"I don't know if it's what you're looking for, Colonel," Gilmore said. "But there is a very strange setup on the river a couple of miles downstream from the hotel. You have a laptop, sir?"
"What are you going to do, Google Earth it?"
"Yes, sir. I've got the coordinates on this, sir." He held up a USB flash memory device that recorded data. It was the size of a small disposable butane lighter. "I thought I'd start with the big picture."
Within a minute, everyone was looking at the laptop computer screen, which now showed a composite aerial photograph of the river south of Asuncion as it would appear from an airplane at five thousand feet.
"What exactly are we looking at?" Castillo asked.
"I finally learned how to add my own data to the imagery, Colonel. Hold one, sir."
He plugged the flash memory device into one of the USB ports on the side of the laptop. An icon of it immediately popped up on the screen. Thirty seconds later, after he touched several keys, a more or less circular ring of tiny flashing spots appeared on the map on the Paraguayan side of the river.
"I still don't know what I'm looking at," Castillo said.
"Bustamante found it, sir. We were fishing."
"Fishing?"
"Yes, sir, I even caught a couple," Gilmore said with a grin, then sighed. "We had covered a lot of water before we came across it. We noticed something wasn't right."
"How's that?" Castillo said.
"There was something about the riverbank, sir," Bustamante offered.
"What?" Castillo said, gesturing Give it to me with the fingers of his right hand.
Bustamante, anticipating the reaction his answer was going to cause, shrugged. "The grass was too green, Colonel. Twelve feet or so of green grass. The rest was all brown."
"Suggesting?" Castillo asked.
"I didn't know, sir. Maybe it was near a stream. Maybe somebody was watering it. But I figured it was worth a look, so we took one as soon as it was dark."
"How?
"He swam, sir," Gilmore said.
"You brought wet suits with you?"
"No, sir. We have night goggles."
"It was a little chilly," Bustamante admitted.
"Why Bustamante?"
"He found the green fucking grass, Colonel," Gilmore said, reasonably.
"And what did you find?"
"It was planted," Bustamante said. "Plastic boxes, maybe three feet by a foot, four of them, and all mounted on a heavy timber, so they could be moved out of the way and put back easy. I figured somebody wanted access to the river and didn't want anybody to see it."
"And farther inland?"
"Well, there was also a motion sensor on the boxes of grass-I almost set it off-so I went kind of slow. I called Gilmore and told him he ought to have a look, so he came in with the boat."
"You have radios?"
"We bought throwaway cell phones in the airport," Gilmore said. "They work fine."
"And?"
"Well, we reconnoitered, Colonel," Bustamante said. "The place is crawling with detection devices, and put in by somebody who knows what he's doing." After a moment, he added: "Damned near got caught."
Castillo turned quickly and looked at him.
"'Caught'?" Castillo parroted. "By who?"
Bustamante shrugged. "I don't know, sir."
"Some big sonofabitch moving like a cat," Gilmore offered. "At least one guy, maybe more." He shrugged. "If he was a perimeter guard, he sure as hell didn't act like one."
Oh, shit! Castillo thought. Is this a repeat of our run-in at Estancia Shangri-La?
Who the fuck can this guy be-another ex-Stasi?
Or…maybe one of Duffy's goons going in ahead of us?
Who the hell knows?
With drugs and money, anything is fucking possible.
"I swam the hell out of there just the same," Bustamante said. "I was more afraid this guy was going to trigger one of the sensors."
Gilmore moved the cursor on the screen to one of the blinking dots, the one closest to the river. An inset appeared, a photo.
"You can barely see the device," Bustamante said, "but if I had stepped over the grass boxes-or even touched them-it would have gone off."
Gilmore moved the cursor to another of the flashing dots and another inset photo appeared, this one of a trip wire.
"I couldn't tell if it would do anything but set off a Claymore," Bustamante said. An inset of a concealed, barely visible Claymore mine appeared. "But I guess that would be like an alarm bell, right, a Claymore going off?"
