The shooters pa-4

by W. E. B Griffin

  "You believe this story?" Pevsner interrupted.

  "What I know is that a CIA guy heard I was being sent down here to grab Timmons and looked me up to tell me-Timmons be damned-that he would be unhappy if my operation interfered with his."

  "And you were sent down here anyway? One drug agent is worth more than seizing a cruise ship?"

  "To answer the second question first, yeah, Alek, in my book one drug agent is worth more than a cruise ship. And, what's really interesting here, the director of the CIA and his deputy don't know anything about the ship-seizing operation."

  "I find that hard to believe."

  "I believe that. But that operation smells somehow."

  "You don't have any idea what's going on?"

  "No. But to get back to the Evil Leprechaun: I told you the only way that he could have known I was coming down here was that he has somebody in the Asuncion embassy close to either the CIA station chief or the head of the DEA there. There's no question in my mind that the CIA guy who came to me in Washington-after I told him I didn't care about his operation; I was going to get Timmons back-warned the CIA guy in Asuncion that I was coming."

  "With the Delta Force people and the helicopters?"

  Castillo shook his head. "He didn't know that. And I don't think he's found out. But the Evil Leprechaun told me he had word that there were people intent on whacking me and the people with me. I believe him."

  "You don't mean your own CIA people?"

  Castillo shrugged, meaning he didn't know.

  "Duffy tried to bluff me," Castillo went on, "to get back to your original, original question. He threatened to have me kicked out of the country within twenty-four hours unless I put myself and my assets under his command."

  "He knew about the helicopters and-what did you call them?-'the shooters'?"

  Castillo nodded as he sipped his single-malt.

  "He didn't then," he explained. "I told him this morning, after I called his bluff. He backed down. I don't think he would have backed down from his threat if the government-hell, even his boss in the gendarmeria-knew about the massacre he's planning."

  "Why did you tell him anything?"

  "Because I need his help in getting the helicopters up there around Asuncion where I can stage them, and to find out where these people have Timmons."

  "You trust him?"

  "Not very much. But as long as he thinks I'm on board to get his men back and I'm willing to go along with his plan to shoot everybody in sight and let the Lord sort them out, I don't think he's going to cause me any problems. I left him with one of the A-Team commanders, who'll warn me if he's about to go out of control."

  "What have you got against letting him do what he wants to do?"

  "I'm an Army officer, Alek, for one thing, not the avenging hand of God. For another, if I let him do that, and this operation blows up in my face, they call that murder."

  "Letting him do what he wants is the only chance you have to get away with this, friend Charley."

  "Unless you can get these people to let Timmons go."

  "I've told you that that is not going to happen. These people are making a point. They can kidnap people. They're not going to turn this fellow loose because you threaten them. And if you just drop in and get him, leaving their men alive-and their refining facility and warehouse full of drugs intact-they would have to send another message. On the other hand, if you-or this fellow Duffy-leave bodies all over the terrain, to use your phrase, and blow up their warehouse and refinery, what do you think will happen?"

  "I think you're about to tell me."

  "There's no way that could be kept a secret. The word will get out-Duffy's gendarmes will talk. More important, Duffy will want it to get out, to take credit; he got the people who killed and kidnapped his gendarmes. And that will leave the Argentine government with the choice of trying Duffy for murder or saying, 'Congratulations, Comandante, for dealing so effectively with these criminals. It is to be regretted, of course, that so many of them died, but those who live by the sword, etcetera, etcetera…"

  "What about my involvement?"

  "Who's going to believe the United States government sent Delta Force shooters and helicopters to carry them down here to rescue one ordinary drug agent? I find that hard to believe myself, even coming from you, friend Charley."

  Castillo looked at him with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

  "All you have to do is get out of wherever they're holding your man as soon as you have him," Pevsner said, then added, as if he had read Castillo's mind, "You know I'm right, friend Charley."

  Castillo still didn't reply.

