Black Ops

by W. E. B Griffin

  And they watched the monitors and talked a little about what exactly would be the best format for the data Castillo would lay before the President, and Two-Gun said he’d start making up a dummy to be filled in as the data arrived and was digested.

  And they waited.

  [FOUR]

  1310 11 January 2006

  “Colonel Hamilton for Colonel Castillo, Encryption Level One,” the sultry voice of the AFC announced. Castillo looked at the monitors. The one showing Sub-Saharan Africa showed a now-flashing lightning bolt in Bujumbura, Burundi. It also indicated the local date and time beside the flashing lightning bolt: It was now 0110 12 January 2006 in Bujumbura.

  Castillo pushed the SPEAKERPHONE button.

  “C. G. Castillo.”

  “I have Colonel Castillo for you, Colonel Hamilton. Encryption Level One confirmed.”

  “Thank you very much,” Hamilton said.

  “You don’t have to thank her, sir,” Castillo said. “She’s a computer.”

  “I’m aware of that, of course. Force of habit.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s ten past one in the morning here, Castillo. I’m in the Hotel du Lac in Bujumbura.”

  Castillo looked at another of the monitors. It showed a three-dimensional picture of the Hotel du Lac.

  “Yes, sir, I know.”

  “In Washington and on our way here, I discussed a number of things with Mr. DeWitt and I must say I was very impressed with him.”

  “He’s a very impressive man, sir.”

  “Among the things we discussed was our mode of operations. I also discussed this with Colonel Torine when DeWitt and I got to the Kilimanjaro airfield. And a third time, with Mr. Leverette, when we finally arrived here in Bujumbura.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I thought we had resolved, once and for all, the command structure of this operation. I am of course in overall command. Colonel Torine will handle the transportation and logistics outside the Congo. Inside the Congo, Mr. Leverette and Mr. DeWitt will be responsible for transportation and security, and I will be responsible for the investigation.”

  “That seems to be a practical solution for your situation, sir.”

  “So I would have thought. When I went to bed tonight, I thought it had been agreed between us that we would get some rest tonight. Not only was it a long flight, but we have passed through—I don’t know precisely how many but a number of time zones. . . .”

  “Six, sir,” Castillo furnished.

  “And the natural clock of the body has been disturbed. Rest obviously was called for. Tomorrow morning, I thought it was agreed, when fresh from our rest, we would plan our incursion of the Congo.”

  “I awoke about fifteen minutes ago, Castillo. I had trouble sleeping, and with the thought that perhaps Mr. Leverette and/or Mr. DeWitt were having the same problem, I decided I would see if they did, and if so, we could perhaps get a jump on our morning planning session.”

  “Uh-oh,” Jack Davidson said.

  “What was that, Castillo?”

  “Nothing, sir. One of my men came in the room.”

  “So I started out of my room. I was startled by a man dressed in the local clothing—or lack of it—sitting directly in a chair across from my door. He had in his lap an Uzi—the full-size one, not the Mini Uzi Mr. D’Allessando was kind enough to loan me.

  “He addressed me in English, by rank. He said, in effect, ‘Is there something I can do for you, Colonel?’ to which I replied, ‘What are you doing outside my door?’ to which he replied, ‘Uncle Remus said we should sit on you, sir.’

  “By then I realized the man was one of our shooters, so I asked him to direct me to Mr. Leverette’s room. He replied, ‘I can, Colonel, but Uncle Remus is not in his room.’” Colonel Hamilton paused. “And what is that all about, Castillo? Everyone calls him ‘Uncle Remus.’ Why do they do that?”

  “Only his friends, sir, are permitted to call him that.”

  “I asked you why they do that. You are aware of the inference, the implication, I presume?”

  “Yes, sir. Well, sir, the best answer I’ve ever been able to come up with is that the Uncle Remus character in the books was a kindly old gentleman who was always telling stories, and Mr. Leverette seems to fit that description.”

