The CIA man waved Castillo into the room and, when Castillo had sat down, picked up the telephone with the heavy cord.
“This is Franklin,” he said. “I am about to hand the phone to Mr. Castillo, who has been cleared to call anywhere.”
He handed the telephone to Castillo.
“Thank you,” Castillo said. “Please close the door.”
“Certainly.”
And don’t let the doorknob hit you in the ass.
If I were this guy, I would now go into the commo room, which is certainly behind one of those other doors, put on a set of earphones, turn on a recorder, and listen to what this Castillo character is going to talk to Montvale about.
Fuck him. Let him listen. The only thing he’s going to learn from this conversation is that I don’t work for Ambassador Charles W. Montvale.
Castillo waited fifteen seconds and then put the handset to his ear.
“You on there, Franklin?” he asked, conversationally.
There was no reply. Castillo hadn’t expected one.
But he was doing more than giving Franklin a hard time. If Franklin was listening and recording the conversation—and the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that Franklin would be—he was almost certainly using one of the recorders in the commo room. Castillo was familiar with most of the recorders used. They shared one characteristic. The recordings were date and time-stamped, down to one-tenth of a second. That data could not be changed or deleted.
Franklin, therefore, could not pretend if he played the recording for someone—or, more likely, sent it to Langley, or, even more likely, to Montvale himself—that he had not been asked if he was listening. The embassy was U.S. soil; therefore, the laws of the United States applied. Without a wiretap authorization issued by a federal judge, it is a felonious violation of the United States Code to record a conversation unless one of the parties to the conversation is aware that the conversation is being recorded.
He could of course make a written transcript of the conversation, leaving out the “You on there, Franklin?” That not only would look odd but he would be asked, “What happened to the recording itself?”
“If you are on there, Franklin,” Castillo said, still conversationally, “you should not be. You are advised that this communication is classified Top Secret Presidential and you do not have that clearance.”
“Sir?” a male voice came on the line.
Castillo knew it had to be whoever was in charge of the communications room.
“My name is C. G. Castillo. Get me the White House switchboard on a secure line, please.”
“One moment, sir.”
“White House.”
“This is the U.S. embassy, Budapest,” the male voice said. “Please confirm we are on a secure line.”
“Confirm line is secure.”
“Go ahead, Mr. Castillo,” the communications room man said.
“C. G. Castillo. Can you patch me through to Ambassador Montvale, please?”
“Colonel, Secretary Hall wishes to speak with you.”
Colonel? Boy, that news got around quick, didn’t it?
“Secretary Hall first, please. On a secure line, please.”
“One moment, sir.”
“Secretary Hall’s secure line. Isaacson.”
“Hey, Joel. Charley. Is the boss around?”
“Oh, he is indeed, Colonel,” Isaacson said. “Hold on.”
Charley faintly heard “Charley for you, boss,” then Hall’s reply, also faint, “Finally.”
And then the Honorable Matthew Hall, secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, came clearly on the line.
“Hello, Charley. Where are you?”
“Budapest, sir.”
“You didn’t go to Berlin, I gather?”
He knows about that?
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
Oh, I don’t want to answer that.
How the hell can I say “Because I didn’t want Montvale ordering me around” without sounding as if I am very impressed with myself?
Hall, sensing Castillo’s hesitation, added: “I understand you had a couple of sips at the Army-Navy Club to celebrate your promotion.”
Obviously, Naylor told Hall about that.
Thank God!
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“He’s been on the phone several times…”
He who? Naylor or Montvale?
“…the first time to tell me the two of you had come to an understanding…”
Okay, he means Montvale.
“…and that you were going to keep him in your loop. The last several calls, he wondered where you were, since you told somebody you wouldn’t be going to Berlin.”
“I think by now he knows where I am, sir.”
“You’ve spoken to him?”
“I used an air taxi with which he has a connection.”
There was a pause. After a moment, Hall said, “Okay. I get it. And the last several times, he’s been very interested in explosive briefcases. Asked me if I had heard about them. I told him I hadn’t.”
“There’s nothing to tell, sir.”
“Later, Joel told me Tom McGuire had told him about it. I understand. But our mutual friend seemed very surprised that you hadn’t passed this information on to him or me.”
“Dick Miller told him about the briefcases. I told him to tell him.”
Why are we talking in verbal code on a secure line?
Because Hall thinks it’s entirely possible that “our mutual friend” has told the friendly NSA folks at Fort Meade that it might be a good idea to scan Hall’s calls for names like “Montvale.” And he could easily do that. The National Security Agency works for him. No problem, either, with decrypting a White House secure line. NSA provides the encryption code to the White House.
“Dick told me. Just consider that a heads-up, Charley.”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
“What are you doing in Budapest?”
“I’m trying to get a source to relieve me from a promise that I wouldn’t pass a list of names he gave me to anyone else,” Castillo said. “I’m going to tell our mutual friend that when I talk to him. Which I will do as soon as we’re finished.”
