Covert Warriors
Page 32
Naylor’s change of heart had nothing to do with Castillo attempting the obviously right thing to do in the circumstances. And it certainly had nothing to do with their personal relationship. Lammelle understood that Naylor’s decision could easily have gone the other way.
Lammelle had then decided that it was a case of not if, but when, they faced another situation where Castillo was going to try something of which Naylor might not approve and Naylor would decide not to help.
Or, worse, that Naylor’s duty was to prevent Castillo from doing what he planned to do—thus once again throwing him under that proverbial bus.
This was one of those times, Lammelle now decided, when he didn’t like General Allan B. Naylor at all, and that meant he wasn’t going to tell him anything at all that might in any way hurt Charley Castillo.
When Naylor did not immediately respond to Lammelle’s questions about why he thought Lammelle would know where Vic D’Alessandro was, and why did he want to know, Lammelle asked a third: “Why don’t you ask Terry O’Toole where he is? Vic works for him.”
“General O’Toole doesn’t know where he is. That’s why I’m asking you, Lammelle.”
“That brings us back to my original question: Why do you want to know?”
“We have a mission for him. An important mission. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can tell you.”
“That’s all you want to tell me, Allan. And that’s not enough.”
“POTUS made it clear that he doesn’t want the CIA involved in any way in this mission.”
“Which is?”
When Naylor didn’t immediately reply, Lammelle went on: “I’m sure you find this distasteful, General, but once in a while you have to disobey an order. Particularly an order from Clendennen, who we are agreed is not playing with a full deck.”
“You’re speaking, Lammelle, of the President of the United States.”
“Yes, I am.”
There was a long pause.
“I was going to begin this by saying this has to go no further,” Naylor finally said. “But that would be a waste of my breath, wouldn’t it?”
“General, what I try to do is live up to my oath to protect the U.S. from all enemies, foreign and domestic.”
Naylor ignored that. He said: “The original communication from the kidnappers ordered us to take this fellow Abrego by helicopter from the La Tuna prison to Juárez International Airport, just across the border, accompanied by two U.S. Marshals. This was to be tomorrow morning. The exchange was to take place then. The President feels that if this plan were followed, they would be met by an overwhelming force who would relieve them of Abrego and—the phrase he used was ‘wave bye-bye’—with the result being they would have Abrego and we would not have Colonel Ferris.”
“That makes sense. So what’s Plan B?”
“This is what the President does not want the CIA involved with in any way.”
“Involved with what?”
“President Martinez sent him a letter saying that Abrego should be taken to the Oaxaca State Prison for interrogation by the chief of the Policía Federal for Oaxaca State, a man named Juan Carlos Pena.”
“And he’s going to do this?”
“Martinez said contact should be established with this man Pena.”
“And you want to send Vic to make contact?”
“Yes. Now, where is he?”
Lammelle was quiet a moment, then said: “I don’t think you’re telling me everything, Allan. Why should Clendennen be worried about me knowing about something as simple as sending Vic to see this cop?”
“That’s all I can tell you,” Naylor said. “I’ve already told you more than I should.”
“But not as much as you’re going to tell me if you want me to put you in touch with Vic.”
“So you do know where he is?” Naylor snapped.
“I’m the head of the CIA, Allan. I know everything. What else have you got to tell me?”
Lammelle could hear Naylor exhaling audibly before Naylor said, “When Abrego is taken to the prison, after we establish that Ferris is there, the President is sending three Black Hawks loaded with Gray Fox operators with him. They will free Ferris.”
“Gray Fox?” Lammelle asked, incredulously.
“He’s set up a command post in his study,” Naylor said. “General O’Toole is there with him. Colonel Kingsolving has been sent for.”
“And once they grab Ferris, how are they going to get him out of Mexico? That prison is in southern Mexico, almost to the Guatemalan border.”
“Why do I think you know more than you’re telling me?”
“Allan, Vic is in the El Paso Marriott, on Airport Boulevard, registered as José Gomez. If you’ve got a pencil, I’ll give you the number.”
“If you know something I should, Frank . . .”
“The area code is 915 . . .”
“Hold one,” Naylor said. “Okay. Give me that number again.” Lammelle gave it to him, and then said, “Give me five minutes, Allan, and I’ll call him and tell him you’ll be calling.”
“What have you got him doing down there?”
“It’s always a pleasure to talk to you, Allan,” Lammelle said, and hung up.
[FOUR]
Hacienda Santa Maria
Oaxaca Province, Mexico
1345 20 April 2007
“Well, Frank, life is full of surprises, isn’t it?” Castillo said over the speakerphone of his Brick. “The last I remember is Clendennen trying to think of some way to stand Gray Fox against a wall for walking out on his speech at Arlington.”
“I’m having a little trouble remembering who knows what,” Lammelle said. “What did you tell Natalie Cohen about your pal Pena?”
“I told her that Juan Carlos Pena wasn’t too smart, but from what I heard, he was reasonably honest.”
