“The American President, Clendennen, elected to abrogate the long-standing U.S. policy of not negotiating in situations like this, and their plan had proceeded to the point where, on April twenty-second, they were transporting Colonel Ferris to the Oaxaca State Prison, where his exchange for Señor Abrego was to take place.
“En route, their convoy of vehicles was intercepted by parties unknown. Colonel Ferris was liberated and shortly thereafter was welcomed home by President Clendennen in Washington.
“Everyone in the convoy—Russian, Venezuelan, and Mexican—died. As each was shot at least two times in the head, it had the appearance of what is known in law enforcement circles as a ‘professional hit.’
“The Zambada and Sinaloa cartels, the Venezuelan DISIP, and, I would suppose, the SVR, believe our Carlito was the parties unknown—the shooter, so to speak—and are very anxious to get suitable revenge for his assault on their prestige. I have heard that after he’s tortured to death, they plan to decapitate his corpse and hang his head from a bridge over the highway in Acapulco, with his genitalia in his mouth.”
Castillo opened his mouth to protest, but in the split second before the words “Hey, I didn’t shoot any of those bastards and you know it!” were to come out of his mouth, Castillo closed it.
That’s moot. While I didn’t actually shoot anybody, rescuing Jim Ferris was my operation. I planned it and I ordered its execution. I had no idea Juan Carlos planned not only to have his men kill them all, but also to personally fire two coup de grâce rounds into their ears, and would have told him not to had I known. But that’s also moot.
And it wouldn’t have mattered if I had left all of them neatly trussed up, but alive, at the side of the road. They would still know I was responsible for grabbing Ferris and would still be planning to hang my head from an Acapulco bridge with my severed dick in my mouth.
“And that, Sweaty,” Juan Carlos said, “is why our Carlito’s presence here suggests he has a death wish.”
“You’re underestimating him again, Juan Carlos,” Sweaty said calmly. “My Carlos is not a fool, and he certainly doesn’t have a death wish.”
I think that’s what they call blind loyalty.
“You’re underestimating these people, Sweaty,” Pena said.
“I never underestimate my enemies,” she replied.
“I gather these people aren’t planning to hang your head from an Acapulco bridge?” Castillo said.
“Why should they?” Pena said.
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
Castillo looked at Roscoe J. Danton, who looked sick.
“You have a question, Roscoe?” Castillo asked.
“He’s serious, isn’t he?” Danton asked. “If they catch you, these cartel people are going to… do what he said?”
“That would seem to be Comandante Pena’s professional opinion,” Castillo said.
“I investigated the incident—” Pena began.
“Incident?” Danton blurted. “A massacre is what you just described.”
“. . . at KM 125.5,” Pena went on ignoring him. “And I turned in my report to the procurador general de la república, who is something like the attorney general in the United States. My report stated that the murders had been committed by parties unknown, most probably in connection with the drug trade. I further stated that since my investigation had turned up no suspects, the crime would most probably go unsolved.
“Shortly afterward, Señor Pedro Dagada, an attorney who has several times represented members of both the Zambada and Sinaloa cartels in their brushes with the law, happened upon me while I was having lunch in the Diamond.”
He paused and then went on, “For your general edification, Señor Danton, ‘the Diamond’ is what we call the five-star Camino Real Acapulco Diamante hotel in Acapulco. In English, that’s the Royal Road Acapulco Diamond. Got it?”
Roscoe nodded uncomfortably.
“As I was saying, there I was in the Diamond, having lunch, when Señor Dagada appeared, greeted me warmly—which I found a little surprising, as I have sent a number of his clients to prison—and insisted on buying me a drink.
“Thirty minutes and three drinks later, Señor Dagada asked me, just between old pals, not to go any further, if I had any ideas about what had happened at KM 125.5 that I had not put in my report to the procurador general. He also confided in me that the procurador general, an old pal, had shown him my report.
“So I said, ‘Pedro, I wouldn’t tell even you this, old pal, if you hadn’t told me the procurador general had shown you my report. Just between us, the procurador general knows as well as I do what really happened out there at KM 125.5.’
“To which he replied, ‘Well, what was that?’