"That's about all we were able to do, Colonel," Gilmore said. "We worked our way around their perimeter. I figure there's probably five, six acres of protected terrain. We just didn't have the stuff to try to penetrate it. Sorry."
"You couldn't penetrate it?" Castillo asked, in mock shock. "A couple of trip wires and some Claymores and you just quit? Turn in your Ranger tabs. You're a disgrace to the Hurlburt School for Boys." Then he smiled and finished: "Great job, guys. I never expected anything like this."
"You think that's the place you're looking for, sir?"
"Unless it's some pig farmer worried about piglet rustlers," Castillo said. "What else could it be?"
"The Claymore was made in East Germany," Bustamante said. "I thought that was sort of interesting."
"Roads?"
"One. A couple of clicks from this highway," Gilmore said, pointing. "You want us to have another shot at penetration, Colonel?"
"Absolutely not," Castillo said. "As clumsy as you two are, that would let them know we plan to do terrible things to them."
Both smiled. Neither spoke, but there was a question in their eyes.
"Are we up, Lester?"
"Yes, sir."
"Get me Major Miller."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Put the GPS coordinates on the screen so I can read them," Castillo ordered.
The legend on the handset read: AGNES FORBISON.
"I was beginning to worry that you'd been stolen by gypsies," she said as she opened the conversation. "Where are you, Charley?"
"In Paraguay. Where's Dick?"
"He's arranging Ambassador Lorimer's trip down to the estancia. Oh, hell, I cannot tell a lie, Charley. He decided he's up to flying the Gulfstream as copilot, and in the absence of the only one who could have told him no, that's what he authorized himself to do. Shall I call him and tell him you said no? They probably are still in the country."
Castillo considered that for a moment.
"No. He would know you ratted on him. It'll be all right; all he'll have to do is work the radios. But it poses a problem right now."
"What do you need?"
"Continuous satellite surveillance starting yesterday-using every sensing technique they have-of a small piece of Paraguayan real estate."
"You found where they have this guy? God, that was quick."
"Where we strongly believe he is," Castillo said. "Two very good shooters from the stockade did it. I was going to have Dick set up the surveillance-"
"You don't think I can?"
"I think we have to go through Montvale, and I'm not at all sure that Montvale will produce what he promises to produce. I was going to send Dick to Fort Meade or Langley-wherever this stuff will come in-to watch what he does and make sure that it doesn't slip through the cracks and that no copies are passed around the intelligence community. I can't afford any tracks, either."
"I can go to Meade or Langley and do that as well as Dick could. And he's not here. Unless you don't want me to…"
"With profound apologies for not remembering that you are, of all of the merry band, the best one to deal with the ambassador, Agnes, get the SOB on the line. And listen in, of course."
"You're forgiven," Agnes said.
"White House."
"Colonel Castillo needs Ambassador Montvale on a secure line, please."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Ambassador Montvale's line, Truman Ellsworth."
; "This line is secure. Colonel Castillo calling the ambassador."
"The ambassador's not immediately available. Will the colonel talk to me?"
"Ellsworth," Castillo jumped in, "when the ambassador becomes available, tell him that when I couldn't get him, I called the President and that he'll probably be hearing from him."
"Hold one, Castillo."
"And how are things in the Southern Cone, Charley?"
"Looking up, Mr. Ambassador."
"What can I do for you?"
"Got a pencil? I want to give you some coordinates."
"Coordinates of what?"
Castillo began to read the coordinates from the laptop screen.
"Wait, wait a moment, Castillo…okay, I'm ready. Start again."
Castillo did, then said, "Would you read those back to me, please, so we know we have them right?"
Montvale's exasperation was evident in his voice as he read back the coordinates.
"Okay?" Montvale asked, finally.
"Okay. Now what I need, starting immediately, is satellite surveillance of that area. I want everything: photographs, infrared, electronic emissions of all kinds, everything those clever people have and I probably don't know about."
