them.”
“They aren’t stealing our grapefruit?” Castillo quipped.
“One of their bricks of cocaine is worth more than an eighteen-wheeler trailer load of grapefruit. That’s another thing Juan Carlos said that’s true: The amount of money involved is nearly unbelievable.”
“I was hoping I could get him talking more about the people involved. He suggested everybody involved is Mexican.”
“He came here to tell you as little as possible beyond ‘butt out or die,’ ” Fernando said, “and that’s just what he did.”
“You think our ol’ buddy is in with the drug people?”
“He’s alive, isn’t he?”
“Then why did he come here at all?”
“Like Sweaty said, he likes you. And he was probably curious-professionally-why you showed up here.”
“And do you think I convinced him I’m just an old soldier trying to help out an old classmate?”
“Yeah,” Fernando said after a moment. “Don’t let this go to your head, Gringo, but that was quite a performance. You, Stefan, and Sweaty were pretty convincing.”
“Looking stupid is easy for me,” Castillo said. “But Sweaty? Sweetheart, I could have kissed you when he asked for an address in Uruguay and you came up with Golf and Polo.”
“ ‘ I’ve got a good memory for addresses and numbers, things like that,’ ” Sweaty quoted. “You can kiss me later. So now what?”
“Now we get in the Mustang and go to Cozumel, and catch tomorrow’s PeruaireCargo flight to Chile.”
“Why are we going to do that?”
“I want Aleksandr to understand that whacking Sergei Murov or any of his people without asking me first is not one of his options.”
“You’re going to have trouble with that,” Koussevitzky said. “He’s convinced the best way to protect himself is to eliminate anybody Vladimir Vladimirovich sends over here.”
“If he takes out anybody, Ferris will die,” Castillo said.
“Stefan’s right,” Sweaty said. “Aleksandr will be genuinely sorry about that, but he’ll think of your friend’s passing as unavoidable collateral damage.”
“Well, I’ll just have to talk him out of thinking that way,” Castillo said. “Sweetheart, your call. We either leave right now, or very early in the morning.”
“Why can’t we have dinner first, and then leave?” she asked.
“Because I suspect Juan Carlos is going to have the radar operators at Bahias de Huatulco International Airport report to him when any airplanes take off from here. If we take off after dark, he’ll know the runway is lighted. And I don’t want him to know that.”
“Then dinner here, looking down at the ocean,” Sweaty said without hesitation. “Afterward, we can walk on the beach, holding hands.”
“Are you going to take Stefan and his ‘citrus experts’ with you?” Don Armando asked.
Castillo nodded. “Stefan, yes. But if you don’t think the ‘citrus experts’ pose a danger to Hacienda Santa Maria, I’d like to leave them here. I may need them later on.”
THREE
The President’s Study The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W. Washington, D.C. 0830 17 April 2007
FBI Director Mark Schmidt, presidential press secretary Clemens McCarthy, and Supervisory Secret Service Agent Robert J. Mulligan were already in the room when Secretary of Defense Frederick K. Beiderman walked in.
Beiderman nodded at them, and said, “Good morning, Mr. President.”
“We’ve been waiting for you,” President Joshua Ezekiel Clendennen said as he rose from his small “working desk.” He walked to a library table on one side of the room. “Take a look at what we have to show you.”
Clendennen gestured to Mulligan, who handed McCarthy a large manila envelope. McCarthy walked to the table, opened the envelope, and took from it a sheaf of eight-by-ten-inch color photographs. As if laying out a hand of solitaire, he laid them one at a time, side by side, in four rows on the table. When he was finished, the table was nearly covered.
Clendennen gestured for Beiderman to examine the pictures. He did so, then raised his head and asked, “Exactly what am I looking at, Mr. President?”
“These photographs were taken yesterday afternoon outside suite 1002 in the Mayflower Hotel,” McCarthy said.
“They were taken by FBI photographers, so they will stand up as evidence in court, if it ever comes to that,” Clendennen amplified.
“Yes, sir. Who are these people, Mr. President?”
“Don’t tell me you couldn’t pick anyone you know from them?”
“Well, sir, I of course recognize Roscoe Danton and Colonel Castillo-”
“Retired Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, you mean?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what about my former press secretary, Porky Parker. Did you recognize him?”
“Yes, sir, of course. But I don’t recognize any of the others.”
“You didn’t see any of them at Arlington the day before yesterday? Maybe as they got into their limousines and drove off just as I was beginning my remarks?”
“I didn’t make that connection, sir. Who are they, sir? And what were they doing at the Mayflower?”
