Black Ops

by W. E. B Griffin

  He nodded toward Bradley, who was half inside one of Casey’s large cardboard boxes that crowded the library.

  “Not to worry, sir. I know how delicate vacuum tubes are.”

  “Vacuum tubes?” Casey asked incredulously, then said, “The Boy Marine got me again!”

  “So it would appear,” Berezovsky said.

  “I may decide not to like you, Tom. And I don’t even know who you are.”

  “You tell me what kind of monitors you want, and I’ll go into town and get them,” Castillo said. “And while I’m doing that, Davidson can tell you who Tom is and otherwise bring you up to speed.”

  Casey said, “Go to Radio Shack and get a bunch of precision soldering irons and hand tools, that kind of thing. Mine are in my kitchen. As far as the monitors go, get the best they have. I don’t want to have to fix monitors in addition to everything else I have to do around here.”

  He reached for his wallet. “Let me give you a credit card.”

  “I have a credit card, thank you. The Lorimer Charitable and Benevolent Fund will pick up the tab.”

  Castillo was almost out the front door when he remembered that if he used the Lorimer AmEx, or anything with his name on it, the FBI would quickly learn his whereabouts.

  Abuela, Estella, and Svetlana were cleaning up the kitchen after breakfast when he walked in.

  “Abuela, I need you to go into town with me to buy some things. And bring your credit card, please. I’ll pay you back later.”

  “Carlos, you don’t have a credit card?” she said incredulously, if disapprovingly.

  “I do. But if I use it, the FBI will know I’m in Midland, and I don’t want them to know that.”

  That announcement didn’t faze her.

  “I was just about to ask, Carlos, if it would be safe for Svetlana to go into Midland.”

  Castillo looked at her. “Why do you want to, Svet?”

  Doña Alicia answered for her. “I promised her I’d show her St. Agnes’s, where you sang in the choir . . .”

  “Before you grew up and became a heathen,” Svetlana said.

  “. . . and she wants to buy some denims,” Doña Alicia picked up.

  “I became neither a heathen nor a Roman Catholic,” Castillo said.

  “He doesn’t mean that the way it sounds, dear. He’s a Protestant—”

  “He’s not a very good anything now,” Svetlana said. “That I will change.”

  “And I was thinking if you could get what you need in Sam’s . . .”

  “Sam’s and Radio Shack, probably.”

  “. . . Svetlana could get the denims there. And if you’re going to have to go to Radio Shack, that’s right down the street from Western World. They have some very nice ready-to-wear boots, and blouses and things. That’s if it’s safe for her to go into town.”

  The odds are pretty slim that the local FBI people would spot this Interpol fugitive in Sam’s or Western World, or riding around in a Yukon with a Double-Bar-C sign on the door.

  “Whenever you’re ready, ladies,” Castillo said.

  “Svetlana can ride with me. That would attract less attention,” Doña Alicia said.

  [EIGHT]

  1745 8 January 2006

  The Yukons returned to the Double-Bar-C each transporting two fifty-six-inch flat-screen liquid-crystal monitors, one strapped to each roof and one extending four feet out the rear door of each with a little flag flying from the boxes—Lester Bradley had said there was no reason not to avoid a conflict with the cops for having something hanging out the back of the truck.

  Doña Alicia and Svetlana, carrying boxes of denim clothing and whatever the big box labeled WESTERN WORLD contained, disappeared into the house.

  Ernesto—Estella’s son—and Bradley and Castillo started off-loading the monitors. After they had carried the first one into the library—which was now a sea of electronic devices and parts there for—Davidson came out to help with the others.

  “Miller called, Charley.”

  “And?”

  “Colonel Hamilton and Phineas will arrive at Reagan at oh-nine-something. He’ll take them to the Motel Monica. Tom McGuire has some Secret Service guys who’ll sit on them tonight and tomorrow without asking any questions. He said there’s nothing to connect them with us anyway.

  “And Delchamps is on the 2130 Lufthansa flight to Munich, and Darby on the 2150 American flight to Frankfurt, both out of Dulles. Miller gave them $9,900 apiece—a hundred under the law requiring anything over ten grand taken out of the country to be declared.”