"What are they looking for?"
"Whatever they can find."
"What's there, Colonel?"
"I think Special Agent Timmons is there, but before I go after him, I want to make sure."
"Go after him?"
"That's what I've been ordered to do, you'll remember. But I've been thinking about the sensitivity of the operation."
"I'm glad to hear that."
"So what I want you to do, please…" His voice trailed off in thought, then he said, "Where is the first place the imagery will go? Langley or Fort Meade?"
"I'm surprised you don't know. It goes to Meade, then is linked to Langley."
"Okay…"
"Do you have any idea what you're asking? How difficult it will be to shift satellites? How much it will cost?"
"I didn't think it would be easy, Mr. Ambassador. And I'm sure it will be expensive. Would you rather I ask the President to authorize it?"
"What's in the back of my mind…are you interested? And can I say what I have to say without you taking offense?"
"Of course."
"If you have found Timmons and if those helicopters you're trying to send down actually get there and you can stage a successful operation, fine. But you're not sure you've found Timmons. And something-God knows, anything-can interfere with those helicopters getting down there-"
"I'd love to have them, the helicopters, of course, but I have a Plan B in case something goes wrong. And didn't you get Colonel Torine onto the Ronald Reagan to ensure that everything possible is being done, will be done, to get them to me?"
"Yes, I did. But to continue, if something goes awry, questions will be asked, especially about the satellite surveillance. People are going to know that happened."
"I have a Plan B for that, too, Mr. Ambassador."
"Do you really?"
"When you order the surveillance, I want you to have the analysts at Meade taken off all other duties until this is over. I want them told this is classified Top Secret Presidential. And I want the automatic link to Langley cut off."
"What are you going to do with the data at Meade?"
"Mrs. Forbison will be there. She will forward to me what the analysts tell her."
"Your office manager?"
"Actually, she's the deputy chief of OOA for administration," Castillo said. "And she's been cleared for the Finding."
"You're going to send her to Meade?" Montvale asked, incredulously.
"And by the time she gets there, I hope you'll have ordered that no one but she-or whichever of my men with a Finding clearance she designates-is to get any of the material generated by the surveillance."
"When is she going to Meade?"
"Just as soon as we get off the phone. Right, Agnes?"
"Yes, sir," Mrs. Forbison said.
"Good evening, Mrs. Forbison," Montvale said, icily. "I wasn't aware you were on the line."
"Standard office procedure, Mr. Ambassador," Agnes said, sweetly. "Whenever the chief is speaking with you or the President. You didn't know?"
"No, I didn't."
"Unless you've got something for me, Mr. Ambassador, that's all I have," Castillo said.
"I'll get right on this, of course," Montvale said. "And you will keep me up to speed, right, Colonel?"
"Absolutely," Castillo said. "Break it down, Lester."
"It's broken down, Lester?"
"Yes, sir."
"Get Agnes back for me, please."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Yes, Chief?"
"Who won that one, Agnes?"
"You did. Hands down. You couldn't tell?"
"I thought I did. So why am I worried?"
"What happens now?" she asked.
"I'm going to Buenos Aires first thing in the morning. There's a lot to be done. I'm going to leave Lester's radio here, so you'll be able to send the data to the shooters here. How do I get them into the voice-recognition circuit?"
"You identify yourself-it has to be you, me, or Miller-and say, 'Adding voice-recognition personnel.' Then you have them give their names and say a few words."
"Stand by," Castillo said, and motioned for Sergeants Bustamante and Gilmore to join him.
"You heard that?" he asked, and they nodded.
"Colonel Castillo. Adding voice recognition personnel. Master Sergeant Gilmore."
He looked at Gilmore and said, "Repeat after me: 'Master Sergeant Gilmore.'"
"Master Sergeant Gilmore," Gilmore said.
Castillo nodded and went on: "'When I failed reconnoitering as a Ranger, I had to become a Green Beanie."