  “Be that as it may, Castillo, permitting your subordinates, particularly your subordinate enlisted men, to call you by the name of a fictional character in a series of children’s books that some think—and here you may take my point—are racist in tone is pretty odd behavior for a chief warrant officer of the highest grade, wouldn’t you agree, Colonel Castillo—”

  Castillo caught himself smiling. “I honestly never gave it much thought, sir. I will look into it—”

  “It comes perilously close to conduct unbefitting an officer and a gentleman, Castillo, and you know it.”

  “I must respectfully disagree, sir. Mr. Leverette is one of the finest officers with whom I have ever served.”

  “Well, let me tell you what he’s done.”

  Castillo glanced at Davidson, who was grimacing.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I asked the shooter with the Uzi,” Hamilton went on, “ ‘If Mr. Leverette isn’t in his room, where is he?’

  “To which he replied, ‘He and Phineas went over the fence, Colonel.’ Then he handed me a letter and said, ‘Uncle Remus instructed me to give you this in the morning, Colonel. But I guess it’s okay to give it to you now.’ ”

  “A letter, sir? What did it say?”

  “I will read it to you,” Colonel Hamilton said. “Quote. Dear Colonel Hamilton. Phineas and I decided it would be a good idea if we conducted a preliminary reconnaissance of the border area prior to the planning of the incursion. Since you were so tired, and we felt sure you would agree this was a wise step, we didn’t wake you. We will return in forty-eight hours. Respectfully, Colin Leverette CWO5 USA. End quote. Well, what about that, Castillo?”

  “What about what, sir?”

  “If that isn’t direct and willful disobedience of orders, what is it?”

  “Sir, did you order Mr. Leverette and Mr. DeWitt not to conduct a reconnaissance of the border area?”

  “I thought it was understood. I told you that.”

  “Well, to judge from Mr. Leverette’s letter, sir, I’d have to say the understanding wasn’t unequivocally clear. He would never disobey an order, sir”—Unless, at the time, Colin thought it was the right thing to do—“Sir, why don’t you have a word with Mr. Leverette when he and Mr. DeWitt return?”

  “You can take that to the bank, Castillo,” Colonel Hamilton said. “I’ll give the both of them a dressing-down they’ll remember the rest of their lives.”

  Probably more like two seconds.

  Uncle Remus and Phineas DeWitt have been dressed down by Bruce J. McNab, and with all possible respect, Colonel Hamilton, sir, you just ain’t in the same ball club.

  “Sir, I realize I shouldn’t say this, but I respectfully suggest you not be too hard on either of them. They mean well.”

  “I will contact you on their return, Castillo.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “Colonel J. Porter Hamilton. Please terminate the communication link.”

  “Anything else I can do for you, Colonel?” the sultry voice asked suggestively.

  “Uh, no,” Hamilton replied somewhat uneasily, then in a stuffy tone added, “That will be all, thank you.”

  Castillo looked at Davidson, who said: “Well, Colonel Castillo, sir, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, but I would not be surprised if Colonel Hamilton ignores you vis-à-vis not being too hard on Uncle Remus and Phineas. He will lecture them both severely and probably reduce them both to tears. But nice try.”

  [FIVE]

  0200 12 January 2006

  “Otto Görner for Colonel Castillo, Data Transmission Not Encrypted,” the sultry voice of the AFC announced.

  Davidson pushed the VOICE TRAN
SMIT button.

  “John Davidson. Colonel Castillo available in five minutes.”

  “Hold one, Sergeant Davidson,” the voice said, then twenty seconds later added: “Not Encrypted Data Transmission begins. Pass to Colonel Castillo when available.”

  Davidson hadn’t even reached the printer when it started to whir and the voice—which, or who, Davidson very privately had begun to think of as “Sexy Susan”—announced: “Not Encrypted Data Transmission complete.”

  Three seconds later a hard copy of the data came out of the printer.

  Davidson read it, then began to push keys on the printer keyboard.

  The printer monitor showed what he’d typed: TRANSLATE GERMAN TO ENGLISH DRAFT.

  The translation began to appear on the printer monitor.

  Davidson studied it, made a few minor corrections—the AFC translator was good but not perfect—then typed, FILE AS GÖRNER 0203 12 JAN PRINT 3 COPIES.”