That caught the attention of Juan Carlos Pena. He was sitting opposite Castillo and Svetlana on the veranda of the Big House. He had a bottle of Dos Equis resting on his stomach. He turned to Castillo and gave him the finger.
“And what should I tell Vic?”
“That Juan Carlos is not too smart but may be honest. The one thing we can’t afford is for anybody to even suspect we’re pals. You may have heard that the more people that know something, the sooner everybody does.”
“You got the satellite photos of the prison?”
“Yeah. Thanks. I wouldn’t like to be a guest of that place. We just flew over it. Juan Carlos and I have been talking about grabbing Abrego and Ferris. Conclusion: Make sure Ferris is there, then grab him quick before anybody knows what’s happening.”
“What about Abrego?”
“In the best of all possible worlds, getting the both of them would be nice. And if we can’t get Ferris, then we’ll grab Abrego and see who that brings out of the woodwork. In addition to his drug cartel pals, I mean.”
“You can do that with only a dozen ex-Spetsnaz?” Lammelle asked, doubtfully.
“Plus Uncle Remus,” Castillo said. “It’ll be like old times.”
“When I talked to Vic just now, he told me your China Post guys have lost José Rafael Monteverde.”
“How lost?”
“They were sitting on his apartment in Mexico City. They saw him go in, saw the lights go out when he presumably went to bed, sat on all possible points of egress and access to the place all night, and waited for him to go to work in the morning. When he didn’t appear, they went and had a look. He was not in his apartment, and there were no signs of anything that looked suspicious.”
“I don’t like that, Frank,” Castillo said.
“Well, nobody I know has ever accused the Cuban Dirección General de Inteligencia—or former members thereof—of being incompetent.”
“It sounds as if he knew he was being surveilled,” Castillo said.
“Yeah,” Lammelle said. “It does.”
“So, what are they doing about it? Did anybody think about the Venezuelan embassy?”
Castillo grunted. “I guess what I’m supposed to say now is, ‘Well, these things happen . . .’”
“Yeah, you are. So, what happens now is that Naylor is en route to Fort Bliss—El Paso—to give Vic his marching orders. At least one—redundancy, you know—Black Hawk is by now en route from Fort Campbell to El Paso to take Vic to meet Pena. And as soon as Natalie gets to the White House, I think it reasonable to presume she will be ordered to have Ambassador McCann ask where that meeting will take place. Or will be told to do that herself.”
“Yeah,” Castillo agreed. “And what’s going to happen tomorrow morning when Abrego doesn’t show up at Juárez International?”
“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.”
“I was asking: ‘What do you think they’ll do to Ferris?’”
“Same answer. Except that, dealing with these people, he may already be dead. We could demand proof of life before the exchange.”
“I don’t think he is,” Castillo said. “And as long as he’s alive, he’s a bargaining chip in what they are really after, whacking Pevsner.”
“And C. Castillo and his girlfriend,” Lammelle said. “We’ll just have to wait and see. Speaking of Pevsner, where is he?”
“So far as I know, hunkering down on the shores of beautiful Lake Nahuel Huapi.”
“That doesn’t sound like him,” Lammelle said.
“Well, the one thing you can safely say about Aleksandr Pevsner is that you never know what he’s up to.”
“That brings us back to ‘we’ll just have to wait and see,’ doesn’t it? I’ll be in touch, Charley,” Lammelle said, and broke the connection.
Castillo looked at Svetlana.
“Frank’s right, my darling,” she said. “Doing nothing is not how Aleksandr operates.”
“But he promised to do nothing without asking me first,” Castillo said.
“What he promised was to do nothing without telling you,” she countered. “There’s a big difference.”
Castillo raised an eyebrow. “Well, baby, at the risk of repeating the phrase, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”
[FIVE]
The President’s Study
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W.
Washington, D.C.
1930 20 April 2007
“General Naylor called while you were gone, Mr. President,” Clemens McCarthy said as the President led Colonel Arthur Kingsolving and Secret Service Supervisory Special Agent Mulligan into his study.
The President held up his hand to silence him as he walked to the window, pushed the drape aside, and watched as the MH-60K Black Hawk lifted off from the White House lawn.
“You seem perfectly comfortable in turning your ‘Night Stalker bird’ over to your co-pilot, Colonel,” the President said.
Kingsolving recognized the statement as a question.
“Every 160th pilot is fully qualified as an MH-60 pilot-in-command, sir,” Kingsolving said.
General O’Toole put in: “Having said that, Mr. President, Major Humphreys will now crash that one into the Washington Monument on his way to Andrews.”
The President considered that for a moment, and then laughed.
“You people are really something,” he said. “I guess it comes with the territory. Well, let me tell you: I’m really impressed with that helicopter, and I thank you for the ride.”
“It was my privilege, sir,” Kingsolving said.
“The only thing I didn’t like about it is that it made me realize the secretary of State talked me into giving a half dozen of them to the goddamn Mexicans,” the President said.
“Sir,” Kingsolving said, “the Mexicans didn’t get that one, the MH-60K. That’s a special configuration for the 160th.”