“And where do you go from Budapest?”
“Sir, do you really want to know?”
Hall perceptibly thought that over before replying: “No, I don’t. You don’t work for me anymore. There’s no reason you should tell me. But, Charley, I suspect our mutual friend is going to ask you the same question.”
“I don’t work for our mutual friend, either, sir.”
There was another pause before Hall responded: “Charley, can you handle your arrangement with our mutual friend?”
“I really hope so, sir.”
“Another of our mutual friends, an old friend of yours…”
That has to be General Naylor.
“…doesn’t think so. The way he put it was he always thought David got awful lucky with that slingshot.”
What the hell does that mean?
Oh! David, as in David and Goliath.
“Sir, I’m not going to try to bring Goliath down. All I want him to do is leave me alone.”
“That was Jefferson Davis’s philosophy in the Civil War. He didn’t want to defeat the North. All he wanted was for the North to leave the South alone. You know how that turned out.”
“Yes, sir.”
“There’s one more option, Charley,” Hall said.
“Prayer?”
Hall chuckled, then said, “I’ll have a word with the President, get him to get him off your back.”
When Castillo didn’t immediately reply, Hall added: “That’s my idea, Charley. Not our friend’s.”
After a long moment, Castillo said, “Why don’t we wait and see how it goes?”
Hall didn’t respond directly. Instead, he said, “His tactic is going to be damning you by faint praise. He’s already started. ‘You’
re a fine young man but inexperienced. You need a wise, guiding hand on your shoulder, to keep you from doing something impulsive and unwise.’ He’s going to keep repeating that—or something like it—until one day you’re going to do something impulsive and unwise. And then the President will tell you something like, ‘Before you do something like that again, you’d better check that with Mon…our friend.’ And that will put you in our friend’s pocket.”
“When I worked for you, I had one,” Castillo replied. “A wise hand on my shoulder.”
“That’s not true but thank you.”
“I guess I’m going to have to be careful not to act unwisely on an impulse.”
“That’s an open offer, Charley. Nonexpiring, in other words.”
“Thank you,” Castillo said, very seriously, and then chuckled.
“Speaking of the Civil War, sir, you remember what Lee said at Appomattox Court House? ‘I would rather face a thousand deaths, but now I must go to treat with General Grant.’ I would rather face a thousand deaths, but now I have to get our friend on the horn.”
That made Hall chuckle and then he said, “There’s a big difference, Charley. You’re not going there with the intention of handing him your sword, are you?”
“No. But, on the other hand, I was never very good with a slingshot, either.”
Hall laughed.
“Keep in touch, Charley.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Castillo tapped the telephone switch several times.
“White House.”
“Will you get me Ambassador Montvale, please? And verify that the line is secure, please.”
“One moment, please.”
Director Montvale’s secure line. Truman Ellsworth speaking.”
“Colonel Castillo on a secure line for Director Montvale,” the White House operator said.
“I’ll take it.”
Like hell you will, Castillo thought.
he said, “Mr. Ellsworth?”
“How are you, Colonel? We’ve been expecting to hear from you.”
“Would you take a message to Ambassador Montvale for me?”
“Certainly.”
“Please tell him that I’ll be in the U.S. embassy in Budapest for the next fifteen minutes if he wants to talk to me.”
“I’m not sure the ambassador will be available within that time frame, Colonel.”
“That’s all the time frame I have available.”
“You understand, I hope, Colonel, that anything you’d like to say to the ambassador you can say to me.”
“I’m calling because I understand the ambassador has a message for me.”
“You’re talking about the message sent to Berlin?”
“I know there was a message sent to Berlin for me, but I haven’t seen it. The man who called me was unwilling to tell me what the message said, only that there was a message I could have only if I went to Berlin. I didn’t have time to do that. Can you give it to me?”
“I see. Well, Colonel, the idea was that you would go to Berlin and, once you’d received the ambassador’s message, get on a secure line at the embassy there.”
“Okay. Well, that’s moot. When I walked in the embassy here, Mr. Franklin gave me a similar message. Which is the reason I placed the call. I’ll be available here if the ambassador becomes available in the next”—he paused and checked his watch—“fourteen minutes. Thank you very much, Mr. Ellsworth.”
Castillo tapped the switch of the telephone several times, said, “Break it down, please,” and hung up.
Castillo exhaled audibly, then took a cigar from his briefcase and very carefully unwrapped it, carefully nipped one end with a cutter, and carefully lit the other end.
He tried to blow a smoke ring but failed.
That’s funny. This room is sealed, and if the air conditioner is working I can’t feel it. I should have been able to blow a nice ring.
Possibly, Colonel, that is because you’re just a little nervous.
David obviously managed to hit Goliath Junior just now. Probably right between the eyes. But the projectile didn’t blow him away—it just bounced off, making Goliath Junior mad.
And when Goliath Junior reports what just happened to Goliath Senior, Goliath Senior is going to be even angrier.
Which is probably happening at this very moment.
