Mason Andrews looked between Two-Gun and the Darbys, then announced, "I can see that I'm wasting my time here. Let's go, McGuire."
"But you haven't had any breakfast," Julia Darby said. "Dianne's making a Spanish omelet."
"And breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Two-Gun offered. "Haven't you heard that, Mr. Secretary?"
Andrews glared at him but didn't respond.
"And one more thing, Mr. Andrews," Two-Gun said. "Those Secret Service agents of yours who have been watching the house?"
"What about them?"
"The right of a governmental agency to surveille does not carry with it any right to trespass. The next time I see one of them on this property, I'm going to call the Alexandria police and charge them with trespass. And if they are indeed Secret Service agents, since you and I have had this little chat, that would constitute trespass after warning, which is a felony."
Andrews, his face white, marched toward the front door, calling over his shoulder, "Goddamn it, McGuire, I said let's go." In the Yukon, Andrews slammed the door shut and turned to McGuire.
"As of this minute, McGuire, you're placed on administrative leave. It is my intention to have you separated from the Secret Service and I think you know why."
"I haven't a clue, Mr. Secretary."
"Goddamn it! Whose side are you on, anyway? You enjoyed watching those bastards humiliate me."
"Mr. Secretary, I took an oath to defend the Constitution against all enemies foreign and domestic. I have done so to the best of my ability."
"Sending the director of National Intelligence on a wild-goose chase to Ushuaia is your idea of defending the Constitution? Jesus H. Christ!"
"I told Ambassador Montvale that Mrs. Darby said Mr. Darby might be there. That's all."
"You'd better be prepared to tell a grand jury that Mrs. Darby did just that. Lying to or making a misrepresentation to a federal officer is a felony. Your pal is going to jail, McGuire, and if I can figure out some way to get you before a grand jury for lying to Ambassador Montvale, I will."
"Oh, come on, Andrews. You know Montvale almost as well as I do. Can you really imagine the Great Charles M. getting up in a courtroom and testifying under oath that one of his underlings sent him on a wild-goose chase anywhere? Much less all the way to the bottom of the world? And that doesn't even touch on the question of who he was looking for and why."
Secretary Andrews considered that for thirty seconds.
"Get out of the car, you sonofabitch! Walk back to Washington!"
McGuire got out of the Yukon.
But instead of walking back to Washington, he went to the door of the house, rang the bell, and when the lady of the house answered, asked if there was any Spanish omelet left to feed someone who had just lost his job. [THREE] Office of the Commanding General United States Army Central Command MacDill Air Force Base Tampa, Florida 0730 9 February 2007 "General, General McNab is here," Colonel J. D. Brewer announced at Naylor's office door.
"Ask the general to come in, please," Naylor said.
McNab marched into the office, stopped six feet from Naylor's desk, raised his right hand to his temple, and said, "Good morning, General. Thank you for receiving me."
McNab was wearing what was officially the Army Service Uniform but was commonly referred to as "dress blues." The breast of his tunic was heavy with ribbons and devices showing his military qualifications, including a Combat Infantry Badge topped with circled stars indicating that it was the sixth award; a Master Parachutist's wings; seven other parachute wings from various foreign armies; and the Navy SEAL qualification badge, commonly called "The Budweiser." The three silver stars of a lieutenant general gleamed on his epaulets.
Naylor was wearing a camouflage-patterned sandy-colored baggy uniform called Desert Battle Dress Uniform. On it was sewn the insignia of Central Command, the legend US ARMY, a name tag reading NAYLOR, and, attached with Velcro to the button line of his jacket, a strip with four embroidered black (called "subdued") stars, the insignia of his rank.
Naylor took his time before returning the salute, and after McNab had dropped his hand, took his time again before saying, "You may stand at ease, General. Please take a seat."
"Thank you, sir," McNab said as he settled into one of the two leather armchairs before the desk. "I trust the general is well?"
"Just so we understand one another, General, there was an implication you made just now that you were invited here. You were ordered here. There is a difference I think you should keep in mind."
"Yes, sir. Permission to speak, General?"
"Permission granted."
"Sir, the general errs. Sir, the general does not have the authority to issue orders to me."
Naylor blurted, "That's what you think, McNab!"
"It's what the chief of staff thinks, General. I telephoned him yesterday following your telephone call. I thought perhaps my status-or your status-had changed and I hadn't been notified. The chief of staff said there was no change in your status or mine. We are both commanders of units directly subordinate to Headquarters, U.S. Army. The only officer who can give orders to either of us is the chief of staff."
"You called the chief of staff?" Naylor asked incredulously.
"Yes, sir. And the chief suggested that a way out of this little dilemma would be for me to make a courtesy call on you. Which is what I'm doing now, General."
Naylor thought: You sonofabitch!
McNab went on: "I got a look at the lieutenant colonel's promotion list on the way down here, General. And saw that Allan has been selected, below the zone. May I offer my congratulations?"
"Thank you."
"How may I assist the general, now that I'm here?"