“How specially configured?” the President asked.
“Among other things—state-of-the-art avionics, for example—it has an in-flight refueling probe,” Kingsolving began.
The President held up his hand to silence him and turned to McCarthy.
“Well?” he demanded.
“Sir?”
“You said General Naylor called while we were gone.”
“Yes, sir, he did.”
“And did he call just to say ‘howdy’ or did he have more on his mind than that?”
“General Naylor said that he has established contact with D’Alessandro; explained the situation to him; that the helicopter from Fort Campbell was expected momentarily and that as soon as we tell him where D’Alessandro is supposed to go, he’ll send him on his way.”
“Where is D’Alessandro and the helicopter that’s expected momentarily?”
“In El Paso, sir.”
“What’s the status of that?” the President asked.
“The status of what, sir?”
“Finding out where my friend Martinez wants D’Alessandro to meet the Mexican cop?”
“I don’t know, sir. We haven’t heard from Secretary Cohen about that.”
“Well, Clemens, how about getting her on the phone and asking her?”
“Yes, sir.”
“On second thought, Douglas, you call her,” the President ordered. “Clemens here seems to be having trouble keeping up with all this.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If she hasn’t heard from my friend Martinez, tell her to call the sonofabitch.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Special Agent Douglas said.
“I want to get this show on the road, and I don’t want any surprises,” the President said. “And I’ve got a couple of questions, which occurred to me as we were flying over the Pentagon. Has it ever occurred to anyone else that the more you’re told, the more you learn, the more questions come up?”
“I’ve had that experience, Mr. President,” General O’Toole said.
“Okay. Now, Colonel Kingsolving told me that while the Night Stalker birds can make it from El Paso to this prison, they don’t have the range to make it back without being refueled. Okay. Tell me how that’s going to happen.”
“There are several options, Mr. President—” O’Toole began to answer for Kingsolving.
“I was asking Colonel Kingsolving,” the President cut him off.
“Sorry, sir.”
“The first option, sir, is the simple one,” Kingsolving said. “They will refuel at Xoxocotlán airfield, which is the closest airfield to the Oaxaca Prison.”
“I was just starting to be awed by your all-around knowledge,” the President said. “That answer just blew that. I can see a number of problems with that, starting with how do we know there would be enough fuel at Xoxocotlán airfield to fuel four Black Hawks, even if they were willing to do so?”
“That is a problem, sir, obviously. We don’t.”
“Other options?”
“In-flight refueling, sir. Have one or more KC-130J tankers rendezvous with the Black Hawks shortly before they reach Oaxaca-Xoxocotlán. The Black Hawks then would have full tanks on landing, and be prepared to fly back to the States.”
“That strikes me as almost as stupid as Option One,” the President said. “What do you think the goddamn Mexicans are going to think when they see one or more . . . what’s the nomenclature of that tanker?”
“KC-130J, sir.”
“That’s that great big airplane with propellers, right? Not jet engines?”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“What do you think the goddamn Mexicans are going to think when they see four Black Hawks—instead of the one they expect—flying over their country with a couple of great big aerial gas stations? Jesus, I’m glad I brought this up!”
“Another option, Mr. President,” O’Toole said, “if I may?”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Another option would be to refuel the Black Hawks, before or after the exchange, using a
Navy assault vessel, such as the USS Bataan, in international waters—say fifty miles out—off the coast. This is what Castillo did when he made the assault on La Orchila Island . . .”
General O’Toole’s face flushed as he heard what he had just said.
The President looked at him coldly.
“That’s what Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, Retired, did before he almost got us in a war with Venezuela?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’d like to know who authorized the use of that vessel,” the President said. “Was that you, General O’Toole?”
“No, sir. But under the circumstances, it was, in my judgment, the right thing to do.”
“Fortunately you are not in a position to make decisions like that. If it wasn’t you, who was it? That mustachioed idiot McNab?”
“I don’t believe General McNab was involved, Mr. President. And certainly not able to give orders to the captain of a Navy vessel.”
“Well, that narrows it down somewhat, doesn’t it? McCarthy, make a note for me to discuss this with General Naylor at the earliest opportunity.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And with Secretary Beiderman. And incidentally, where the hell is he?”
“He’s at the Pentagon, sir,” Mulligan said.
“Get him on the phone and get him over here,” the President said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, since we will not be using a U.S. Navy vessel operating fifty miles off the Mexican coast to fuel the Black Hawks, does that mean we’re out of options? Jesus H. Christ! Talk about going off half cocked!”
“There is one more option, sir,” O’Toole said. “A submarine. It would rendezvous with the Black Hawks off the Mexican coast . . .”
“A submarine?” the President parroted incredulously.
“Yes, sir. We have been experimenting with the technique. In our tests a Black Hawk can be refueled on the high seas in about ten minutes, sir.”
The President did not reply.
O’Toole said, “One problem with using a sub—”
“Go on, O’Toole, drop the other shoe. What’s the problem with this option?”