“Oh.”
“Opening the possibility that others may have put together what you did. So we quickly folded the tent and came home. And I again thought we’d come out clean. And then the President said, ‘Go get Special Agent Timmons.’ So now we’re going to have to go back down there, and the whole thing is back at risk of being compromised.”
“You don’t have to go back to Uruguay, do you?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised that as we try to do this, we’ll have to go to Uruguay. And there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Lorimer’s father is a retired ambassador. Apparently a very good guy. He lost his house in New Orleans to the hurricane. And he’s decided that until things settle down, he wants to take his wife and go to Estancia Shangri-La, which he now owns.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah. And—since he has a serious heart condition—the secretary of State thought it would be best if he didn’t learn what a miserable sonofabitch his son was. He thinks the bastard was killed by roving bandits. Among the other impossible things I have to do, one is talk him out of going to Uruguay. Not only would it be dangerous for him and his wife—”
“Why?”
“The money, for one thing.”
“What money?”
“The sixteen million. We have it, but they don’t know that.”
“You have it?” Lorimer asked, surprised.
Castillo nodded. “It’s now the Lorimer Charitable & Benevolent Fund.”
Which also now has forty-six million of illegal oil-for-food profits that Philip J. Kenyon of Midland, Texas, thought he had safely hidden from the IRS and the Justice Department—and everybody else—in the Caledonian Bank and Trust Limited in the Cayman Islands.
I don’t think Lorimer has to know about that. I’ve already given him enough to think about.
Which means I’ve already told him too much.
“That’s how we pay for everything,” Castillo went on.
“I wondered about that,” Lorimer said. “So what happens now?”
“Now we go to bed,” Castillo said. “Not only is my tail dragging, but I’ve learned—painfully—that the brilliant thoughts I have at one o’clock in the morning with half a bag on turn out to be stupid in the morning.”
[THREE]
Valley View Ranch
North Las Vegas, Nevada
0835 3 September 2005
When Castillo, wearing a polo shirt and khaki slacks, walked out of the house to the pool, he found Tom McGuire, Jake Torine, and Lorimer, all in sports shirts and slacks, sitting at a table drinking coffee. He saw Casey’s cook standing by an enormous stainless steel gas grill that apparently also functioned as an ordinary stove, and decided they were politely waiting for their host to show up before eating.
Jake nodded at Castillo but didn’t speak.
“Eddie,” Castillo ordered, “why don’t you ask Sergeant Mullroney to join us for breakfast?”
Lorimer wordlessly got out of his chair and went into the house.
“Is he—the cop—going to be a problem, Charley?” Torine asked.
“I think that’s been taken care of. I’ll tell you later. Here comes Frank.”
Aloysius Francis Casey came out of the house.
“Jesus, you didn’t have to wait for me,” Casey said. “Just tell Walter what you want.”
He motioned for the cook to come to the table and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Feed my friends, Walter,” he ordered. “You name it, Walter can make it.”
“Pheasant under glass,” Torine said. “With beluga caviar on toast corners on the side.”
Casey chuckled. “The fish eggs aren’t a problem, but catching the bird and plucking it may take Walter a little time.”
“Bacon and eggs would satisfy this old man’s hunger,” Torine said.
“Walter makes his own corned beef hash,” Casey said.
“Even better,” Torine said.
“Me, too, please,” Castillo said.
“Make it three, please,” McGuire said.
“Where’s that nice kid and the cop?” Casey asked.
“The former went to get the latter,” Castillo said.
“You never told me about the cop,” Casey said.
“He’s been embedded with us,” Castillo said.
“You don’t seem to be very happy about that.”
“I’m not. But Lorimer has him under control.”
Sergeant Mullroney, wearing a coat and tie, came out of the house, followed by Lorimer. Lorimer pointed to one of the chairs at the table. Mullroney followed the orders and sat down.
“Good morning, Sergeant Mullroney,” Castillo said. “We’re about to have corned beef hash and eggs. Sound all right to you?”
Mullroney smiled wanly and nodded.
“I see what you mean,” McGuire said.
Casey smiled at him, then announced: “I just talked to the guys in the hangar. The new gear is up and running in your airplane. And Signature Flight Support has finished doing whatever they had to do to the G-Three.”
“Great!” Torine said. “Thanks, Frank.”
“I suppose that means you’re not going to hang around for a day, a couple of days? Take in a couple of the shows?”
“We’ll have to take a rain check, Frank,” Castillo said.
“Yeah, I figured. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Now that you mention it…”
Casey made a Give it to me gesture.
“To get this guy back, we’re going to need a team,” Castillo said. “Maybe more than one. But at least one. And choppers to move them around. Choppers equipped with both a good GPS and one of your wonderful radios.”
“Well, now that they’ve started giving the 160th what they need,” Casey said, “they’ve got pretty good GPS equipment—”
“What’s the 160th?” Mullroney interrupted.
“I’ll tell you when you can ask questions, Charley,” Lorimer said.
“The 160th is the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, Mullroney,” Castillo said, and turned to Casey. “But the problem there is I can’t use their helicopters.”