"Prefacing this by stating I am acting at the direct order of the President, you can tell me where I can find Lieutenant Colonel Carlos G. Castillo."
"The chief of staff didn't mention that you were working for the President, General. Perhaps he had reasons he did not elect to share with me."
"Are you questioning my word, General?"
"No, sir. If the general tells me the general is working at the direct order of the President, I will of course take the general's word."
"Where can I find Castillo, General?"
"I have no idea, General."
"You have no idea?"
"Are you questioning my word, General?"
"No."
"Good."
"What can you tell me, General, about Castillo?" Naylor asked.
"You mean about how the President wants to make a human sacrifice of him to the Russians?"
"What did you say?"
"When I came here, I held the naive hope that you were going to close the door, and then say, 'You may find this hard to believe, but the President wants to turn our Charley over to Putin, and what are we going to do about it?' How foolish of me."
"You don't know that President Clendennen intends to do that," Naylor said.
"Do you know he doesn't? Or didn't he tell you that Murov told Frank Lammelle that Putin wants the Russians and Charley?"
"How do you know about that?"
McNab met Naylor's eyes, and said, "You don't really expect me to answer that, do you, Allan?" After a long moment, he added, "Yeah, now that I think about it, I think you do."
"What I do know, General-"
"Haven't we played your silly little game long enough, Allan?"
"What silly game is that, General?"
"You sitting there in that ridiculous desert costume-as if you expect the Castros or Hugo Chavez to start dropping parachutists on Tampa Bay in the next ten minutes-pretending to be a soldier when all you are is a uniformed flunky carrying out the orders-which you damned well know are illegal-of a political hack who would turn his mother over to Putin if he thought it would get him reelected."
"You are speaking, General, of the President, the commander in chief."
"Did you get it all, or should I say it again?"
"W
hat I should do is place you under arrest!"
"How did you get to be a four-star general-never mind, I know-without learning you never should issue an order-or carry one out-without considering what the secondary effects will be?"
"Stand up and come to attention, General!" Naylor ordered.
McNab crossed his legs, shook his head, and chuckled.
"Goddamn you!" Naylor flared. "I said, come to attention!"
"For example, Allan," McNab said calmly as he took a cigar case from an inside pocket, "one of the thoughts that occurred to me when I heard what the bastard was up to was to take him out. I thought that through and realized that would cause more damage to the country than it would do good. Since we presently don't have a Vice President, the order of succession would put the Speaker of the House in the Oval Office, and from what I've seen, he's as much an idiot as Clendennen is.
"Anyway, I took an oath to defend the Constitution, and unfortunately there's nothing in that that says you can shoot the President, even if the bastard deserves it, as this one clearly does."
"McNab, you're out of your mind!"
"I also considered taking this story to that red-headed guy on Wolf News. What's his name? Oh, yeah…"
He paused as he bit the end off a long, thin, black cigar and then carefully lit it.
"You can't smoke in here," Naylor said. "You can't smoke in any government building."
Naylor stared at McNab and thought: He's sitting here calmly discussing the pros and cons of assassinating the President of the United States, and I'm scolding him for smoking?
What the hell is the matter with me?
What I should do is push the button for the sergeant major, and when he and Jack Brewer come in, say, "I have placed General McNab under arrest. Please escort the general to the visiting senior officers' quarters and hold him there."
And then what do I do?
Call the chief of staff and tell him?
Tell him what?
McNab has friends. Somebody who was there in the Oval Office when the President gave me this mission not only told him exactly what was said, but lost no time in telling him.
Is there a plot against the President? Is that what this is all about?
That's a credible possibility.
McNab is entirely capable of being involved in something like a coup d'etat.
So do I go to the chief of staff with that? Or the President?
With what? All I have is suspicions.
What I have to do is find out as much as I can from the sonofabitch!
McNab blew a smoke ring.
"I always have trouble with names," McNab said. "Okay! I got it! His name is Andy McClarren and the show is called The Straight Scoop. Are you familiar with it?"
Naylor thought: I'm not going to let him drag me into a discussion.
When it became evident that Naylor wasn't going to reply, McNab went on: "You really should watch it, Allan. They say it's the most watched show on television. You might learn something from it.
"Anyway, as soon as I thought that through, I realized that when the dust had settled, all that that would accomplish would be Congress considering impeaching the sonofabitch, and that would tell the world what an idiot we have in the White House, which wouldn't do the country any good, and even if the impeachment went through, which would take a lot of time, all we'd be doing is replacing one idiot with another.
"So I decided to put Andy McClarren on the back burner. I may have to go that route, but I'd rather not."
"So, then what are your intentions, General?"
And I will be very surprised if you don't tell me them in sufficient detail to hang yourself, you egotistical maniac!
"Well, the first thing, obviously, is to find Charley and see what he wants to do."
"To see what he wants to do?" Naylor blurted incredulously.
"By now, I'm sure, Charley knows people are looking for him and his girlfriend-"
"His girlfriend?"
