The Hunters

by W. E. B Griffin

  “Nothing was said about me going out of the country on a lunatic mission like this,” Doherty said.

  “I hope that was an observation rather than an indication you’re going to be difficult,” Castillo said.

  “I’d like to go,” Yung said.

  “I wouldn’t think of leaving home without you, David,” Castillo said. He looked at Doherty. “I can make you go, Inspector, and you know it. But I don’t want you along if you’re going to be a pain in the ass. Your call.”

  Doherty met Castillo’s eyes for a long moment before replying.

  “How long are we going to be gone?” he asked, finally.

  “Probably less than a week,” Castillo said. “Thank you.”

  “What are we going to do about the blackboards?” Doherty asked.

  “I was just thinking about that,” Castillo said. “I’d like to have that data at the safe house in Buenos Aires. Is there some way we can photograph them and replicate them down there?”

  “Not a problem,” Doherty said.

  “Okay, then. You start on that. I’ve got a couple of phone calls to make.”

  XVI

  [ONE]

  Office of the Chief of Operational Analysis

  Department of Homeland Security

  Nebraska Avenue Complex

  Washington, D.C.

  0935 12 August 2005

  Castillo sat down in the leather-upholstered judge’s chair behind his huge, ornate desk and looked uncomfortably around his luxuriously furnished office. He felt like an intruder. He shrugged and picked up the handset of what Billy Kocian had called his “science fiction radio.”

  “Neidermeyer,” he ordered. “Put me through to Sergeant Major Davidson, please.”

  “Hold one, Colonel.”

  Five seconds later, Davidson’s voice came over the circuit.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Jack, there’s reason to believe another attempt to kidnap or take out Eric Kocian is likely to happen.”

  “Really?”

  “What’s that phrase, ‘Take all necessary precautions’?”

  “Consider it done, Colonel.”

  “There’s also good reason to think that the bad guys are ex-Stasi, which means you should keep that in mind when you’re taking all necessary precautions. These guys are pros.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “Make sure everybody else knows.”

  “Including Kocian?”

  “Especially Kocian.”

  “Done, Colonel. You don’t have a time, do you?”

  “Anywhere from four to twenty-four hours after they find out where he is. And, by now, they may already know.”

  “Kocian wants to go into Buenos Aires for lunch.”

  “That’s off. He is not to leave Mayerling. I’d prefer that he not go outside the house.”

  “Well, you and I have sat on difficult people before. I’ll deal with him.”

  “We’ll be coming down there after a stop in Midland, Texas.”

  “To see Colonel Munz’s family?”

  “No. We found out there’s a connection in Midland between the oil-for-food scam and the two million dollars the Philadelphia Muslims got for their bomb shelter. We’re going to see what we can find out and then come down there.”

  “Got an ETA?”

  “When there is one, I’ll get it to you.”

  “I think we can handle things here, Colonel. Anything else?”

  “I was about to ask you to patch me through to the embassy, but I just decided it’ll be better if I make a perfectly ordinary call from here. I don’t want to be responsible for tipping these bastards about Mayerling.”

  “Understood.”

  “Okay, Jack. Keep your eyes open and watch your back.”

  “You, too, Colonel.”

  “Break it down, Neidermeyer.”

  Pevsner’s phone numbers were in the cellular telephone Alex Darby had given him in Buenos Aires and Castillo had to go into his briefcase for it. When he turned it on, the screen read LOW BATTERY.

  He pushed himself away from the desk and went into the outer—Mr. Agnes Forbison’s—office, where, the moment Agnes saw him with the cellular in his hand, she put her hand out for it. Then she pulled open a drawer in her desk, where—predictably—she had a box full of assorted chargers and in a moment had fitted one of them to the phone.

  “There’s a socket in your banker’s lamp on your desk,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  “I gather you’re going somewhere?” she asked.

  “Midland, Texas, and then Buenos Aires,” Castillo replied. “I think we’ve found the link between the oil-for-food scam and the nuclear suitcase bombs.”

  She didn’t say anything but her eyes asked for clarification.

  “If I tell you this, there will be a nuclear mushroom over Philadelphia before I finish the sentence,” Castillo said. “But right now, I really don’t think there is a suitcase bomb any nearer than Siberia.”

  “Thank God!” she said.

  “That whole scenario was to pull our chain,” Castillo said. “Or, at least, pulling our chain was part of it.”

  “Can Dick tell me about it?”

  “Dick’s going with me. Jake is in Charleston.”

  “Is that going to work? Dick’s leg…”

  “He’ll navigate. I’ll steer,” Castillo said. “It’ll work.”

  Again her eyes asked for clarification.

  “This is what Edgar Delchamps has come up with,” he said. “Let me know what you think…”

  “This may be the dumbest thing I’ve said all week,” Agnes said when he had finished, “but it just may be the answer. I haven’t heard anything that makes more sense.”

  “I really hope so,” Castillo said.

  “You really like Delchamps, don’t you?” she asked.

  “He’s the one who should be sitting behind that desk,” Castillo said, nodding toward his office. “He’s the only one around here who really knows what he’s doing.”