“Why not?” Lorimer asked.
“I’ll tell you when you can ask questions, Lieutenant,” Castillo said seriously, waited for that to register on Lorimer’s face, then smiled. “Hold the questions, Eddie, until your leader is finished.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The 160th has all the latest equipment,” Castillo said. “Which we would have trouble getting into Paraguay and/or Argentina—just physically getting them down there—and even if we could do that, they would stick out like sore thumbs. We’re going to have to do this black.”
Castillo saw that Mullroney had opened his mouth as if to ask a question and then after a quick glance at Lorimer had changed his mind.
“Black means secretly, covertly, Mullroney. Nobody knows about it,” Castillo explained. “Which means we’re going to have to use Hueys.”
“Where are you going to get Hueys?” Torine asked. “And how are you going to get them down there black?”
“Moving right along,” Castillo said. “While I am figuring out where to get Hueys, and how to get them down there black, I thought I would send Munz, Lorimer, and Mullroney down there right away—”
“I guess I don’t get to go?” McGuire interrupted.
“Tom, you’ll be more useful in Washington,” Castillo said.
“I guess,” McGuire said, sounding disappointed.
“But keep your bag packed,” Castillo said. He went on: “And on the airplane, if I can keep abusing Frank’s generosity, there will be two—preferably three—ground versions of the radios. There’s two—old models—down there already, and we’re going to need at least two more in Paraguay. Plus, I just thought, operators for same. You’ll probably have to stop by Bragg to pick them up, Jake.”
“Not a problem,” Torine said.
“The
ones you have in South America still working?” Casey asked.
“You heard me talk to Argentina yesterday,” Castillo said.
Casey nodded, then offered, “I think there’s a half-dozen new models waiting to be shipped to Delta, to General McNab, at Bragg—”
“Think about that, Frank,” Castillo said, stopping him. “Maybe there’s only three waiting to be shipped to General McNab. The other three have mysteriously disappeared. If that was the case, I won’t have to get on my knees and beg him for any.”
“If he finds out, he’s not going to be happy.”
“I devoutly hope he never finds out,” Castillo said. “But a bird in hand is worth two in the bush.” He looked at Lorimer. “You may want to write that down, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir,” Lorimer said, and took a notebook from his pocket and started writing in it.
Torine and McGuire shook their heads. Mullroney appeared to be confused.
Casey chuckled and said, “It’ll take me a couple of days to come up with—what did you say, four?—sets of GPS and that many aviation radios, maybe a little longer for them.”
“All contributions gratefully—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Casey interrupted impatiently.
He took a cellular from his pocket and pushed a speed-dial key.
“Casey,” he announced into it. “There’s a half-dozen Model 3405s waiting to be shipped to Bragg. Put three of them in the Gulfstream in the hangar.”
Then he hung up.
“What are you going to do about the ambassador?” McGuire asked.
“Try to hide from the one in Washington,” Castillo replied, “and put the one in Mississippi on hold. What I have to do now is get to Washington.”
Mullroney’s face showed that he was trying hard to make sense of what had been said and not having much success.
[FOUR]
Double-Bar-C Ranch
Near Midland, Texas
1225 3 September 2005
As Torine lined up with the runway, Castillo saw there was a Bombardier/Learjet 45XR parked beside the horse-head oil pump.
“Look who’s here,” Castillo said.
“Put the wheels down, First Officer,” Torine said. “We can chat later.”
Doña Alicia Castillo was again waiting for them, this time beside a Chevrolet Suburban, and this time a heavyset, almost massive dark-skinned man was with her.
Castillo came down the stair door first. He went to his grandmother and kissed her.
“Nice landing, gringo,” the large man said. “Jake must have been flying.”
Castillo gave him the finger.
Fernando Manuel Lopez and Carlos Guillermo Castillo thought of themselves as brothers—they had been raised together since puberty—but they were in fact first cousins.
“Are you on parole, or are Maria and the rug rats here, too?” Castillo asked.
Doña Alicia shook her head at both of them.
“Now stop it, the both of you, right now,” she ordered.
Lopez answered the question anyway.
“They’re in Cancún,” he said. “Taking a pre-going-back-to-school vacation.”
“You are going to have lunch,” Doña Alicia said. “That’s in the nature of a statement, not an invitation.”
“Nevertheless, I gratefully accept, Abuela,” Castillo said.
“Eddie,” Castillo ordered, “why don’t you take Sergeant Mullroney for a walk?”
Lorimer made a Get up, let’s go gesture to Mullroney, who stood up and followed Lorimer off the verandah where lunch had been served.
“Presumably, you think you have a good excuse for that discourtesy,” Doña Alicia said when they were out of earshot.
“There are some things we have to discuss that are none of his business,” Castillo said.
“Then why is he here with you?” she demanded. Before Castillo could reply, she said, “I just saw on Colonel Torine’s face that he thinks I’m wrong. Sorry, Carlos.”
“I’m the one who should be…is…sorry for involving you in the first place,” Castillo said. “If I could have thought of someplace else to take Munz’s family, believe me, I would have.”
She looked at him for a moment. “Thank you, Carlos.”
