"Yes, sir. That's probably the right thing to do."
"It would be better if someone of your stature were the person to suggest to Costello that he would be ill-advised to get anywhere near our little problem. You understand me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Keep me advised," President Clendennen said, and Montvale heard the click that signaled the commander in chief had terminated the call.
"I'll call Andrews and have the plane ready," Truman Ellsworth said. Their presidential mission began in a two-GMC-Yukon convoy from the Executive Office Building. The first Secret-Service-agent-driven, black-tinted-window Yukon held the driver; the two Secret Service agents assigned to protect Montvale; and the two assigned to protect Ellsworth. The second Yukon carried Montvale and Ellsworth and everyone's luggage.
On the way to Andrews Air Force Base, Montvale and Ellsworth consoled themselves for having to travel all the way down to Argentina by agreeing that it wouldn't be that bad a trip. The C-37A-the Air Force designation for the Gulfstream V-on which they would fly was just about as nice an airplane as airplanes came.
It had a range greater than the 5,100-odd miles between Washington and Buenos Aires, and could cruise nonstop at Mach 0.80, or a little faster than five hundred miles per hour. There was room for eight passengers, which meant that Montvale and Ellsworth-rank hath its privileges-could make the most of the journey spread out on bed-size couches. Or they could sit up on the couches and have a drink or two from the portable bar in one of the Secret Service agent's luggage.
And they were sure to get one of the two Gulfstream Vs at Andrews: Ellsworth had made a point of telling the commanding officer of the presidential flight detachment that he and Montvale were traveling at the direct personal order of President Clendennen.
That, however, did not come to pass.
At Andrews, they learned that one of the two Gulfstream V jets had carried Mrs. Sue-Ellen Clendennen to Montgomery, Alabama, where the First Lady's mother was sick in hospital.
Both Montvale and Ellsworth habitually took a look at the reports of the presidential security detail. They therefore knew the President's mother-in-law was not in a hospital per se but rather an "assisted-living facility" and that her being sick therein was a sort of code which meant the old lady had once again eluded her caretakers and acquired a stock of intoxicants.
That was moot. They knew they were outranked by the First Lady. And the second Gulfstream V at Andrews was not available to them either, as it was being held for possible use by someone else who outranked them, the Speaker of the House of Representatives, who could be counted upon to throw a female fit of monumental proportions if a Gulfstream V was not immediately available to take her to her home in Palm Beach if she suddenly felt the urge to go there.
That left only a C-20A-what the Air Force called the Gulfstream III-from the half-dozen kept by the Air Force for VIP transport at Andrews for their flight to Buenos Aires. While just about as fast as a C-37A, the C-20A is a somewhat smaller aircraft with a maximum range of about thirty-seven hundred miles. That meant that not only was a fuel stop necessary en route to Buenos Aires, but that the couches on which Montvale and Ellsworth would attempt to sleep were neither as wide nor as comfortable as those on the Gulfstream V would have been.
They had finally gotten off the ground at Andrews just before midnight. Flight time was a few minutes under twelve hours. The fuel stop added another hour and forty-five minutes. There was a one-hour difference between time in Washington and in Buenos Aires. They would arrive, if there were no problems, at Jorge Newbery Airport in Buenos Aires at about one in the afternoon. [ONE] Estancia San Joaquin Near San Martin de los Andes Patagonia Neuquen Province, Argentina 2130 5 February 2007 Aleksandr Pevsner took a sip of his after-dinner brandy, then took a puff on his after-dinner cigar, and then pointed the cigar at Castillo.
Castillo also had a cigar, but no brandy. In the morning he was going to have to fly the Bell Ranger to the airport at San Carlos de Bariloche, where, Pevsner had decided earlier, his Learjet would be waiting to fly them over the Andes to El Tepual International Airport in Puerto Montt, Chile. They would travel to Cozumel on a Peruaire cargo plane carrying foodstuffs for the cruise ship trade and Pevsner's Grand Cozumel Beach amp; Golf Resort. Castillo would have to do that twice; there wasn't room in the helicopter to fly everybody at once.
"I have been thinking, friend Charley…" Pevsner announced.