  “No, he’s not,” Agnes said. “And he doesn’t enjoy the confidence of the President.”

  “That’s because the President doesn’t know him—yet.”

  “I wonder how Ambassador Montvale is going to take this,” Agnes said and, when she saw the look on Castillo’s face, added: “You weren’t going to tell him, were you? Charley, you have to.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” Castillo said. “And, yeah, I do.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, Colonel,” Ambassador Charles W. Montvale, the director of National Intelligence, said, “but you are suggesting I go to the President and say, in effect, ‘Not to worry, Mr. President. There is no threat of a nuclear detonation in Philadelphia. All the Russian suitcase nuclear devices are still in the Soviet Union. It seems President Putin has been playing a little joke on us.’”

  “I’m not suggesting you do anything, Mr. Ambassador,” Castillo said.

  “‘The source of this rather interesting theory is a veteran—some might even say ‘burned-out’—CIA field officer by the name of Delchamps, who does not, I’m afraid, enjoy the full confidence of his superiors in Langley,” Montvale went on.

  “Why do I suspect the people you talked to at Langley cannot be counted among his legion of admirers?” Castillo asked. “For the record, I like him very much. You can find him in my dictionary under both ‘highly competent’ or ‘widely experienced.’”

  “Not for the record, the people I spoke with seem to feel that not only does he regret the Cold War is over, but that he is both a Francophobe and—am I coining a phrase?—a UNphobe.”

  “Maybe that’s because he’s been dealing with the French and the United Nations for a longtime.”

  “They asked me if he might be considering retirement when his temporary duty with me is concluded.”

  “With all respect, Mr. Ambassador, his temporary duty is with me. And if they ask that question, tell them not to hold their breath.”

 
“You’re fond of that expression, aren’t you?” Montvale said, then finished his original comment: “‘And no, Mr. President, there is no firm intelligence to confirm this fascinating theory. Colonel Castillo is going on a hunch.’”

  Castillo said nothing.

  “No comment, Colonel?”

  “Mr. Ambassador, I told you I would keep you abreast of what I’m doing and plan to do. I’ve just done that.”

  “Does the FBI expert, Inspector Doherty, whom you told not to hold his breath when he said he expected you to tell him if you had any contact with Pevsner or former FBI agent Kennedy—”

  “You knew about that, and still sent him to me?”

  “You asked for their best man and that’s who I sent you,” Montvale replied. “Does Doherty know about this fascinating theory that Putin is playing games with us?”

  “He does, and I’d say he shares your opinion of it, sir.”

  “Well, while you’re off in Texas and Argentina would it be possible for him to come see me and tell me what he thinks of the situation?”

  “I’m taking Inspector Doherty with me, sir.”

  “To South America?”

  “I want him to work with the people and the data down there, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “I’d really like to have his take on the probability of there being nuclear weapons about to be detonated in this country.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to send him to see or not?”

  “I’ve got two more telephone calls to make, Mr. Ambassador, and then we’re going to the airport.”

  “In other words, you’re not going to send him to see me.”

  “There’s just not time, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “This is another of those times when I really wish you were working for me, Castillo.”

  “Yes, sir. I thought something like that might be running through your mind.”

  There was a long silence, then the White House operator came on the line: “Are you through, Colonel?”

  Castillo realized that Montvale had broken his end of the connection.

  “It looks that way. Thank you.”

  Castillo put the White House phone back in its cradle and picked up the handset of another.

  “Lopez.”

  “Carlos. You weren’t in your office, but they gave me your cellular number.”

  “I’m at the Double-Bar-C,” Fernando Lopez said.

  “What are you doing there?”

  “Why do you think, Gringo? Abuela’s here.”

  “So are half a dozen Secret Service agents.”

  “I thought I should be here, okay? What’s on your mind?”

  “What do you know about the Kenyon oil company, specifically the Kenyon Oil Refining and Brokerage Company? Is there a Kenyon?”

  “Jesus, you really don’t live here anymore, do you?” Lopez said, not very pleasantly. “Yeah, there’s a Kenyon. There’s a lot of them. One of them, Philip, is a classmate of mine. You don’t remember him?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Now that I think about it, I’m really surprised. You belted him good one time when he said you had to be queer because you talked funny and rode a sissy saddle.”

  “Tubby?” Castillo asked as the memory came to him of a heavyset twelve-year-old trying to fight back tears after his nose had been bloodied.

  “Yeah,” Fernando said. “Tubby. Nobody calls him that much anymore.”

  “He runs Kenyon?”

  “Yeah, he does. Why do I think, Gringo, that I am going to be unhappy when you explain this sudden interest in Philip J. Kenyon III?”

  “You’re not going to like it, Fernando,” Castillo said. “Is he in Midland now, do you think?”

  “He was yesterday,” Fernando said. “I saw him in the Petroleum Club. He asked me if I still played poker and I had to tell him no because Maria and Abuela and the Munzes were with me. The Friday-night three-card stud games of fame and legend are still going.”

  “He’ll be there—at the Petroleum Club—tonight?”

  “You going to tell me why you want to know?”