  The printer began to spit out the three copies.

  Davidson stapled the German original and the translation together, then said, “Sorry, Casanova, duty calls,” and walked out of the library.

  Svetlana answered his knock in a few seconds.

  “He’s asleep,” she said.

  Davidson held out the papers.

  “Sweaty, I think he’d want to see this.”

  She took them from him, stepped into the corridor where there was enough light to read, then scanned both versions, and sighed. “Dmitri was afraid of something like this would happen. I will wake Carlos.”

  Davidson went back to the library.

  Castillo, wearing his West Point bathrobe, came in almost immediately behind him.

  “Goddamn that Edgar Delchamps!”

  “You’re not really surprised, are you, Charley?”

  “Pissed is the word that comes to mind. At Delchamps, and at me for not seeing this coming.”

  Dmitri and Svetlana came into the library. Berezovsky was wrapped in a terry-cloth bathrobe.

  “Have a look at social notes from all over,” Castillo said, gesturing to the papers.

  “Svetlana told me,” Berezovsky said.

  “Read it,” Castillo said, “then give me the benefit of your thinking, please.”

  Berezovsky took one of the copies of the translation, and his eyes fell to it.

  TAGES ZEITUNG VIENNA

  0900 12 Jan

  Immediate

  For All Tages Zeitung Newspapers

  TAG: RUSSIAN DIPLOMAT FOUND

  MURDERED OUTSIDE U.S. EMBASSY

  By Wilhelm Dusse

  Staff Writer/Tages Zeitung Vienna

  The body of Kirill Demidov, cultural attaché of the Russian embassy, was found early this morning in the passenger seat of a taxicab near the United States of America embassy at Boltzmanngasse 16. He apparently had been strangled to death.

  Mr. Demidov’s body was found by a U.S. Marine guard as he walked to the embassy to begin his duty day.

  “I thought it was funny for somebody to be sitting in the back of a cab with no driver, so I took a look, and when I’d seen what it was I went inside the embassy and called the cops,” Staff Sergeant James L. Hanrahan told this reporter before the interview was interrupted by an officer of the embassy, who took Sergeant Hanrahan away and announced the U.S. embassy would have no comment.

  Mr. Demidov’s body was still sitting erect in the taxicab when this reporter arrived at the scene shortly before officials of the Russian embassy then arrived and, claiming diplomatic privilege, had the body removed to an undisclosed location by ambulance.

  Vienna police officials said that the taxicab had been stolen from its garage earlier last evening, and that the police had been looking for it. They also reported that there had been a “metal noose” around Mr. Demidov’s body, with which he had apparently been strangled.

  It is known that Mr. Demidov had earlier been at the Kunsthistorisches Museum at ceremonies marking the closing of the exhibit of the Bartolomeo Rastrelli’s wax statue of Russian Tsar Peter the First, which had been on loan from the Hermitage Museum in Saint Petersburg.

  STORY OPEN MORE TO FOLLOW

  “Let me make a wild guess, Dmitri,” Castillo said. “Demidov was the Vienna rezident?”

  Berezovsky nodded.

  “Who sent us this? Darby?” Castillo asked.

  “Otto Görner,” Davidson said.

  “Well, then let’s see what else Otto knows. For all we know, Edgar may be as pure as the driven snow in this. Demidov may have been done in by his homosexual lover; there’s been a lot of that going on.”

  Davidson laughed.

  Castillo went to the radio. “C .G. Castillo. Otto Görner. Encryption Level One.”

  “Hold one, Colonel. I will attempt to make the connection.”

  “Sweaty, she sounds a lot like you. Ever notice?” Davidson asked. “I’ve started to think of her as ‘Sexy Susan.’ ”

  Svetlana gave him the finger.

  “Well, Karl,” Otto Görner’s voice came over the speakerphone, “what are you doing up in the middle of the night?”

  “Reading the newspaper. What else have you got?”

  “I just got off the phone with Willi Dusse. Two little tidbits that probably don’t mean anything ”

  “What, Otto?”