"Uh-oh," Castillo replied.
Pevsner shook his head in resignation, and then went on: "Two things: First, I think it would be useful if I went to Cozumel with you. I have contacts in Mexico that might be useful, and if you're going to use the Beach and Golf as a base, certain arrangements will have to be made. Comments?"
"Makes sense," Tom Barlow said.
"I agree," Svetlana said.
"Pay attention, Marlon Brando," Delchamps said. "Your consiglieri have been heard from."
"This meets with your approval, Charley?"
"Who am I to argue with my consiglieri?"
But I wonder what you would have said if I had said, "That's a lousy idea."
"Second, I've been thinking that it would be best if you flew the Aero Commander to Puerto Montt. That would both save us time in the morning, and we would be less conspicuous. The latter depends, of course, on whether you can fly that airplane over the Andes. Can you?"
"Quick answer, no," Castillo replied. "The Commander's cabin is not pressurized, and the service ceiling is about thirteen thousand feet. There are lots of rock-filled clouds in the Andes much higher than that."
"Actually, the average height is about thirteen thousand feet," Pevsner said. "Could you fly around the peaks?"
"Probably," Castillo said. "I'd have to look at the charts, and I don't have any charts."
"Janos, call down to the hangar and have them bring the necessary aerial charts," Pevsner ordered. "And when you've finished that, call the house and have our luggage prepared."
"If, after I look at the charts and decide I can fly around the peaks, I'd still have to make two flights," Castillo said. "We can't get everybody in the Commander at once. Have you considered that?"
"You'd have to make two flights in the Lear, too. Taking the little airplane still makes more sense," Svetlana said.
"Concur," Tom Barlow said.
"There they go again!" Delchamps said. "What would you do without them whispering sage advice in your ear, Don Carlos?"
Tom Barlow chuckled. Svetlana gave him the finger. [TWO] El Tepual International Airport Puerto Montt, Chile 0830 6 February 2007 The first flight in the Aero Commander from Estancia San Joaquin through the Andes mountains had carried Alek Pevsner-who had said he wanted to make sure things went smoothly in Puerto Montt-plus Janos, Tom Barlow, Sweaty, and of course Max.
The Casey avionics worked perfectly, and everyone but the pilot seemed to enjoy the flight. In the early light of day, the snow-capped Andes were incredibly beautiful. The pilot spent much time during the flight-whenever the altimeter showed that he was at or just over thirteen thousand feet-remembering that the U.S. Army had taught him that at any altitude over twelve thousand feet, the pilot's brain is denied the oxygen it needs.
Despite its grandiose title, El Tepual International was just about completely deserted when they landed. There was no Peruaire cargo jet in sight; just three Chevrolet Suburbans whose drivers looked more Slavic than one would expect of Chileans.
Svetlana immediately exercised her female right to change her mind and announced she would return to Estancia San Joaquin with Castillo to pick up Alex Darby and Edgar Delchamps.
That could be because my lover can't bear to be even briefly separated from me.
But on the other hand it could be because former Podpolkovnik Svetlana Alekseeva of the SVR thinks she had better keep an eye on the crazy American to make sure that he doesn't do something stupid. The second flight went smoothly, and this time the pilot elected to fly more closely to the terrain, rather than trying to attain as
much altitude as he could.
And when he turned on final approach, he saw that there was another aircraft on the tarmac: a Peruaire Boeing 777-200LR.
Jesus, that's one great big beautiful sonofabitch!
When he taxied up close to it, feeling like one of the little people Gulliver had encountered in his travels, he saw that a swarm of workers had just about finished loading it with refrigerated containers.
What was the Triple-Seven freighter's revenue payload?
I think Alek said just over a hundred tons-one hundred twelve tons, was what he said.
Jesus, that's a lot of seafood and beef!
Ten minutes after he landed at El Tepual, he was strapped into one of the ten seats in the passenger compartment just behind the 777's cockpit.
The plane began to taxi and when it turned onto the main runway, the pilot simply advanced the throttles and it began the takeoff roll.