  “Not over the phone. I’ll tell you when I see you.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “As soon as I make one more telephone call, I’m headed for the airport. It’s about three hours in the air. Figure another hour and a half to go wheels-up. It’s now ten. Knock an hour off because of the time zones. We should be there sometime before three.”

  “Midland-Odessa or here?”

  “Midland. We’re going from there to Buenos Aires, and I can’t do the customs stuff from the strip at the Double-Bar-C.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Yung, a guy named Delchamps, a guy named Doherty—an FBI big shot—Miller, and me.”

  “Plus Jake Torine. It’ll be a little crowded, but it’ll be all right.”

  “Jake’s not coming, and we may not be staying overnight.”

  “First things first. Yes, you are staying overnight. Abuela will expect you to spend the night. Jesus, you just don’t give a damn about people’s feelings, do you, Carlos?”

  “Okay. We’ll spend the night.”

  “If Jake’s not coming, who’s flying the Gulfstream?”

  “Miller will work the radios,” Castillo said after a just-perceptible hesitation.

  “Sure. Why not? You’ve been flying that Gulfstream for, what, ten whole days now? And really racked up a lot of time. Maybe ten, even twelve, hours. And shot maybe six landings. You’re out of your mind, you know that?”

  “I can fly the Gulfstream,” Castillo said.

  “There are old pilots and there are bold pilots, but there are no old bold pilots. You ever hear that?”

  “I can fly it. It practically flies itself.”

  “I was about to say it’s been nice knowing you, but that wouldn’t be entirely true.”

  “So I don’t suppose you’re going to meet me at Midland-Odessa?” Castillo asked, but, before Lopez had a chance to reply, went on: “No, actually have the senior Secret Service agent meet us. I have to talk to him and I’d rather do that at the airport.”

  “Your wish is my command, Carlos. See you sometime this afternoon.”

  The connection went dead.

  He called me Carlos again. He called me Carlos three times. He must be really pissed at me.

  And, unfortunately, with good reason.

  He got another dial tone, and then, reading them from Alex Darby’s cellular, carefully punched in a long series of numbers.

  “¿Hola?”

  “Hello, Alek,” Castillo said, in Russian.

  After a long moment, Aleksandr Pevsner replied, in Russian, “Ah, Colonel Castillo, my former friend. I am surprised that you would dare to call me ever again.”

  “‘Former friend,’ Alek?”

  “You lied to me, and about something you knew was very important to me.”

  “Are you going to tell what? Or are you just going to sulk like a little boy?”

  “You dare to deny it? To mock me?”

  “To mock you, sure. You’re the mockable type. But I can’t deny anything until you tell me what it is.”

  “Munz is what I’m talking about.”

  “What about him?”

  “You knew where he was all the time and said you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t know where he was,” Castillo said. “I didn’t tell you I didn’t know. You jumped to that conclusion.”

  “Do you know where he is now?”

  “Kennedy can’t find him?”

  “Or his family, Colonel Ex-Friend.”

  “I don’t understand the question. Are you telling me that Howard can’t find Alfredo and his family? Or asking if I know where Señora Munz and the girls are?”

  “If you knew where the women are would you tell me? The truth?”

  “I do and I would.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Safe. In the safest place I c
an think of them to be right now.”

  “You’re not going to tell me where?”

  “No.”

  “And Alfredo?”

  “He’s in the second-safest place I could think of for him to be.”

  “I want to talk to Alfredo.”

  “Well, he has your number, Alek. If he wanted to talk to you, I think he would have called. That’s his call. So far as Señora Munz is concerned, give me four hours or so to have her released from her cell and for the tranquilizers to wear off and I’ll ask her if she wants to call you. But I have to say, I don’t think she’d call unless Alfredo said it was okay, and we’re right back to square one.”

  “You sonofabitch. When I find you, you will be sorry.”

  “Actually, you won’t have to find me. I’ll be in Argentina in twenty-four hours or less and I want to talk to you. And so do several friends of mine.”

  “Ha!”

  “The reason I’m calling, Alek, is to try to make sure you’ll still be alive when I get there.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “I think it’s entirely possible that certain people—certain of your countrymen, as a matter of fact—would like it a lot better if you had one of those Indian beauty marks you’re always talking about in the center of your forehead.”

  There was a perceptible pause before Pevsner replied.

  “My countrymen? What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  “One of the people who were there when Alfredo shot himself cleaning his pistol was a member of the Cuban Dirección General de Inteligencia. That being the case, isn’t it reasonable that the KSB is involved?”

  There was a perceptible pause before Pevser replied, in a tone of disgust, “The Cuban Dirección General de Inteligencia? Where did you get that? Why should I believe it?”

  “You should believe it, friend Alek, because I’m telling you. And you should also believe that the people who tried to ask Eric Kocian questions in Budapest were ex-Stasi, because I’m telling you that, too.”

  When Pevsner didn’t reply, Castillo went on. “Why don’t you ask your friends? The Cuban was Major Alejandro Vincenzo. He was once Castro’s bodyguard. I don’t have the names of the ex-Stasi people yet, but I’m working on it.”