  “An unnamed source in the Vienna police, whose name Willi always spells correctly, with two s’s, said that while they were waiting for the police heavyweights and the Russians to show up, he happened to notice that the victim’s face was not contorted and blue, as is common in strangulations, and that what he described as the ‘metal noose’ was not embedded in the victim’s neck, but just sort of hanging there. He did notice, however, that there was a mark on the neck, below the ear, that could perhaps have been made with a needle.

  “Willi thinks it’s possible the victim did not die of strangulation, but of some other cause. But we’ll never know, as any autopsy will be conducted in Moscow.”

  “That’s interesting. They have any idea who did this to Mr. Demidov?”

  “Not according to Willi. Willi was told, however, that the taxi was wiped clean; no fingerprints. Suggesting, possibly, that this terrible act was done by someone who knew what he was doing.”

  “That’s all? What’s the second little tidbit?”

  “Well, one little thing, which probably means absolutely nothing. As the police wrecker was hauling the taxicab away, Willi’s friend noticed a calling card at the curbside. It could have simply been dropped there prior to all this, but it also could have been in the taxi and dislodged when the police initially examined the cadaver.”

  “What was the name on the calling card?”

  “It was an American diplomat’s, a woman named Eleanor Dillworth. She’s the consul.”

  “Oh, I do love a man who can really hold a grudge,” Davidson said.

  “Goddamn it,” Castillo said.

  “That mean something to you, Karl?” Görner asked.

  Castillo avoided the question. “Otto, please send me whatever else your man Dusse comes up with, will you?”

  “Of course, Karl.”

  “Does Darby know about this?”

  “I showed it to him when it came in. He’s just about finished here, he said, and is moving to Budapest.”

  “Is he there now?”

  “No. Alex said he was going to his hotel to pack.”

  “If you see him, have him call me, please.”

  “I suppose if you knew anything about those two Russian defectors, you’d tell me, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You don’t suppose somebody stuck needles in their necks, do you? Or hung a garrote around their necks and they just haven’t found the bodies yet? That’s a story I’d love to write myself. And give to Friedler’s widow.”

  “I’m going back to bed, Otto,” Castillo said. “End transmission.”

  Berezovsky then said, “Carlos, you seem to be genuinely surprised by this.”


  ’“And you’re not?”

  Berezovsky didn’t immediately reply.

  “You knew about this?” Castillo asked, then thought: Of course you did! “You knew Edgar was going to whack this guy and you didn’t tell me?”

  “Why do you think he did this?” Berezovsky asked.

  Castillo said: “He wants to go out in style, be remembered when the other dinosaurs gather as the dinosaur who whacked the Vienna rezident the week before he retired.”

  Berezovsky shook his head.

  “No?” Castillo snapped. “Then, damn you, why?”

  “We talked—” Berezovsky began.

  Castillo saw Svetlana nodding in agreement.

  “We being who?” Castillo interrupted. “You, Delchamps, and who else? You, Svet?”

  “Yes, my Carlos. Me, too,” she said.

  “Anybody else?” Castillo flared. “Lester, maybe? Aloysius?”

  Davidson raised his hand.

  “Oh, Jesus H. Christ!” Castillo exclaimed.

  “Don’t blaspheme,” Svetlana said.

  “You’re pissed because I am ‘taking the Lord’s name in vain,’ but it’s all right for you and everybody else to sit around planning to whack people? Jesus H. Christ in spades!”

  Berezovsky calmly went on: “What we talked about—Darby, too—Carlos, was how to stop the killing.”

  Castillo could not believe what he was hearing. “You mean, by whacking this guy in Vienna, then leaving the CIA station chief’s calling card? I’ll bet when that Marine opened the cab door, that calling card was pinned to Demidov’s lapel with a rose.”

  “We didn’t get into how anything was to be done, Charley,” Davidson said. “Just agreed that it had to be done.”

  “Et tu, Brutus? Jesus Christ, Jack. Nobody was interested in what I might have to say?”

  “I told them what you would say, Charley. ‘No.’ Was I right?”

  “You know fucking well that’s what I would have said.”

  “But Dmitri and Edgar and Sweaty were right, too,” Davidson said.

  “How the hell do you figure that?”