Hunters pa-3

by W. E. B Griffin

  "To take attention from what, sir?"

  "What really happened at that ranch, that estancia."

  "Which is, sir?"

  "Think about this, Yung," McGrory replied, indirectly. "Bertrand-Lorimer-had nearly sixteen million dollars in banks here. Did you know about that?"

  Yung didn't answer directly. He said, "Sixteen million dollars?"

  McGrory nodded.

  "That's a lot of money."

  "Yes, it is," McGrory agreed. "And the United Nations-although their pay scales are considerably more generous than ours-wasn't paying him the kind of money-even if he lived entirely on his expense account, which I understand a lot of them do-for him to have socked away sixteen million for a rainy day. So where, I asked myself, did he get it?"

  He looked expectantly at Yung, who looked thoughtful, then shrugged.

  "You've been looking into money laundering," McGrory said, some what impatiently. "Where does most of that dirty money come from?"

  "Embezzlement or drugs, usually," Yung said.

  "And there you have it," McGrory said, triumphantly. "Lorimer was a drug dealer."

  "You really think so, sir?"

  "Think about it. Everything fits. With his alter ego as an antiques dealer, he was in a perfect position to ship drugs. Who's going to closely inspect what's stuffed into some old vase-some old, very valuable vase? You can get a lot of heroin into a vase. And where did Lorimer get his new identity and permission to live in Uruguay? The best face they could put on that was they were surprised that he was dealing drugs right under their noses. He had probably paid off a half dozen officials. That would come out, too."

  "It's an interesting theory, Mr. Ambassador," Yung said.

  "I thought you might think so, Yung. What happened at the estancia was that a drug deal, a big one, a huge one-we're talking sixteen million dollars here-went wrong. You know, probably better than I do, that murder is a way of life in that business. Those drug people would as soon shoot you as look at you."

  "Yes, sir, that's certainly true."

  Does he really believe this nonsense?

  "Well, I'm not going to let them get away with it, I'll tell you that. I'm not going to give them the diversion they want. No official complaint to the State Department."

  "I understand, sir."

  "I'm just going to bide my time, leaving them to swing in the breeze as they realize I'm not going to be their patsy." He paused, then went on: "However, I think that the appropriate people in the State Department should be made aware of the situation. That's more or less what I was getting into when I said you and I-and even the secretary herself-are in a delicate position. If it wasn't for Ambassador Lorimer, I'd be perfectly happy to call a spade a spade, but in view of the ambassador's physical condition…"

  "I understand, sir."

  "None of us wish to spoil what I'm sure is his cherished memory of his son, much less give him a heart attack, do we?"

  "No, sir, we certainly don't."

  "On the other hand, I think the secretary should know about this, don't you? Even if the information comes quietly from someone pretty low on the to tempole."

  "I take your point, sir."

  "I was sure you would," McGrory said.

  He stood up, leaned across his desk, and offered Yung his hand.

  They shook, then he sat back down.

  "Now, getting to the business you're here for. Is there anything I can do, anyone on my staff can do, to facilitate the return of Mr. Lorimer's remains to the United States, and the rest of it?"

  "I'm sure there will be something, sir."

  "I'll pass the word that you are to be given whatever assistance you need, and if you think anyone needs a little jogging, I'm as close as your telephone."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Specifically, what I'm going to do is ask Mr. Howell to ask Mr. Monahan to assign Mr. Artigas to assist you in whatever needs to be done so long as you're here."

  "Mr. Artigas?"

  "He can fill you in on what happened at Estancia Shangri-La," McGrory explained. "He's been up there. Chief Inspector Jose Ordonez of the Interior Police Division of the Uruguayan Policia Nacional flew him up there in a helicopter the day after it happened."

  Yung thought: I've been sandbagged. The last thing I need is Julio Artigas looking over my shoulder and taking notes so that he can report to McGrory.

  "I appreciate the thought, sir, but I'm not sure that will be necessary."

  "Nonsense," McGrory said. "I'm sure he'll be very helpful to you."