  Castillo nodded. “What else?”

  “He’s got a Beechcraft King Air laid on from noon tomorrow to take Hamilton’s stuff to Bragg. Actually to Fayetteville, where Vic will have somebody meet it. No jet was available, and he said it won’t make any difference anyhow, as Torine can’t leave without that stuff or the shooters, and Uncle Remus is not finished with the paperwork for the shooters.”

  “But he has them, right?”

  “Uncle Remus said he’s got eighteen coal-blacks, five a little lighter, and one he says they may have to leave in Tanzania he’s so light.”

  “Okay. I guess that leaves us with nothing to do now but set up Casey’s toys and wait.”

  “I have the feeling we’ll be doing a lot of that, Charley. Waiting.”

  “Do they have sophisticated tools like this in Marine Corps communications, Bradley?” Casey asked, holding up a very-fine-pointed soldering iron from Radio Shack.

  “I don’t know what they have in Marine Corps communications, sir,” Bradley replied. “I was a designated marksman, not in that. I think they mostly use semaphore flags.”

  He mimed waving semaphore flags.

  Casey shook his head. “What’s a designated marksman? That anything like a shooter?”

  “I really don’t know how well your shooters shoot, Dr. Casey, so I don’t know if they would qualify to be a Marine Corps designated shooter. But if you were asking can I use that soldering iron, then yes, sir, I can. Before I joined the Corps, I was in the AARRL. I made most of my stuff.”

  “I was also in the American Amateur Radio Relay League,” Casey said. “That’s how I got suckered into Special Forces; they needed people who knew the difference between an ohm and a watt.”

  He pointed to a rat’s nest of twisted-together wires on the table.

  “Why don’t you see what you can do with that?” Then he turned to Castillo, Ernesto, and Davidson, who were resting from their monitor-carrying labors. “Why don’t you guys get out of here and leave those of us who know what we’re doing to do it?”

  Castillo and Davidson went to the kitchen, carrying an AFC handset with them. Estella offered them coffee. Castillo had just picked up his mug when Svetlana came into the room, almost causing him to drop the mug.

  She was wearing her cowboy suit, which included a light gray Stetson hat, a denim jacket worn open over a translucent blouse of Western cut—through which he could see her upper undergarment—a pair of lizard-skin boots, and of course denim trousers.

  She spun around.

  “No comment?” she asked.

  “How the hell did you get those pants on? With a paintbrush?”

  “You’re not supposed to ask questions like that of a lady, my heathen,” she said.

  “Jesus, Charley!” Davidson said in mock disapproval of his query. “Even I know that.”

  Svetlana smiled at Davidson, then went to Castillo, put her arms around him, and whispered in his ear, “If you will be a good boy, later I will show you how I get them off.”

  [NINE]

  0700 9 January 2006

  When Castillo walked into the library he saw that while it was not going to win any prizes for order and cleanliness, it was a great deal cleaner and more in order than it was the last time he had seen it the night before.

  He also saw Lester Bradley sound asleep in an armchair, and that Casey, heavy-eyed, was sitting in another.

  “He wouldn’t go to
bed when we finished about oh-five-hundred,” Casey greeted him. “Said he ‘had the duty.’ He’s been like that since about ten after five.”

  Castillo gently shook Bradley’s shoulder and, when he opened his eyes, said, “Wake up and go to bed, Lester.”

  Bradley was on his feet a second later.

  “Sir, I guess I dropped off for a second.”

  “Go to bed, Lester. Say, ‘Yes, sir.’ ”

  “Aye-aye, sir.”

  Castillo waited until Bradley had walked sleepily out of the room, then asked, “What would you say, Dr. Casey, sir, if I gave you the same order?”

  “I would say, ‘Yes, sir, whatever the colonel desires, sir.’ Right after I tell you what Miller had to say and I show you what we’ve done.”

  “What did Miller have to say?”