“To which I replied, ‘The Americans sent us a message. Don’t kidnap our diplomats who are also Special Forces. Special Forces doesn’t like that, and we can’t control our Special Forces any more than you can control your cartels. They got their guy back and left the bodies on the road at KM 125.5 as a polite suggestion not to kidnap anybody from Special Forces again.’
“And then Pedro asked, ‘You got a name?’
“And I said, ‘Well, there was a guy named Costello down here.’
“And then Pedro asked, ‘Costello or Castillo?’
“And I said I didn’t know for sure, but there was a guy down here named one or the other and I heard he was Special Forces looking for Ferris. He disappeared just about the time what happened at KM 125.5 happened—as did Ferris. ‘So draw your own conclusions, Pedro.’”
“You gave him Charley’s name?” Roscoe asked, horrified.
“You’re not listening. He already had Charley’s name. And I suspect he knew a good deal about Charley,” Pena said drily. He turned to Castillo. “So, what’s on your agenda now, John Wayne, in whatever little time you have left before they cut off—among other parts—your head?”
“I thought I’d take Roscoe here to Drug Cartel International Airport and let him take some pictures to show the President how hard we’re working.”
“I’ve already seen Drug Cartel International, thank you just the same,” Danton said.
“But the President, Roscoe, knows very little about it,” Castillo said. “And we want to keep him abreast of things, don’t we?” He turned to Juan Carlos Pena. “Keep in mind the idea is to stall the President until he tires of this nutty idea and moves on to another. So, what we’re going to do is take Roscoe with us to Drug Cartel International and then let him write his news story, together with pictures of the Outlaws suitably garbed and heavily armed, putting their lives on the line going about the President’s business by going, so to speak, literally into the mouth of the Drug Cartel dragon.
“We will send Roscoe’s story to the President with my report. My report won’t say much except that we are gathering intelligence, and are about to go to Budapest, from where I will report again.”
“What are you going to do in Budapest?” Juan Carlos asked.
“I haven’t figured that out yet, but whatever it is, it will be something that will keep the Commander in Chief thinking I’m really working hard for him. Getting the picture?”
“Yeah,” Pena said thoughtfully. “So, what do you want from me?”
“Can you cover my back when we go to Drug Cartel International?”
Pena visibly collected his thoughts before he replied.
“If you go there, the cartels will know about it within an hour.” He paused to let that sink in, then went on: “I can cover your back. But I won’t, Carlito, unless I have your word that you and Sweaty get on your airplane the minute we get back and get the hell out of here.”
As visibly as Pena had, Castillo visibly framed his answer. Pena saw this and took advantage of it.
“I don’t want t
o see your heads hanging side by side from that bridge I mentioned, Carlito.”
“It’s that bad, huh?” Castillo asked.
Pena nodded.
“My God!” Roscoe said.
“Your head hanging from the bridge, Roscoe, I could live with,” Pena said. “But I have a soft spot in my heart for Romeo and Juliet.”
“Okay,” Castillo said.
“That’s your word of honor, Carlito, right?”
Castillo nodded.
“Say it.”
“Word of honor,” Castillo said.
“Okay.”
“Is there time to drive there and back today? I don’t think flying in would be too smart.”
“That would depend on what you were flying,” Pena said. “If you had a Black Hawk helicopter, you could make it to Drug Cartel International and back before supper.”
“Sorry, Juan Carlos, I don’t even know where mine is. It’s not where I left it after we grabbed Ferris, and the CIA’s satellites can’t find it.”
“The CIA’s satellites?” Danton and Pena repeated just about simultaneously.
“Natalie Cohen was afraid it would wind up in the wrong hands and asked Frank Lammelle, the DCI, to find it for her.”
“It didn’t wind up in the wrong hands, Carlito,” Pena said. “You should listen to Sweaty and stop underestimating people.”
“You’ve got it?” Castillo asked.
Pena nodded.
“I can have it on the roof here in fifteen minutes,” Pena said. “Then we will go to Drug Cartel International, Roscoe can take your picture, and then we will come back here. Where, your luggage having been packed while you were gone, and loaded aboard your airplane, you can immediately take off for… Where did you say you were going? Budapest? Agreed?”