“They’re soldiers. Five of them are commissioned officers, seven of them are warrant officers, and the remaining ten are senior noncommissioned officers. They are all assigned to General McNab’s Special Operations Command at Fort Bragg-to the Delta Force and Gray Fox components thereof.”
“Yes, sir?”
“As to what they were doing at the Mayflower, they were having a party. The host was Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, Retired.”
“I don’t think I understand, Mr. President,” Beiderman said.
“What I want you to do, Mr. Secretary,” President Clendennen said, “is take these photographs to General Naylor. Tell him to show them to General McNab as proof that we know what he’s up to-”
“Sir?”
“Please don’t interrupt me, Beiderman,” the President said unpleasantly. “Tell Naylor to show these photographs to General McNab, and to tell McNab that if he immediately applies fo
r retirement, that will be the end of it.”
“The end of what, Mr. President?”
“McCarthy thinks the less we put into words at this time, the better,” the President said. “For reasons that should be obvious to you.”
“I’m afraid they’re not, Mr. President,” Beiderman said. “Frankly, I don’t understand any of this.”
“I think you do,” the President said icily.
“The only thing I understand is that you want General McNab to resign.”
“Correct.”
“Presumably in connection with this party in the Mayflower?”
“McNab will understand when General Naylor shows him these pictures, and, aware that I am repeating myself, tells him he can end this whole thing by immediately retiring, and that will be the end of it.”
“The end of what whole thing, sir?”
“If you give it some thought as you’re traveling to CENTCOM to see General Naylor, I’m sure it will come to you, Mr. Secretary. Call me the minute Naylor has McNab’s request for retirement in hand.”
Clemens McCarthy bent over the table, slid the photographs together, stacked them neatly together, and handed them to Mulligan, who returned them to the envelope and then handed the envelope to Secretary Beiderman.
President Clendennen didn’t seem to notice when Beiderman left the room.
FOUR
Office of the Commander in Chief United States Central Command MacDill Air Force Base Tampa, Florida 1245 17 April 2007
Colonel J. D. Brewer pushed open the door and formally announced, “General Naylor, the secretary of Defense.”
Naylor was out of his chair and on the way to the door before Beiderman was halfway through it.
Beiderman offered his hand.
“Mr. Secretary, I’m a little uncomfortable not having been at the field. .”
“Don’t be silly,” Beiderman said. “I told Colonel Brewer I would prefer that you not meet me. The less fuss about this, the better.”
“Yes, sir. Won’t you please sit down?”
“Thank you,” Beiderman said, and looked askance at Colonel Brewer.
Naylor caught that, and said, “That will be all, Colonel. Thank you.”
Brewer left and closed the door behind him. The implication was that SECDEF and C-in-C CENTCOM were now alone. The truth-which really made Naylor uncomfortable-was that he had ordered his senior aide-de-camp to go into the sergeant major’s office and listen to and record whatever was going to happen in his office.
“Can I offer coffee, sir? Or something to eat? Or ask you to join me in my mess for lunch?”
“Thank you, no. I had a sandwich on the plane. General, let me get right to it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Beiderman opened his attache case and took out a large manila envelope.
“Have a look, General,” he said as he handed Naylor the envelope. “The President gave me those just before he ordered me to come down here.”
Naylor took the sheaf of color photographs from the envelope and looked at each before raising his eyes to Beiderman.
“The President desires, General,” Beiderman said, “that you personally show those photographs to General McNab, tell him the President knows what he’s up to, and that if he immediately applies for retirement, that will be the end of it.”
Naylor didn’t reply.
“I suggest the best way to accomplish the President’s desires is for us to immediately fly to Fort Bragg, in separate aircraft. Once you have done what the President desires and have General McNab’s request for retirement in hand, I will take it to the President and you can come back here, and that will be the end of it.”
Again Naylor didn’t reply.
“I will entertain your recommendations as to a replacement for General McNab at SPECOPSCOM,” Beiderman said, “but I suspect the President has someone in mind for the post.”
And once more Naylor didn’t reply.
“Did you understand what I just told you, General Naylor?”
“No, Mr. Secretary, I’m afraid I didn’t.”
“What didn’t you understand, General?”
“For one thing, Mr. Secretary, the photographs. Who are they of, and what are they supposed to show?”
“They were taken by FBI agents the day before yesterday in the Mayflower Hotel in D.C. They show a number of members of Delta Force and Gray Fox. They were taken after these individuals walked out on the President’s remarks at Arlington. They were at a party given by retired Lieutenant Colonel Castillo.”
“And what is the connection with General McNab, sir?”
“My God, Naylor! General McNab commands Gray Fox and Delta Force; he’s responsible for them.”