  "Yes, sir."

  McGrory stood up again.

  "If you can find time while you're here, why don't we have lunch?"

  Yung understood the meeting was concluded.

  "I'd like that very much, sir," Yung said and stood up.

  McGrory offered his hand again. Yung shook it, then offered his hand to Howell.

  "Why don't we go see Mr. Monahan right now, Yung?" Howell asked.

  "Good idea," McGrory said.

  "Thank you," Yung said.

  As he walked out of the ambassador's office, Yung had several thoughts, one after the other:

  Unbelievable! Surreal!

  Wait till Castillo hears that nonsense about Lorimer being a drug dealer!

  Thank God that pompous moron-no wonder they call him Senor Pompous!-wasn't told what we were up to! He would have ordered all of us out of the country and told the Uruguayans why.

  But he's not as stupid as he appears. He's going to have Artigas watch me and Howell watch both of us. I have to keep that in mind.

  Just as soon as I can, I'm going to have to go to Buenos Aires and get on a secure line to Castillo. "I'm going to have to stop in here," Yung said to Howell as they approached the door to a men's room.

  Howell followed him inside and stood at the adjacent urinal.

  "Well," Howell said. "That was interesting, wasn't it?"

  "Does he actually believe that drug dealer business or is he being clever?"

  "He believes it. He also believes he's smelling rotten eggs."

  "Artigas is smart and he doesn't like me," Yung said.

  "And he and Chief Inspector Ordonez are pals."

  "So what do I do?"

  "Make sure Artigas doesn't learn anything Ordonez would like to know."

  "And how do I do that?"

  "Be very careful, Yung. Very careful." [THREE] Office of the Legal Attache The Embassy of the United States of America Lauro Miller 1776 Montevideo, Republica Oriental del Uruguay 1035 6 August 2005 Generally speaking, there is little love lost between the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Central Intelligence Agency, and in the United States embassy in Montevideo there was little lost between James D. Monahan, the senior FBI agent, and Robert Howell, the cultural attache rumored to be the CIA station chief.

  Monahan privately thought of Howell as a typical CIA asshole who couldn't find his ass with both hands and Howell privately thought of Monahan as someone far better suited to be walking a beat in Chicago eating a stolen apple while preserving law and order with his billy club than holding his present position.

  They were, of course, civil to each other.

  "Can we come in a moment, Jim?" Howell asked.

  "Absolutely. What's on your mind, Bob?"

  "Hello, Monahan," Yung said.

  "I heard you'd been recalled to the bureau," Monahan said. "You're back?"

  "Temporarily," Yung said. "They sent me back to handle the affairs of Mr. Lorimer. Return of the remains, conservation of assets, etcetera."

  "The bureau sent you back to do that?"

  "Actually, it was the State Department that sent me."

  "Oh, that's right. You work for the State Department, don't you? A little something you never got around to telling me."

  "You didn't have the Need to Know," Yung said, more than a little lamely.

  "Jim," Howell said, quickly, "the ambassador would like you to have Julio Artigas work with Yung on this."

 
; "Work with Yung on what?"

  "Repatriation of Mr. Lorimer's remains, for one thing, safeguarding his assets and having a look at Lorimer's estancia."

  "The ambassador wants this?" Monahan asked.

  "Yes, he does."

  Monahan picked up his telephone and punched in a number.

  "Julio, can you come in here a minute?" Legal Attache Julio Artigas was surprised to see Yung in Monahan's office. In thinking about what had happened at Estancia Shangri-La and his gut feeling when he had gone with Ambassador McGrory to Buenos Aires that Howell and Darby, the Buenos Aires CIA station chief, knew all about what had happened there, he had concluded that Yung was also probably involved.

  The story that Yung had been suddenly recalled to the States to testify in some court case smelled. Artigas had thought it even possible that Yung had been at the estancia during the firefight and had been wounded and taken out of the country by whoever had been at the estancia and won the gun battle. It seemed logical to presume that at least some of the Americans involved had been wounded or even killed-and there was little question in his mind that Americans were involved. Getting Yung out of the country, even with a fishy, hastily concocted story, made more sense than trying to explain how and where he had been wounded.