One of Marlon Brando's consiglieri caught his hand with one of hers and crossed herself with the other. [THREE] Jorge Newbery International Airport Buenos Aires, Argentina 1305 6 February 2007 As the Gulfstream III carrying Ambassador Montvale and his party had made its approach to the airport, Montvale had remembered that the last time he had met with the sonofabitch in Argentina, Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo had pointed out to him that inasmuch as they were in a foreign and sovereign nation, his Secret Service security detail did not enjoy diplomatic immunity and therefore had no right to bear arms, and were thus liable to be arrested for doing so.
He elected not to mention this to anyone. If there was a problem, Ambassador Juan Manuel Silvio would have to deal with it. And deal with it, he would have to: I'm here at the direct order of the President of the United States. I look forward to making that point to that slick bastard and pal of Castillo's.
Before the Gulfstream III had reached the end of its landing roll, Jorge Newbery ground control directed it to the commercial side of the airfield on the bank of the River Plate.
There they were met by Argentine immigration and customs officers and two members of the staff of the United States embassy. They were passed through both bureaucratic procedures quickly and without incident. Importantly, no Argentine official searched the persons of anyone, which neutralized the problem of his armed security detail, at least for the moment.
There were two diplomats from the American embassy on hand to meet the Gulfstream. One introduced himself as Colonel C. C. "Call me CC" Downs, the military attache. He said he was there to take care of the crew. There were three crew members: the male pilot, a major; the male co-pilot, a captain; and a stout woman wearing the chevrons of a senior master sergeant. She had delivered a stewardess-type speech about the safety features of the C-20A, ordered everybody to fasten their seat belts, and then taken a seat, from which she had arisen only once to announce that intoxicants were prohibited aboard Air Force C-20A aircraft and if the Secret Service agent in the process of pouring Scotch into glasses for the Montvale party continued to do so, she would have to make an official report to her superiors.
"CC" said he would take care of the crew, and that Mr. Spears would know how to contact them when their services were required. He then loaded the crew into an embassy's Yukon and drove off.
Mr. I. Ronald Spears was carried on the books as an assistant consular officer but was in fact the acting CIA station chief for Buenos Aires. He had assumed that duty following the unexpected retirement of Alexander W. Darby.
The director of the Central Intelligence Agency had first planned to replace Darby with Paul Sieno, the CIA station chief in Paraguay, only to learn that Sieno, too, had suddenly retired, presumably to join Lieutenant Colonel Castillo in his disappearance from the face of the earth, and was therefore not available. Next, the CIA station chief in Mexico City, Robert T. Lowe, had been ordered to Buenos Aires to replace Darby, but he was still in the process of clearing his desk in Mexico City.
I. Ronald Spears was twenty-four years old, looked to be about nineteen, and had graduated from CIA training four months before.
Apparently unaware that the director of National Intelligence and his deputy each had Secret Service protection details, Spears had brought to the airport a single embassy Yukon, into which the four Secret Service agents, Montvale, Ellsworth, and their luggage could be loaded only with great difficulty.
Spears lost no time somewhat smugly telling Ambassador Montvale that he had "taken the liberty" of changing the reservations Ambassador Montvale had requested. The ambassador and his party would now be housed in the Alvear Palace Hotel, rather than the Marriott Plaza, as Spears had learned that the former was "much classier" than the latter.
With great effort, Montvale did not say what he wanted to say. Instead, he asked, "Do you happen to know, Spears, if Mr. Danton is in the Marriott Plaza?"
"Mr. who, Ambassador Montvale?"
At that point, Montvale remembered that he had asked Jack Powell, the DCI, only to tell the acting station chief that he was going to Buenos Aires, and had not asked him to tell the acting station chief to start looking for either Roscoe J. Danton or Lieutenant Colonel Castillo.
"My first order of business is to see the ambassador," Montvale then announced. "So we'll go to the embassy first."
The pleasure of envisioning that confrontation-"Mr. Ambassador, I am here at the personal order of the President"-was quickly shattered when Spears told him that the ambassador and most of his staff would be out of town until the next day.
I shouldn't be surprised by that. The moment that sonofabitch heard I was coming down here, Silvio got on his horse, and galloped his miserable ass out of town.