  “Delchamps’s and Darby’s planes got off the ground, and so far there has been no report that they dropped into the Atlantic. And he said Doherty and Two-Gun Yung arrived. He said he’s going to install Doherty in the office to keep an eye on the FBI trying to put an eye on you, and that Yung will arrive at the Midland Airport at twelve twenty-five. He said he thought he might be useful here.”

  “He will be. Thanks. And now why don’t you get some sleep?”

  “You’ll notice that all four monitors are glowing dully,” Casey continued. He pointed at the monitors, one of which was on a table too small for it, and the others sitting on the floor. “But when the proper buttons are pushed, they begin to show us things. For example, the physical location of the AFCs in which I have activated the transponder.”

  One of the monitors showed a map of the world. Lightning-bolt symbols showed the locations of the radios in Germany, Argentina, Uruguay, Hungary, and the United States.

  “At various scales,” Casey went on, “for example, here in the States.”

  A second screen lit up, with a map of the United States, showing lightning bolts in Nevada, Texas, North Carolina, and the District of Columbia.

  “Or closer.”

  The first screen went blank, then lit up with a map of the Washington area, with lightning bolts at the Nebraska Avenue Complex, the Baltimore airport, and the safe house in Alexandria.

  “Or closer.”

  The second screen now showed a map of the Baltimore airport, with a lightning bolt coming out of a hangar.

  “That’s the one in your Gulfstream. And thanks to the friendly folks at Google, we have this view of that, as well.”

  A third screen lit up showing a three-dimensional image of the Signature Flight Support, Inc., hangar.

  “God knows that picture wasn’t taken yesterday, or even last month, but it’s better than no picture. And I sure as hell didn’t want to hack into Fort Meade.”

  “Could you do that?”

  “Who do you think set up their imagery? Whenever we need that, we can. Just didn’t think it wise in the middle of an op.”

  Castillo was awed. He smiled. “Go to bed, Aloysius.”

  “And so far as people are concerned”—Casey punched more buttons on a keyboard. The world map reappeared with symbols of humans—“this shows the last known location of everybody of interest.”

  Casey then repeated the process of demonstration, which this time ended with a three-dimensional view of the ranch house, above which was a line of numbered symbols. A chart to the right identified the numbers. Castillo was represented by the number 1, Casey by the number 2, and so on.

  “I’m awed.”

  “This is pretty rough, Charley, but it’s up and running.”

  “Now, go to bed. We’re going to have to wait for what comes next.”

  “I think I will.”

  “Thanks, Aloysius.”

  Casey yawned, then made a deprecating gesture and walked out of the library.

  Castillo sat down in the armchair Lester had vacated, reached for the coffee thermos, poured himself a cup, and began to wait for what would come next.

  XVII

  [ONE]

  Double-Bar-C Ranch

  Near Midland, Texas

  1725 9 January 2006

  The first thing Castillo had to wait for was the arrival of former FBI Special Agent David W. Yung, Jr. Jack Davidson, who had gone into Midland to meet Yung at the airport, called at half past twelve to report that Yung hadn’t been on the plane, had probably missed his connection at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport and might be on the next plane, or planes, one of which was due at two something and the other at four something.

  Castillo told him to wait. He didn’t want a record, should the FBI have a “locate but do not detain” out on their former co-worker, that Two-Gun had rented a vehicle and driven himself from the airport to the Double-Bar-C.

  That hadn’t happened. Yung walked off the next regional jet that landed at Midland International.

  Minutes before Two-Gun and Davidson walked into the ranch’s library, Corporal Bradley had updated the data bank with new information. Colonel Hamilton’s suitcases were now in Fort Bragg. But the 727 had not yet left for Africa. It had been discovered that an Air Tanzania already existed, which made it necessary to remove most of that color scheme and replace it with a scheme identifying the aircraft as part of the fleet of Sub-Saharan Airways, Ltd.

  Corporal Bradley was thus able to demonstrate the command post’s new installed technical capabilities to Yung.