  Artigas had kept his thoughts to himself. His opinion of James D. Monahan was that his greatest skill was covering his own ass. Monahan liked being the senior FBI agent in the embassy, which allowed him to order the other agents around. But whenever he should have stood up and defended the other agents from one of McGrory's stupid orders, he was quick to argue that he wasn't the SAC and that sort of thing wasn't his business.

  Artigas knew that if he had said anything of his suspicions to Monahan, there was no question that Monahan would have run with it right to McGrory-or, more likely, to Theodore J. Detweiller, Jr., the chief of mission.

  "I think I should tell you, Ted, what a wild idea Artigas came to me with." "What can I do for you, Jim?"

  "It's what you can do for Yung, "Monahan replied. "Or, more accurately, for the State Department."

  "You're back, huh, Yung?" Artigas asked.

  "Yung was sent back," Howell answered for him, "by the secretary of state to handle the return of Lorimer's remains and to protect his assets."

  "And to compile a report for the secretary about what happened at Lorimer's estancia," Yung added.

  Artigas looked at Yung. Or maybe, since you know goddamned well what happened, to see how much we know? Or the Uruguayans know?

  "You're a little late to protect his assets," Artigas said. "Parties unknown emptied his bank accounts. Of sixteen million dollars."

  He thought, As you almost certainly know.

  "I've heard something about that," Yung replied, "and I'd like a full report on that. What we know for sure. Ambassador McGrory told me there is some reason to think he was into drugs. But first things first. Where is the body?"

  "In the cooler, in the British Hospital on Avenida Italia. It was taken there for an autopsy. Chief Inspector Ordonez of the federal police has promised me a copy of the autopsy report sometime today."

  "I'd like a copy of that, too, of course. And is there going to be any kind of a problem getting into the estancia?"

  "Ordonez has the estancia pretty well sealed off. He'd be the man to ask about that."

  "Well," Howell suggested, "why don't we go to my office, see if we can get him on the phone? And get out of Jim's hair."

  "Just to be sure I know what's going on here, this has the blessing of the ambassador, right?" Artigas asked.

  "Yes, it does," Howell said. He nodded toward the door. "Shall we go?"

  "I'd like a brief word with you, Artigas," Monahan said, then added for Howell, "It'll take just a couple of seconds, Bob."

  "Certainly," Howell said, smiling, and walked out of Monahan's office. Yung followed him.

  Both heard Monahan say, "Close the door, Jim," and exchanged glances.

  "I suspect Monahan just told him to report everything we do," Howell said. "Does that make me paranoid?" [FOUR] Office of the Cultural Attache The Embassy of the United States of America Lauro Miller 1776 Montevideo, Republica Oriental del Uruguay 1055 6 August 2005 There was no reason for Julio Artigas to report the substance of his conversation with Chief Inspector Ordonez to Howell and Yung. Howell had punched the speakerphone button on his telephone and they had heard the entire conversation.

  Howell spoke first: "Chief Inspector Ordonez is certainly obliging, isn't he?"

  "Uruguayan courtesy," Yung said. "Or professional courtesy. Maybe-probably-both."

  "I thought his offer of a Huey to fly us to the estancia was more than generous," Howell said.

  "And volunteering to go with us. That was rather nice of him," Yung said.

  "My cousin Jose is a very charming man," Artigas said. "But what I think you two have to keep in mind is that he's one smart cop."

  "Why do you think we should we keep that in mind, Julio?" Howell asked.

  "Oh, come on," Artigas said.

  "Oh, come on what?" Howell replied.

  "Something is going on here. I have no idea what. But you two do."

  "Really?" Howell asked. "What do you think is going on, Julio?"

  "What I don't think is that Lorimer was a drug dealer who got himself killed when a deal went wrong. And neither does Jose Ordonez."