Castillo, after a moment, nodded.
“Only one thing I can think of,” he said. He turned to the Sienos.
“Where do you want us to drop you off?” he asked.
“What?” Paul Sieno asked.
“You know, Miami? Tampa? Palm Beach?”
“What are we going to do in Palm Beach?” Susanna Sieno asked.
“Susanna, you heard what the man said about these people. Stalling Clendennen in Mexico is not going to be a vacation on the CIA’s dime. They’d cut off your head, and Paul’s, as quickly as they’d cut off mine.”
“I was thinking about that,” she said.
“Good,” Juan Carlos said.
“Juan Carlos, could you pass off Paul and me as your cousins from, say, Colombia? Better yet, Havana?” she asked.
“What the hell, Charley,” Paul chimed in. “Maybe we could learn something about these people that somebody on top could use.”
“You understand,” Juan Carlos said, “that if these people find out who you are—”
“We spent five years in Cuba,” she said. “Brother Raúl is a lot smarter than these cartel people, and he and his DGI never got close to us.”
“My cousins from Havana are obviously as crazy as you are, Carlito,” Juan Carlos said. “But I like the idea of getting the straight story to people at the top. The reports of your DEA never seem to get there.”
“You realize, of course, that if you stay, it’s going to cost Those People in Las Vegas a lot of money.”
“Screw those people in Las Vegas,” Susanna said.
[FOUR]
The Cabinet Room
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W.
Washington, D.C.
0905 14 June 2007
The President of the United States was not in a good mood when Secretary of State Natalie Cohen, DCI A. Franklin Lammelle, General Allan B. Naylor, Senior, and Director of National Intelligence Truman C. Ellsworth filed into the Cabinet Room and stood waiting to be acknowledged.
The President had just been informed by Supervisory Special Agent Robert J. Mulligan that his mother-in-law, who had gone missing from Happy Haven, the Baptist assisted living facility in Pascagoula, Mississippi, several days before had been located.
The “First Mother-in-Law” was in the Biloxi, Mississippi, jail charged with public drunkenness and assault on a police officer. It appeared that she had overly availed herself of the free cocktails offered by the Biloxi Palace Casino to its gaming guests at the roulette tables.
Mulligan said he could probably spring her from durance vile by noon, but that wasn’t going to solve much. The Reverend J. Finley Cushman, DD, who had taken her in after she had been asked to leave the Ocean Springs branch of the Baptist assisted living facility, had made it quite clear if she ever got loose again and brought shame upon Happy Haven by getting into the Devil’s Brew, they would have to find some other haven for her.
Since she had been asked to leave just about every other facility in Mississippi, that posed problems. The prospect of having to face the First Mother-in-Law every morning at breakfast in the White House struck terror in the heart of Joshua Ezekiel Clendennen.
“Mr. President,” Secretary Cohen said, “we have another report from Colonel Castillo.”
The President was so upset that he momentarily couldn’t remember who Castillo was, and thought she was referring to the head of the Mississippi State Police, who was also a colonel.
“Mulligan just told me,” the President said, rather impatiently. And then he remembered.
“Give it to me,” he said, and then, “Sit.”
He read the report:
TOP SECRET
URGENT
DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN
TO: POTUS
SUBJECT: REPORT
VIA SECRETARY OF STATE
MAKE AVAILABLE (EYES ONLY) TO:
DIRECTOR, CIA
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
DIRECTOR OF NATIONAL INTELLIGENCE
C IN C CENTRAL COMMAND
OOR SITREP #2
US EMBASSY MEXICO CITY 2300 ZULU 14 JUNE 2007
1-INASMUCH AS THE NEWS REPORT OF MR. ROSCOE J. DANTON (ATTACHED, SUITABLY REDACTED) COVERS THE ACTIVITIES OF THE UNDERSIGNED IN SOME DETAIL, THE UNDERSIGNED WILL NOT WASTE THE TIME OF POTUS BY REPEATING THEM HEREIN.