“For what?”
“For bringing them here. And for not reminding me you tried very hard to keep me from coming here.”
He didn’t reply.
“What do we have to discuss?” she asked after a moment.
“We’re all…Colonel Munz, Tom McGuire, and me…agreed that there’s no longer a threat here to Señora Munz and the girls.”
“Well, that’s good news! Thank God for that.”
“So Tom’s going to call off the Secret Service,” Castillo said. “Which then raises the question what to do with them for the next two, three weeks, however long it takes to be sure they can safely return to Argentina.”
“Why, they’ll stay here, of course,” she said. “Where else would they go?”
“I hate to ask you to stay with them,” Castillo said.
“Don’t be silly, Carlos,” she said. “I enjoy being with them.” She paused. “But…Mr. McGuire?”
“Ma’am, could I get you to call me ‘Tom’?”
“Tom, if they would be safe here, would they be safe in San Antonio?”
McGuire considered the question before replying.
“At your home there, you mean?”
She nodded.
“No,” Castillo said.
“Actually, Charley, that might be a better solution than leaving them here,” McGuire said. “Ma’am, would having a driver for your car raise any eyebrows?”
“Abuela usually has a driver when she goes out at night,” Fernando Lopez said. “What are you thinking, Tom?”
“That, to err on the side of caution, instead of just canceling the protection detail, I have it cut from what we have here now…twelve, probably?”
“So Mr. Alvarez told me,” Doña Alicia said.
“If it’s been a twelve-man detail,” McGuire said, “that means there were at any given moment three agents on the job, which means that nine agents were lying around the swimming pool at the local motel, or drinking coffee in the snack bar, with people starting to wonder aloud who were all these guys in suits with guns and Yukons.”
McGuire looked at Castillo.
“And we’re agreed, Charley, that the threat is almost certainly gone, right?”
Castillo nodded reluctantly.
“So we call off the detail here completely, and we set up a three-man detail in San Antonio. Which means one will be available at all times to do the job when necessary—whenever they leave the house, in other words, they have an agent with them. If we call off the detail here, that means no agents, period. And Alvarez can have a word with the San Antonio cops to keep their eyes open. What’s wrong with that, Charley?”
Doña Alicia did not give him a chance to answer.
“That’s what we’ll do,” she said. “And I’ll have a little party or two for the girls, so they can meet people their own age. They’re already bored being here, and I can’t say that I blame them.”
“I think we should leave it up to Munz,” Castillo said.
“I think we should, too, Chief,” McGuire said. “Want to know why?”
“Why?”
“Alfredo has a lot of protection experience. Like I do. Who do you think he’s going to agree with, you or me?”
“I guess we’ll have to see,” Castillo said, a little lamely.
“Carlos, I suppose it’s important that Colonel Munz go to South America right away?” Doña Alicia asked.
“I’m afraid so, Abuela. And that means right now. I’m sitting here wondering if I can work up the courage to tell him it’s time to go.”
“I’ll go get him,” Doña Alicia said, and stood up and walked into the house.
Castillo looked at Lopez.
“All right, gringo,” Fernando said, “I’ll ride
the right seat down there and back. But that’s it. And that presumes I can be back before Maria comes back from Cancún.”
“I didn’t ask, Fernando,” Castillo said.
“You knew if you asked, I’d tell you to go to hell,” Fernando said. “I told you I’m getting too old to play James Bond with you guys.”
“Fernando going would solve the problem of having to find another pilot,” Jake Torine said. “All we’re going to do is drop off Munz and the others with the radios, and come right back. So thanks, Fernando.”
“He should be thanking us for the privilege of flying our airplane,” Castillo said.
Fernando gave Castillo the finger.
“How do I get back here to pick up the Lear?” Fernando asked.
“Charley,” McGuire asked, “what if I stay here, take your grandmother and the Munzes to San Antonio, say, tomorrow, and get things set up there? That’d probably reassure Munz. By the time I have things set up, Jake and Fernando will be back from Buenos Aires. So you send a plane to pick me up, it brings Fernando here, and then picks me up in San Antonio? That’d work.”
Castillo considered the suggestion and nodded. “Okay. Then that’s what we do.”
“God, I feel sorry for them,” Castillo said, nodding discreetly at the wife and young daughters of Alfredo Munz, who had just watched Munz get into the Gulfstream III.
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” Doña Alicia said, “but you’re the one I feel sorry for.”
“Why?”
“Everybody has somebody but you.”
“Hey, Abuela. I have you.”
“I’m your grandmother. You share me with Fernando and his family.”
“You’re all I need,” Castillo said.
She would not give up.
“Colonel Munz has his family. Mr. McGuire has his family. Colonel Torine has his family. You don’t even have a dog.”
“If it will make you happy, I’ll get a dog.”
Now why the hell did I say that?
What the hell would I do with a dog?
The right engine of the Gulfstream began to whine.
Castillo placed his hands gently on Doña Alicia’s arms, kissed her on both cheeks, and went up the stair door.
[FIVE]
7200 West Boulevard Drive
Alexandria, Virginia
The Shooters Page 21