  "He told you that?" Yung asked.

  "He didn't have to. I know him pretty well."

  "What does he think, do you know? Or can you guess?" Howell asked.

  "I know he's fascinated with several things," Artigas said. "First, that he can't identify the Ninjas at the estancia. If they were Uruguayans, Argentines, or Brazilians, by now he would have. Second, that National Match cartridge case. And the cleaning out of Lorimer's bank accounts. He's trying to tie those unknowns together. If he can, he'll know what really happened at Estancia Shangri-La."

  "What do you know about Presidential Findings, Julio?" Howell asked.

  "Jesus," Yung muttered.

  Howell looked at him and shrugged, as if to say, What choice do we have?

  "Not much," Artigas admitted. "I've heard the term."

  "Well-just talking, you understand-what I've heard about Presidential Findings is that they are classified Top Secret Presidential. The only persons cleared to know any details of a Presidential Finding are those cleared by the President himself or by the officer the President has named to do whatever the Presidential Finding calls for."

  "You've got my attention," Artigas said.

  "So hypothetically speaking, of course," Howell went on, obviously choosing his words carefully, "if there were people privy to a Presidential Finding and it happened that a professional associate of theirs-an FBI agent, for example, or an ambassador for that matter, someone with all the standard security clearances-became interested in something touching on the details of the Finding and went to one of these people and asked them about it, they just couldn't tell him no matter how much they might like to, not even if telling that person would facilitate their execution of their assignment."

  "That would apply to an ambassador, too? I mean, there's the rule that nothing is supposed to happen in a foreign country that the ambassador doesn't know about and approves of."

  "That's my understanding," Howell said. "Is that your understanding, too, of how a Presidential Finding works, Yung?"

  "From what I've heard," Yung said.

  "And from what I understand," Howell went on, "it would be a serious breach of security for someone privy to a Presidential Finding to even admit his knowledge of any detail of a Presidential Finding. He couldn't say, for example, 'I'm sorry, Mr. Ambassador, but that touches on a Presidential Finding for which you are not cleared.' He would have to completely deny any knowledge of even knowing there was a Presidential Finding."

  "Fascinating," Artigas said. "Can I ask a question?"

  "You can ask anything you want," Yung said.

  "But I
may not get an answer? Is that it?"

  "Ask your question," Howell said.

  "Just between us, hypothetically speaking, where do you suppose Lorimer got sixteen million dollars?"

  "The ambassador thinks it was from drugs. I'm not about to question the ambassador's judgment," Howell said. "But, hypothetically speaking of course, it could have come from somewhere else. Embezzlement comes to mind. It could even, I suppose, have something to do with the oil-for-food scandal. I heard somewhere there was really a lot of money involved in that."

  "You know, that thought occurred to me, too."

  "Did it?" Howell asked.

  "One more question?" Artigas asked.

  "Shoot."

  "Monahan just now told me I was to tell him everywhere Yung went, who he talked to, what he said-everything."

  "How interesting," Howell said. "The ambassador told me to do exactly that about Yung."

  "I'm wondering whether that would mean I should tell him about this little discussion of ours."

  "What discussion was that?"

  "About Presidential Findings."

  "I don't remember any discussion of Presidential Findings, do you, Yung?" Howell asked.

  "No, I don't remember any discussion like that."

  Artigas stood up.

  "We'd better be getting over to the British Hospital," he said. "We wouldn't want to keep Ordonez waiting, would we? Since he's being so helpful?" [FIVE] Camp Mackall, North Carolina 0930 6 August 2005 Sergeant Major John K. Davidson's job description said he was the Operations Sergeant of the Special Forces training facility. He was, but he actually had two other functions, both unwritten and both more or less secret. It was not much of a secret that he was the judge of the noncommissioned officers going through the basic qualification course-the "Q course." He was the man who, with the advice of others, decided which trainee was going to go on to further, specialized training and ultimately earn the right to wear the blaze of a fully qualified Special Forces soldier on his green beret and which trainee would go back to other duties in the Army.