“Mr. Secretary, I have already discussed the presence of these soldiers at Mr. Salazar’s interment with General McNab. He denies having anything to do with their being there. He also tells me that he has not been in touch with Colonel Castillo since before Mr. Salazar was murdered and Colonel Ferris kidnapped.”
“And you believe him?”
“Yes, sir. I believe him.”
“Nevertheless, the President desires that General McNab retire. Is that clear to you?”
“Mr. Secretary, may I speak freely?”
“Of course.”
“Mr. Secretary, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t there an implied threat in what you said before? You said that if McNab asks for immediate retirement, that ‘will be the end of it.’ The end of what, Mr. Secretary? If General McNab declines to ask to be retired, then what?”
Beiderman didn’t reply for a long moment. Then he said, “General, it is our duty to work together to get through this awkward situation.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, Mr. Secretary.”
“Then I suppose the President will fire him.”
“Mr. Secretary, did you see the photographs of Mr. Roscoe Danton in that stack?”
Beiderman nodded.
“And of the President’s former press secretary, Mr. Parker?” Beiderman nodded again.
“Mr. Secretary, do you think POTUS has considered the very real possibility that if what he desires actually occurs, then it will be a front-page story in The Washington Times-Post and all over Wolf News? And all over all the other media, thanks to Mr. Parker?”
When Beiderman didn’t reply, Naylor went on: “Wolf News-the press generally-will have a field day with that, Mr. Secretary. ‘President Clendennen Fires Top Green Beret because Green Berets Walk Out on His Remarks at Arlington Funeral.’ ”
Beiderman looked stricken.
“Mr. Secretary, I suggest that you and I have a duty to protect the President from something like that. Both President Clendennen personally and the office of POTUS. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Are you open to suggestion, Mr. Secretary?”
Beiderman nodded.
“If you and I fly to Fort Bragg right now, Mr. Secretary, and comply with the President’s order to show McNab these photographs, and then offer him the opportunity to immediately resign-”
“The President didn’t order me to go to Fort Bragg, General,” Beiderman interrupted. “He ordered me to come here to give you those goddamn pictures and order you to deal with General McNab.”
“I beg your pardon, sir.”
“You realize, Naylor, that if a story like that comes out, and since Roscoe Danton was at that goddamn party, it’s a given that it will come out, then you know who the President is going to blame.”
“Sir, apropos of nothing whatever, I’m sure you will agree that when people lose their tempers, they sometimes act irrationally.”
“What are you driving at, General?”
“I wouldn’t want to be quoted on this, sir.”
“But?”
“While I can certainly understand the President’s anger at having McNab’s people walk out on his remarks. . there are those who might say his reaction to the insult was a bit irrational.�
�
“I don’t like where this conversation appears to be going, General.”
“Sir, when people. . anyone. . has a little time to think things over, to realize that when they were angry they did some things, said some things in the heat of anger, that they wish they hadn’t done or said.”
“Jumping to the bottom line, you’re suggesting that in a day or two the President will cool off. Okay. He probably will. So what do we do today?”
“When you arrived here, Mr. Secretary, I told you that I would comply with the President’s desires the moment General McNab returned from Afghanistan, which should be in the next few days.”
“McNab isn’t in Afghanistan.”
“He can be on his way to Afghanistan in a very few minutes.” Beiderman looked at him with his eyebrows raised.
“When you call the President, you could tell him that,” Naylor said. “That General McNab is on his way to Afghanistan.”
Secretary Beiderman considered that for a full-very long-thirty seconds, and then said, “Slide me the red phone.”
“Sir, why don’t we wait until General McNab is actually on his way to Afghanistan? That would be thirty seconds after I call him.”
Secretary Beiderman considered that for another-very long-thirty seconds. Then he said, “Make your call, General Naylor.”
Naylor picked up the headset of the red telephone and pushed one of the dozen buttons on its base.
“Put it on loudspeaker,” the secretary of Defense ordered. Naylor said, “Yes, sir.”
Damn! he thought.
The phone was immediately answered: “McNab.”
“General Naylor, General.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Are you alone, General?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Secretary Beiderman is with me, General.”
“Yes, sir.”
“POTUS sent him here with a stack of photographs of Delta Force and Gray Fox personnel at Colonel Castillo’s party in the Mayflower after they walked out on the President’s remarks at Arlington.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Secretary Beiderman has been ordered by POTUS to order me to show them to you, General, and then inform you it is the President’s desire that you immediately request retirement, and that if you do, that will be the end of it.”
Covert Warriors pa-7 Page 18