"Her name is Svetlana. They call her 'Sweaty.' Real beauty. Dark red hair, built like a brick… outdoor sanitary facility."
"You've lost me, McNab. What does this woman have to do with any of this?"
"She's one of the defectors Putin wants back. She was a light colonel in the SVR. The other one-he was a full bird-is her brother."
"And Castillo is… emotionally involved with her?"
"Think Romeo and Juliet, Allan."
"Has he lost his mind?"
"His heart, certainly. His mind, I don't think so. If Charley doesn't want to be found, finding him is going to be difficult. And if you think he's going to pop to attention, salute, and load himself and his girlfriend and her brother on an airplane en route to Moscow, think again."
"He's a retired officer. Subject to recall."
"He's also Karl Wilhelm von und zu Gossinger, a German national, who owns a bunch of newspapers. I wonder if our commander in chief had that in mind when he told you to go fetch him. What is it the politicians say? 'Never get in an argument with somebody who buys ink by the barrel.'
"Let's say that Charley and the Russians are in Germany. In his house in Fulda, eating knockwurst and drinking beer, not a care in the world, as Charley/ Karl is a German citizen, and the Russians have been granted political asylum by the German Republic in exchange for their cooperation in certain intelligence matters."
"Is that what he's done?" Naylor asked.
"I don't know. I'm sure he's considered it. But I hope he doesn't have to. That would really piss Putin off, and there would be bodies all over the place as Putin's SVR assassins tried to whack Charley's girlfriend and her brother for traitorously spilling the beans about the SVR to the Krauts, and Charley's pals took them out. Several of Charley's pals, as I'm sure you heard, are very good at taking out officers of the SVR."
"And you don't think Putin knows these Russians told us about the bio-warfare laboratory in the Congo?" Naylor exploded. "Don't you think Putin considers that a traitorous act?"
McNab took a moment to form his reply, then said, "One: President Putin stood in the well of the UN, you will recall, and told the whole world the Russians knew nothing, absolutely nothing, about the so-called Fish Farm. Two: As the CIA has never had the Russians under their benevolent control, the Russians have not spilled the beans about the Fish Farm to us, either. How could they? The Russians knew absolutely nothing about it."
"They know the Russians told us. That's why they want them back."
"That's why they want Charley, too. That's what this whole thing is all about. That's why I want to ask Charley what he wants to do about all this. Maybe he's got some ideas. He's always been very resourceful, Allan, you know that."
"What makes you think you can find him?"
"That will take me a couple of days. First, I have to find someone who knows and who trusts me. I can think of several people who are in that category."
Naylor thought: What I should do now, McNab, is tell the President that you know how to get in contact with Castillo and have the President order you to find him.
Naylor said: "General, since you tell me that you believe you know how to locate Colonel Castillo and the Russian defectors, I feel duty-bound to inform the President of that fact."
"If you did that, Allan, this whole sordid story would be on The Straight Scoop with-what's his name again?-with Andy McClarren tonight."
"You could be held incommunicado-"
"That would last only until Andy McClarren, or C. Harry Whelan, Jr., heard about it. And they would."
"-and ordered not to discuss this with the press or anyone else. You are not immune to the provisions of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, General, and it would behoove you to keep that in mind."
"We took an oath-the day we threw our hats in the air so long ago-to obey the lawful orders of officers appointed over us. I can't understand how you think an order making a human sacrifice of a fellow officer can possibly be considered legal."
"Perhaps a
general court-martial would determine that."
McNab stood up. He said, "Well, it's been a pleasure talking to you, General. We'll have to do this more often."
"I didn't give you permission to leave, General."
McNab ignored him. He said, "What I'm going to do is go find Charley and see what he wants to do. You do what you want, Allan. But if you're smart you'll mark time until I get back to you. Which reminds me: I'm going to leave a GS-Fifteen civilian with you. His name is Vic D'Allessando, and before he was a GS-Fifteen, he was a CWO-Five, and before that, he was a sergeant major. Some people think he's associated with Gray Fox, but I can't comment on that, as-as I'm sure you know-everything connected with Gray Fox is classified.
"Vic has a radio which will allow him to stay in touch with me no matter where I am. I will keep him posted on how I'm doing in finding Charley, and he will tell you. Vic will also keep me posted on your location, and if you leave MacDill, or Lammelle does, before I tell you that you can, Plan A-that's telling Andy McClarren-will kick in. I don't think you want that to happen."
"You think you can sit in my office and tell me what to do? Goddamn you, McNab!"
"Of course not. But what I can do is tell you what's going to happen if you elect to do certain things. And in that regard, if Vic D'Allessando suddenly becomes not available to me or other people on that net, Plan A-McClarren-will automatically kick in."
McNab put on his green beret, popped to attention, and saluted.
He did not wait for Naylor to return it, but immediately did an about-face movement, and marched out of his office.
Naylor knew that Franklin Lammelle, the deputy director of the CIA, was in his outer office when he heard McNab say, "Well, hello, Frank. Whatever brings you to beautiful Tampa Bay?"
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