  "And Colonel Primakov is wise enough to take his losses; he's too smart to attempt retribution against what he will believe is the Argentine government. He'll lay low for a while, and then start up again. He may even call off the people he sent looking for you. After all, you'll no longer be here, will you?"

  "Shit," Castillo said.

  "What's next for you?" Pevsner asked, the question implying that a discussion had been held and a conclusion drawn.

  "I'm going to Asuncion in the morning," Castillo said. "To see what I can find out about who in the embassy ordered me whacked. And I want to see what I can find out about this scheme to seize cruise ships. There's something about it that smells."

  "Is there an expression in English to the effect that wise men leave sleeping dogs lie? That's really none of your business, is it, friend Charley?"

  Castillo looked at him and thought, And he's right about that, too.

  "No, it isn't any of my business. Neither, I suppose, is finding out who in the embassy wants me whacked. Unless, of course, they succeed before I can get out of here."

  [THREE]

  La Casa el Bosque

  San Carlos de Bariloche

  Rio Negro Province, Argentina 0730 11 September 2005 Castillo, Munz, Janos, and Pevsner were standing on the steps of the house smoking cigars and holding mugs of coffee steaming in the morning cold. Max was gnawing on an enormous bone.

  They had begun smoking the cigars at the breakfast table but had been ordered out of the house by Anna's raised eyebrow when Sergei, the youngest boy, had sneezed.

  "He and Aleksandr both have colds, poor things," she had said, and then raised her eyebrow directly at her husband.

  "Gentlemen, why don't we have our coffee on the verandah?" Pevsner had suggested.

  Once there, he had said, not bitterly, "There is a price one must pay for children. It generally has to do with giving up something one is fond of. True, friend Charley?"

  "Absolutely," Castillo agreed.

  I think.

  I have been a father about a week, and I'm still not familiar with the price…or the rules.

  He heard a cry, a strange one, of a bird and looked around to find the bird. He didn't see the bird, but as he looked up he saw a legend carved into the marble above the massive doors.

  "I'll be a sonofabitch," he said, and read it aloud: "House in the Woods."

  "That's what Schmidt called it," Pevsner said.

  "It's what our family calls the house in Germany, Haus im Wald," Castillo said.

  "Where you grew up?"

  Castillo nodded.

  "Don't tell me it looks like Carinhall."

  "No, it looks like a factory," Castillo said. "Or maybe a funeral home."

  "Bad memories?"

  "Quite the contrary. Good memories, except when my grandfather and uncle killed themselves on the autobahn, and then my mother developed pancreatic cancer a couple of months later. Haus im Wald was-is-ugly, but it's comfortable. And interesting. From the dining room window, I could look out and see the Volkspolitzei-and every once in a while, a real Russian soldier-running up and down the far side of the fence that cut across our property, and the stalwart troops of the 14th Armored Cavalry Regiment running up and down on our side of the fence. I decided right off that I would rather be an American."

  "You didn't know you were an Ameri
can?" Pevsner asked, confused.

  "Not until I was twelve. I had a number of surprises in my twelfth year."

  "But your son doesn't live there? You said something about his living with his mother."

  "I didn't know I had a son until last week, Alek."

  Castillo met Munz's eyes.

  There's more than idle curiosity in those eyes.

  Jesus, did he make the connection with the pictures? Does he know?

  He can't know, but he damned sure suspects.

  After a perceptible pause, Pevsner said, "And you'd rather not talk about it?"

  "I didn't know I had a son until one of my men gave me the picture I showed you last night. The boy doesn't know about me, about our connection."

  "A youthful indiscretion, friend Charley?"

  "That's what they call a massive understatement," Castillo said. "His mother-five days before she married a West Point classmate of mine-had so much to drink that what began as a deep-seated feeling of revulsion toward me was converted to irresistible lust."

  "But she must know…"

  "I don't know if she does or not. I'm sure her husband doesn't, and I'm certain Randy, the boy, doesn't. The problem is her father does, I'm sure. He flew with my father in the Vietnam War-was flying with my father when he was killed. Randy looks just like my father."