Goliath Senior, like everyone else on the White House secure circuit, is never supposed to be more than ninety seconds from picking up the phone—and fifteen seconds is preferred.
It is of course possible that Goliath Senior was taking a leak. It is far more likely that he was in his office all the time. He has Ellsworth answer his phone to make the point that he is too important to answer his own phone, even when the President might be calling.
And he especially wanted to make that point to me. He was going to make me wait.
And if I hadn’t hung up when I did, it’s more than likely that Ellsworth—when signaled to do so, of course—would have cheerfully announced, “Well, the ambassador just walked in,” and Goliath Senior would have come on the line.
Castillo took several puffs on his cigar, held the last one for a moment, then very carefully tried to blow a smoke ring.
This time it worked.
He watched it until it bounced off the wall and disintegrated.
Fuck it! One of two things is going to happen. Goliath Senior is going to call back. Or he isn’t.
If he does call back, let him wait for me.
He stood up, put the cigar in his mouth, opened the door, and left the room.
“Why don’t we go have a look at your arsenal, Mr. Franklin?” Castillo said.
Franklin obviously didn’t like the suggestion very much, but he nodded and said, “It’s one floor down. Are you through here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Colonel, smoking is forbidden in the embassy,” the second man said.
Colonel? How did you know that?
What did they do, put my conversation on speakers while they were eavesdropping?
“Is it?” Castillo replied and took another puff.
He looked at Franklin, who hesitated a moment and then said, “This way, Mr. Castillo.”
“Why don’t you wait here with this gentleman,” Castillo said to Otto Görner, in English. “I’ll come back and fetch you.”
Görner nodded.
The weapons locker was a gray metal two-door cabinet in a small narrow room that also held rows of gray filing cabinets, each of them securely locked with steel bars and padlocks. Castillo idly wondered how much of the obviously classified material they held would be of real intelligence value.
Franklin took the padlock from the door and swung the double doors open for Castillo.
There wasn’t much in it, and most of what was there were ordinary American weapons, ranging from M-16 rifles to an assortment of handguns, both revolvers and semiautomatics. There were some odd pistols, including two Russian Makarovs and four German Walther PPs.
Castillo was familiar with both of the Makarov semiautomatics and liked neither. The Russians had basically copied the Walther when they had replaced their Tokarev pistol. The basic difference was a larger trigger guard on the Makarov to accommodate a heavily gloved trigger finger.
The Walthers fired a 9mm Kurz cartridge, virtually unchanged since Colt had introduced it as the .380 ACP cartridge for their sort of scaled-down version of the Colt 1911 .45 ACP. The cartridge had never been successful in the United States but had enjoyed wide popularity in Europe.
The reason it had not been very successful was the reason Castillo disliked it. It didn’t have anywhere near the knockdown power of the .45 ACP.
There were a half dozen cardboard cartons on the floor of the locker, one long rather thin one and two larger thick ones. Castillo picked up the long thin one and one of the thick ones and laid them atop one of the filing cabinets. He opened the long thin one first.
It held what looked like a target
pistol, and, indeed, that’s what it had been before Special Forces armorers had worked their magic on it years before. Their version of the target pistol, chambered for the .22 Long Rifle round, was now known as the Ruger Mk II Suppressed.
“Just what the doctor ordered,” he said.
Franklin did not seem to share Castillo’s enthusiasm.
There really is no such thing as a “silenced” weapon for a number of reasons, heavy among them the fact that almost all bullets exit the barrel at greater than the speed of sound and it is impossible to silence the noise they make when they do. There are “suppressed” weapons, the best of which make no more sound than a BB gun. Of these, Castillo thought the Ruger Mk II to be among the very best.
The one before him looked brand-new, and it looked as if it was a “manufactured” weapon rather than one modified by the weapons wizards at Bragg.
Castillo examined the weapon carefully and liked what he found.
“I’ll take this,” he announced.
“Colonel…”
There goes “Colonel” again. The sonofabitch did listen.
“…I’m going to have to get authority to let you take that,” Franklin said.
“As soon as we see what else you have, we’ll get on the horn to the ambassador,” Castillo replied and then opened the larger box.
I got lucky again.
The box held a Micro Uzi submachine gun, the smallest and, as far as Castillo was concerned, the most desirable of the three variants of the Uzi.
Seeing the Uzi triggered a series of connects in his brain:
The Uzi is named after its designer, Lieutenant Colonel Uziel Gal, of the Israeli Army…CONNECT…My God, now I’m a lieutenant colonel!…CONNECT…Gal retired and lived in Philadelphia until he died a couple of years ago…CONNECT…Chief Inspector Dutch Kramer of the Philly P.D. Counterterrorism Bureau told me that…CONNECT…Betty Schneider used to work for Kramer…CONNECT…No, she worked for Captain Frank O’Brien in Intelligence and Organized Crime…CONNECT…And I didn’t call her before I came over here. Or since…
The Hunters Page 29