2-THE UNDERSIGNED IS PRESENTLY EN ROUTE TO BUDAPEST, HUNGARY, IN THE PANAMANIAN EXECUTIVE AIRCRAFT FLOWN BY COLONEL TORINE, RETD., AND MAJOR MILLER, RETD., AND ACCOMPANIED BY THE FOLLOWING PERSONNEL:
A. NAYLOR, LTC ALLAN B. USA
B. D’ALESSANDRO, MR. VICTOR DA CIV GS-15
C. LEVERETTE, COLIN
D. BRADLEY, LESTER
E. LORIMER, EDMUND
F. BRITTON, JOHN
G. BRITTON, DR. SANDRA
H. DAMON, C. GREGORY
I. BARLOW, SUSAN
J. DANTON, ROSCOE J.
3-ONCE IN BUDAPEST, THE UNDERSIGNED WILL DETERMINE THE BEST WAY TO INFILTRATE LEVERETTE, THE BRITTONS, AND DAMON INTO SOMALIA, TO DEVELOP OTHER INTELLIGENCE, AND TAKE WHATEVER OTHER APPROPRIATE ACTION IS DEEMED NECESSARY. A REPORT WILL BE FURNISHED.
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED.
CASTILLO, LTC, RETD.
TOP SECRET
“What the hell does ‘suitably redacted’ mean?” the President asked.
“‘Redact,’ Mr. President,” Presidential Spokesperson Robin Hoboken said, “means to adapt by obscuring sensitive information. I would think then that ‘suitably redact’ means to do so suitably.”
“And how would you do that?” the President asked.
“Give me just a minute to look that up, Mr. President,” Hoboken said.
“How are we going to talk about this if you don’t have copies of it before you?” the President inquired of the three senior officials.
“Mr. President,” Truman Ellsworth said, “if you’ll look toward the h
ead of Colonel Castillo’s report, it says ‘Duplication Forbidden.’”
“Let me tell you something, Mr. Ellsworth,” President Clendennen said. “I’m POTUS and Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces. No lousy little lieutenant colonel like this man Castillo is going to tell me I can’t make copies of any damned piece of paper I want.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hoboken,” the President ordered, “make copies of this for everybody.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President. Before or after I look up ‘suitably redacted’?”
“‘Suitably redacted’ can wait,” the President said, “since we don’t even know what that means.”
Three minutes later, Robin Hoboken passed out copies of Danton’s story.
He got through the first two paragraphs…
SLUG: OPERATION OUT OF THE BOX
TAKE ONE
BY ROSCOE J. DANTON
WASHINGTON TIMES-POST WRITERS SYNDICATE
DAY ONE—JUNE 11, 2007
BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA
THIS REPORTER FLEW OVERNIGHT FROM WASHINGTON TO “THE PARIS OF SOUTH AMERICA” CARRYING ORDERS FROM PRESIDENT JOSHUA EZEKIEL CLENDENNEN TO LIEUTENANT COLONEL ██████ “EMBEDDING” ME WITH “OPERATION OUT OF THE BOX” FOR THE DURATION OF THE TOP SECRET OPERATION.
THE PRESIDENT DECIDED HE NEEDED A FRESH, AND VERY EXPERIENCED, EYE TO HAVE A LOOK AT TWO PROBLEMS: THE MEXICAN DRUG CARTELS AND THE SOMALI PIRATES. HE DECIDED THAT ██████, A RETIRED LEGENDARY SPECIAL OPERATOR AND INTELLIGENCE OFFICER, WAS TO BE THAT EYE, REPORTING DIRECTLY AND ONLY TO HIM, AND RECALLED ██████ TO ACTIVE DUTY. PRESIDENT CLENDENNEN ALSO DECIDED THAT EMBEDDING WHAT HE DESCRIBED AS “A WELL-KNOWN JOURNALIST OF UNQUESTIONED INTEGRITY” WITH COLONEL ██████ WAS THE BEST WAY TO BRING, WHEN THE TIME CAME, THE FULL STORY OF OPERATION OUT OF THE BOX TO THE AMERICAN PEOPLE, AND HUMBLED THIS REPORTER BY SELECTING ME.
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