  "He has your eyes," Pevsner said. "The photo was clear."

  Castillo nodded. "Worse, I'm sure my grandmother knows. For the same reason. The eyes. She took one look at my eyes in a picture-and I was then a twelve-year-old, blue-eyed, blond-headed Aryan-and announced that I was my father's son. Subsequently confirmed by science, of course, but she knew when she saw my eyes."

  "Karl," Munz said. "This is none of my business…"

  "But?"

  "There is a picture of the boy at the Double-Bar-C. On a table next to your grandmother's chair in the living room. With pictures of your father and your cousin and you, all as boys. The boy looks like your father as a boy. I asked who he was, and she said that he was General Wilson's grandson and told me who General Wilson was, and then she said, 'He's an adorable child. I often wish he was my grandson.' And there were tears in her eyes, Karl." He paused. "She knows."

  Castillo shook his head.

  "How terrible for you!" Pevsner said. "What are you going to do?"

  "I don't have a fucking clue, Alek."

  Pevsner gripped Castillo's shoulder firmly in what Castillo recognized as genuine sympathy.

  The left of the double doors to the house opened and Corporal Lester Bradley came out. He held the radio handset.

  "Saved by the Marine Corps once again," Castillo said.

  "Sir?"

  "What have you got, Lester?"

  "Colonel Torine, sir. He's on the Gipper."

  Castillo gestured for him to give him the handset. The legend on the small screen flashed: COL TORINE ENCRYPTION ENABLED.

  "And how are things on the high seas, Jake?" Castillo said into the handset.

  "You wouldn't believe how big this mobile airfield is, Charley."

  "And how are you getting along with the admiral?"

  "I'm going to have breakfast with him shortly. He's a little confused."

  "How's that?"

  "He somehow had the idea that I was bringing a letter to him from Ambassador Montvale, for whom I work."

  "And you didn't have a letter? I guess you talked to Miller?"

  "I seem to have misplaced the letter, but I didn't want to admit that to the admiral. But I did clear up his misunderstanding about who I work for."

  "How'd you do that?"

  "I told him that I worked for you. And who you work for. And under what authority."

  "That was necessary?"

  "I thought so, Charley. Wrong move?"

  "I guess it couldn't be helped. Did he believe you?"

  "Not until I suggested he could get that confirmed at the source."

  "You called the President?"

  "I got as far as getting the White House switchboard on here. When the admiral heard the White House operator say, 'Good evening, Colonel Torine,' the admiral said he didn't think it would be necessary to disturb the President."

  "Good move, Jake."

  "I also told the admiral my orders were to keep you advised of our position every four hours. Aside from coming right out and telling the admiral not to launch the birds-which I don't think Montvale would dare do-I think that's the end of the Montvale problem."

  "And there goes the star he promised you for changing sides, Jake."

  "Yeah, well, what the hell."

  "Jake, I want you to take a close look at the pilots."

  "What will I be looking for?"

  "Any of them who would be uncomfortable with a really dirty operation."

  "Ouch! That's likely?"

  "It looks that way. I don't want you to explain the operation and then ask for volunteers. I'll do that here. But if there's somebody who strikes you as…being reluctant…to do what has to be done, just leave him on the carrier."

  "These are all 160th pilots, Charley. I don't think I'll find anybody…"

  "You never know. I knew a 160th guy who turned in his suit and became a Catholic priest after Kosovo."

  "Anything else?"

  "Don't put the Argentine insignia on the birds until the last minute; this operation still may get called off."

  "Done."

  "And keep me posted."

  "Will do."

  "Give the admiral my regards when you have breakfast," Castillo said. "Out."

  Castillo held out the handset to Bradley, who didn't make any effort to take it.

  "Sir," Corporal Lester Bradley said, "Mr. Darby wants to talk to you. I'll have to set that up at the console. Just watch the legend, sir, until you see his name."