  While he was doing that, one of the AFCs went off, the caller identified as Alex Darby. He was in Fulda, in Otto Görner’s office. A conversation followed, during which it was learned that Edgar Delchamps’s going to Vienna had been something of a mistake, as Eric Kocian was in Budapest. God only knew when he’d get to Budapest now. It was also learned that the transmission of the late Herr Friedler’s notes would be begun as soon as they could be scanned.

  As Lester was demonstrating how the changed data—Last Known Location of 7-Darby, A—could be entered into the data bank so that it could be shown on one of the monitors, Svetlana came into the library. She wore another new cowgirl suit, one much like the other—just as form-fitting—but the denim was red in color.

  She kissed Castillo somewhat less than chastely on the mouth, then whispered something in his ear, and then finally said, “Lester, if you’ll show me how to do that, I can do it.”

  “It’s not hard, Colonel,” Bradley replied, at which point Castillo deduced from the look on Two-Gun’s face that he now understood the cowgirl was one of the Russians Castillo had gotten out of Vienna, and also that Miller had not advised him that the relationship between the Russian defector and Colonel Castillo was not one that one would normally expect.

  “Close your mouth, Two-Gun,” Davidson advised, “and pay attention to what Lester’s teaching Sweaty. You’re here; you’re going to be on the duty roster.”

  [TWO]

  0700 10 January 2006

  The world map now showed that the Sub-Saharan Airways 727, having refueled in Morocco, was somewhere over the Sahara Desert, en route to Kilimanjaro International Airport, Tanzania.

  It also showed Colonel Hamilton and DeWitt in Brussels, Belgium, where they would board an Air France flight to Dar Es Salaam International Airport, Tanzania, at 2300.

  They learned from Sándor Tor, via the AFC installed in Eric Kocian’s Hotel Gellert apartment overlooking the Danube in Budapest, that Edgar Delchamps had gotten as far as Vienna. He had telephoned to say he would be along in a day or two, just as soon as he took care of something he had to do in Vienna.

  Because Delchamps was not answering his cellular telephone and had not provided an alternate number at which he could be reached, Colonel Castillo could not ask him what the hell that was all about. And Castillo needed Edgar in Budapest to go through Billy Kocian’s files to choose what would be scanned and sent to Midland.

  At supper—Doña Alicia and Estella prepared a rack of pork, Svetlana made garlic mashed potatoes, and an enormous salad, and there were several bottles of a very nice Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon—Dm
itri Berezovsky confessed to Castillo that he was a little worried about Delchamps. The Russian said that while he really liked Edgar—he thought they had become friends—he struck him as the kind of man who had to be kept on a short leash.

  “I think he was kidding when he said he’d like to whack the CIA station chief lady,” Castillo replied.

  Svetlana said, “Of course he was, my Carlos. I was the one who wanted to kill her.”

  Judging by Doña Alicia’s face, Castillo could not tell whether or not she thought that Svetlana was only making a little joke.

  After supper, Dmitri beat Two-Gun at chess six games in a row, one lasting an exhausting two minutes and twenty seconds by the clock.

  And they watched television and the monitors and waited.

  [THREE]

  0700 11 January 2006

  The monitor showed the updated data that Colonel Torine had called in: that the Sub-Saharan Airways 727 and its cargo and crew were on the ground at Kilimanjaro International and that Uncle Remus was looking around to see what pickup trucks or similar vehicles were available for purchase in the nearby towns of Arusha and Mosi.

  Sándor Tor reported that Edgar Delchamps had called again and said that he would arrive by train from Vienna at 1415.

  “I guess he did whatever he had to do in Vienna,” Dmitri observed.

  “He spent a lot of time in Vienna,” Castillo said. “So far as we know, he has a Fräulein—more likely a Fräu, I suppose—with whom he passed a little time. He knew there was no rush.”

  “Isn’t he a little long in the tooth for that sort of thing?”

  “I don’t think so. Sándor Tor told me that Billy Kocian has two very good friends in Vienna. And you know how old he is.”

  “An inspiration to all of us,” Berezovsky said.

  An Internet inquiry of Air France revealed that flight 434, nonstop Airbus service from Brussels to Dar Es Salaam, had arrived on time.