"Certainly someone's minding the store, right, Spears?"
"Yes, sir. Mizz Sylvia Grunblatt has the duty."
"And she is?"
"The embassy press officer, Mr. Ambassador."
Roscoe J. Danton is either still in the Marriott Plaza, or he isn't. And even if the press officer can't tell me where to find Castillo, she might know where that station chief-Darby-is, and Darby can lead me to Castillo.
At the very least, this female has the authority to order up another vehicle and driver. Riding around Buenos Aires in a stuffed-to-the-gills Yukon is simply not acceptable.
"Take me to see Miss Grun… whatever you said her name is," Montvale ordered.
"Grunblatt, Mr. Ambassador. Mizz Sylvia Grunblatt." "Miss Grunblatt, the President has sent Mr. Ellsworth and me down here to have a word with Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo. Do you know who I mean?"
"Yes, I do, Mr. Montvale."
"Do you happen to know where I can find him?"
"I'm afraid not," Grunblatt said. "There's been a journalist-a good one, Roscoe J. Danton, of The Washington Times-Post-down here looking for him, too. What's that all about?"
"You said has been? May I infer that Mr. Danton is no longer here?"
"The last I heard, he was in the Marriott Plaza."
"What about Alexander Darby, Miss Grunblatt?"
"If you don't mind, Mr. Montvale, I prefer 'Ms.'"
After a perceptible pause, the director of National Intelligence said, "Excuse me, Mizz Grunblatt."
"What did you mean, Mr. Montvale, when you asked, 'What about Alexander Darby?' I assume you know he resigned."
"I don't suppose it would surprise an experienced foreign service officer such as yourself, Mizz Grunblatt, if I told you Mr. Darby had duties beyond those of commercial attache?"
"If you're asking did I know that Alex was a spook, yes, I did. I've known that he was in the agency's Clandestine Service since we served in Rome, and that's… oh, twenty years ago."
"And do you know where he is now, by any chance, Mizz Grunblatt?"
"Haven't a clue. The last time I saw him was at Ezeiza. The airport."
"He was going where, do you know?"
"What he did, Mr. Montvale, was go through the departing Argentina immigration procedure on his diplomatic passport, and then he turned right around and came back, so t
o speak, into Argentina on his regular passport. He then gave me-as an embassy officer-his diplomatic passport and carnet. Then I drove him here to the embassy, where he got out of my car, and got in a taxi."
"Then he's still in Argentina. Would you know where?"
"I didn't say that he's still here. I don't know if he is or not. I know his wife and children aren't here any longer; I put them on a plane to the States."
"But not Mr. Darby?"
"No. Not Mr. Darby. I don't know where Alex is."
"Do you happen to know where Mrs. Darby was going?"
"I do. And I'll give you the address once you tell me you're acting in an official capacity."
"I've already done that."
"That's right, you have," Grunblatt said.
She picked up a pen and wrote an address on a piece of notepaper and handed it to him.
Montvale glanced at it, saw that it meant nothing to him, then handed it to one of his Secret Service men.
"Hang on to that."
"Yes, sir."
The Secret Service agent looked at it, and then said, "Mr. Ambassador, I know what this is, this 7200 West Boulevard Drive. It's the Alexandria house Colonel Castillo and the others had. I drew the duty there a couple of times when it was under Secret Service protection."
"Mizz Grunblatt, I'm going to have to get on a secure line to the Secret Service in Washington."
Grunblatt considered that a moment, then said, "Yes, I can arrange that for you. I presume you'd prefer to talk from a secure location?"
You're damned right I would.
There's absolutely no reason for you to hear what I'm going to say.
"Could that be arranged?"
"It'll take me a minute or two to set it up," she said. "You'll have to go to the commo room."
"I understand. Thank you very much."
"Not a problem," Grunblatt said as she pushed herself out of her chair.
"And while I'm on the phone, Mizz Grunblatt, do you suppose you could rustle up another car for me? All we have is a Yukon, and we're stuffed into it like sardines."
"The call I can do. The car I can't. All of our vehicles are out of town with the ambassador. Tomorrow afternoon, if he returns as scheduled, it should be no problem at all."
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