  Castillo nodded, and Lester trotted back into the house.

  He held the handset in his palm until the legend read ALEX DARBY ENCRYPTION ENABLED.

  "What's up, Alex?"

  "D'Elia had an interesting telephone call from some friends vacationing in Paraguay."

  "Really?"

  "They asked him to send them a couple of dozen golf balls."

  "You don't say?"

  "They said they were completely out, and they'd had to spend a lot of time looking for balls in the rough, and although they'd found a bunch they found only one really good one. They said they were watching that one very carefully."

  "Bingo!"

  "I don't see what else they could mean, Charley."

  "Neither do I."

  "You going over there?"

  "Just as soon as I can get to the airport."

  "When you find out for sure, do you want me to tell the Irishman?"

  "I'll tell you that when I call from there."

  "Pevsner been any help?"

  "In a manner of speaking. I'll explain that later. Thanks, Alex."

  "Talk to you soon, Charley."

  Bradley came back onto the verandah.

  "You want to speak to anyone else, sir?"

  "Call Major Miller and see what the schedule for the Lorimers coming down is. And then break it down, Lester."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  Castillo looked at Munz and Pevsner.

  "Since you could only hear one side of that conversation, I suspect you're curious."

  "'Bingo!'?" Munz said.

  "The shooters in Paraguay have apparently found where they've got Timmons," Castillo said. "Or that's what I think a message about golf balls meant. We'll know as soon as we get there."

  "'A really dirty operation'?" Munz then asked.

  "Alek says he thinks the only way we can get out of here with Timmons without appearing on the front page of The New York Times and other newspapers around the world is to let the Evil Leprechaun do what he wants to do."

  Munz considered that.

  "I know you don't like that, Karl, but I'm afraid Alek is right."

  "Why did I think you were going to say t
hat?" Castillo said. "Okay, thank you for your hospitality, Alek, and will you now arrange for us to get to the airport?"

  "You're all going to Asuncion?"

  "Yeah, why?"

  "Well, I'm going to Buenos Aires, and if someone has to go there, I could take him in the Lear."

  "Why are you going to Buenos Aires?" he asked, greatly concerned.

  "To see what I can turn up that might be helpful to you. I've got a good deal at stake here if you can't do what you want to do."

  "Just don't do anything to help unless you tell me first. Okay, Alek?"

  "I wouldn't dream of it," Pevsner said, mockingly.

  "I mean that, Alek."

  "I know, friend Charley," Pevsner said, seriously.

  XIII

  [ONE]

  Silvio Pettirossi International Airport

  Asuncion, Paraguay 1830 11 September 2005 It was winter here, and night came early, making moot Castillo's worry that maybe he should have made a low-level reconnaissance anyway, even after learning the shooters had located where Timmons was being held.

  I wouldn't have been able to see anything, even if I knew what I was looking for.

  It had been a long flight; they had been in the air almost eight hours, with an hour and a half on the ground at the Taravell airport in Cordoba, where they'd gone through Argentine customs and immigration.

  There almost had been a dogfight at Cordoba. Max had taken an instant dislike to a large black Labrador retriever-a drug sniffer for the Policia Federal-when the Lab had put his curious nose in the Commander the moment the door opened-and found himself facing a visibly belligerent Max determined to protect his airplane.

  After considering his situation for perhaps twenty seconds, the Lab concluded that there was only one wise course of action to take when faced with an apparently infuriated fellow canine twice his size.

  The Lab took it…and rolled over on his back, putting his paws in the air in surrender.

  Max examined the Lab for a moment, gave him a final growl, then exited the aircraft and trotted-Somewhat arrogantly, Castillo thought-to the nose gear of the Commander for what had become his routine postlanding bladder voiding.

  The Lab's handler was mortified. Thus Castillo was not surprised when he and his fellow officers subjected the cabin and the baggage compartment to a very thorough inspection. As they were doing it, however, Munz softly told him it was probably routine and they could expect a similar close inspection when they landed in Asuncion.