Gilmore automatically began, "'When I failed'…" Then he paused. "With all possible respect, Colonel, sir, screw you."
An artificial voice joined the conversation: "Sufficient data. System recognizes"-the voice now changed to Gilmore's-"Master Sergeant Gilmore."
Castillo nodded appreciatively.
"Colonel Castillo," he went on. "Adding voice-recognition personnel. Technical Sergeant Bustamante."
He looked at Bustamante, and said, "Repeat after me, 'Technical Sergeant Bustamante.'"
"Technical Sergeant Bustamante," Bustamante began, then quickly added, "Thank you, Colonel, for all those very kind things you have said about me. While I'm normally a modest-"
"Sufficient data," the artificial voice broke in. "System recognizes"-and Bustamante's voice added-"Technical Sergeant Bustamante."
"Wiseass," Castillo said.
"Okay, Agnes, they're on. The communicator will be able to help you pick what data to send down."
"I wasn't going over there by myself."
"If they say something about the radio, tell them to check with Montvale. But don't let it out of your hands. Entirely separate from this, those NSA guys would really like a look at the encryption circuits."
"I will guard it as I would my virtue."
"That's the best you can do?" Castillo said with mock shock.
There was a moment's silence, then Agnes said, with laughter in her voice, "Screw you, Charley!"
"Break it down, Lester."
"Okay," Castillo said. "In the morning, Lester, Max, and I are going to go to Buenos Aires. Lorimer and Mullroney are going to go to the embassy and nose around, half for show, half to see if they can come up with something."
Lorimer and Mullroney nodded.
Castillo went on: "Colonel Munz will do whatever he thinks makes the most sense. You two will start writing the ops order, based on what you know and what intel we get from the satellite or anybody else. Number them. Whenever one is complete, based on what you have, send it to me. To the safe house. There's a radio there, and probably some others have caught up with us by now. Between now and oh dark hundred-I want to leave as early as possible; it's a long way to Buenos Aire
s-Lester will check you out on the radio and procedures. Any questions?"
Heads shook.
"Good. Let's go."
[THREE]
Nuestra Pequena Casa
Mayerling Country Club
Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1345 12 September 2005 "Duffy and D'Elia just came in the gate," Susanna Sieno announced as she hung up a telephone in the quincho.
"If I were not a modest man, I would say we are about to blow the comandante's mind," Castillo said.
"This is pretty impressive stuff, Charley," Susanna said.
"I meant with our drapes," he said, gesturing toward drapes now closed over the plateglass windows. "Lavender and pink stripes, with gold highlights. Really chic!"
She gave him the finger.
"Next time, you buy them," she said. "More important, you look soulfully into the eyes of the drapes-hanger, or whatever the hell he's called, to get him to hang them right now, not manana sometime."
The lavender-and-pink-striped drapes-with gold highlights-were thick enough to shut out all light from the outside and, of course, ensured that no one could see into the quincho.
The quincho was now the command post, at least for the time being, for what had been jokingly dubbed Operation GGT-Go Get Timmons.
Four sixty-four-inch flat-screen LCD television monitors sat on a low table against the new drapes.
One was tuned to the Fox News Channel, with the sound barely audible.
Another monitor was connected to the AFC console and showed the data coming in from Fort Meade as it arrived. The encryption system was fast, but there was an enormous amount of data being sent. The result of this was that the screen first filled with what looked like snowlike static, which then began to take form, until the entire image was clear.
The third monitor was connected both to a large computer server and to Castillo's laptop computer. He could call up any of the satellite images to the flat-screen by pushing a key or two on the laptop. Now, since the decryption process was over, the images appeared almost instantaneously.
The fourth monitor was connected both to the server and to a laptop computer being operated by Sergeant Major Jack Davidson, who Castillo had announced was "going to be our map guy."
His job was to prepare and continuously update the maps that would be issued-either in printed copies or as a computer file-to everyone who would have need of one.
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