He gestured for Davidson to pick up the story.
“I finally pulled it out of him,” Davidson said, “that one of the Secret Service drivers asked him one time too many to be a good kid and go get him a cup of coffee.”
“You mean one of the Secret Service guys asked him too many times, or they all have been mistaking him for an errand boy?”
“Many of them, probably most have. You can’t blame them, but Lester is pissed.” He looked at Leverette. “The colonel tell you about the Pride of the Marine Corps?”
Leverette shook his head.
“Wait till you see him,” Davidson said. “He makes Rambo look like a pansy.”
“Well, sending him back to the Marines is out of the question,” Castillo said, a touch of impatience in his voice. “We can’t afford that. He knows too much, and a lot of jarheads would like to know where he’s been and what he’s been doing. And then wish they’d gone, and that would just make the goddamn story circulate wider.”
“That’s just about what I told him,” Davidson said. “I also had a quiet word with a couple of the Secret Service guys.”
“Okay. As soon as I have my Sazerac and thus the strength to get off of this couch, I will inform Corporal Bradley that he is now my official communicator.”
“Gentlemen,” Leverette said, “our libation is ready. You may pick your glasses up, slowly and reverently.”
They did so.
“Absent companions,” Leverette said, and started to touch glasses.
Yung looked as if he wasn’t sure whether he was witnessing some kind of solemn special operator’s ritual or his leg was being pulled.
Castillo saw on Leverette’s face that he had picked up on Yung’s uncertainty and was about to crack wise.
“Two-Gun’s one of us, Colin,” Castillo said simply. “He was on the operation where Sy Kranz bought the farm.”
“I could tell just by looking at him that he was a warrior,” Leverette said. “He’s bowlegged, wears glasses, and he talks funny.”
“I think I like this guy,” Delchamps said.
“Sorry, Two-Gun,” Leverette said. “I didn’t know who the hell you were.”
Yung smiled and made a deprecating gesture.
“So was Corporal Bradley,” Torine said. “And he probably deserves a medal—for marksmanship, if nothing else—for taking out two of the bad guys with two head shots. But I don’t think we ought to call him in here and give him one of these. God, this looks good, Colin!”
“Mud in your eye, Seymour,” Castillo said, and took a swallow.
The others followed suit.
Castillo put his glass on the table and exhaled audibly.
“You look beat, Charley,” Torine said.
Castillo nodded.
“So beat,” he said, “that I forgot that I have to call the secretary of State and tell her I couldn’t talk Lorimer—Ambassador Lorimer—out of riding out the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in Uruguay. I should have done that before I had this.”
He held up the Sazerac glass.
Torine shrugged. “Well, what the hell, you tried. Miller told me you went to Mississippi just to see him.”
“What’s bad about it, Jake, is that I’m going to have to lie to her, or at least not tell her the truth, the whole truth, etcetera. And I don’t like lying to her.”
“Lie to her about what?” Delchamps asked.
“Did Miller tell you I went to see General McNab?”
Delchamps nodded. “But he didn’t say why.”
“We’re going to send two A-Teams—one of them Colin’s—to Argentina, a couple of shooters at a time. Then we’re going to put four H-model Hueys into Argentina black. Can you guess where we’re going to refuel them after they fly off the USS Ronald Reagan a hundred miles off the Uruguayan coast before they fly on to I-don’t-yet-know-where Argentina?”
“Boy, you have been the busy special operator, haven’t you?” Delchamps said. “Does Montvale know about this?”
“No. Not about the Ronald Reagan. That idea came from a bird colonel who works for McNab…Kingston?”
Delchamps shook his head. Torine and Davidson nodded.
“Tom Kingston,” Torine said. “Good guy, Edgar.”
“Amen,” Leverette said.
“And McNab said he would set that up. If it’s possible.”
“It’s possible,” Torine said. “After some admiral tells him not only no, but hell no, he will be told to ask the secretary of the Navy, who will tell him that he’s been told by the secretary of Defense that the President told him you’re to have whatever you think you need. They call that the chain of command.”
Castillo chuckled.
“With that in mind,” Castillo said, “and since I couldn’t talk him out of going down there, I confided in the ambassador what we want to do with his estancia. He’s on board. Good guy. That raised the question of an advance party at Shangri-La, which we damn sure need. One that might have a chance of escaping the attention of Chief Inspector Ordóñez.”
“How are you going to handle that? With Two-Gun?” Delchamps asked.
“What Two-Gun is going to do is show up at the embassy in Montevideo and introduce Ambassador Lorimer’s butler…”
“I wondered what that Colin-the-Butler business was all about,” Torine said, smiling and shaking his head.
“…to Ambassador McGrory,” Castillo went on. “Explaining that Colin came down to see what has to be done to Shangri-La before Ambassador and Mrs. Lorimer can use it—which he has decided against advice to do—because his home in New Orleans was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina.”
“That just might work, Charley,” Torine said.
“Edgar?”
“Why not?” Delchamps said.
“David?” Castillo asked.
“McGrory, like most stupid men in positions of power, is dangerous,” Yung said.
“I agree with that, too,” Delchamps interjected. “I presume he’s to be kept in the dark?”
Castillo nodded. “As is Secretary Cohen, who certainly is not stupid. But there are people around her who might find out, and might tip off McGrory. That’s what I meant about having to lie to her. I’m going to tell her Lorimer’s going, period.”
“She’s liable to cable or telephone McGrory and tell him to take care of Lorimer,” Yung said.
“I thought about asking her to do just that,” Castillo said. “But since I’m not going to tell her about Colin, that would really be lying to her, deceiving her. And I don’t want to do that.”
“And you’re not going to tell Montvale either?” Yung asked.
“More smoke and mirrors, David,” Castillo said. “I’m going to tell him that two A-Teams and the Hueys are being sent—but no other details—and that as soon as I firm up the operation, I’ll tell him all about it.”
The reaction of just about everybody to that was almost identical: Their faces wrinkled in thought, and then there were shrugs.
“Speaking of the director of National Intelligence,” Torine said, “or at least his Number Two, I had an interesting chat yesterday with Truman Ellsworth. He even bought me a drink.”
Delchamps raised an eyebrow and offered: “And I had one with the DCI, who didn’t buy me a drink, but about which we have to talk.”
“Ellsworth called you, Jake?” Castillo said.
“I called him.”
“Why?”
“What did you think of the crew on Montvale’s Gulfstream?”
“‘He asked, going off at a tangent,’” Castillo said.
Torine said reasonably: “I’d really like you to answer the question, Charley.”
Castillo grinned. “Well, they were Air Force, so I was pleasantly surprised when they got it up and down three times in a row without bending it.”
Delchamps chuckled.
“Screw you, Colonel,” Torine said. “What about the copilot?”
“Nice young man. Academy type. I had the feeling he’d rathe
r be flying a fighter.”
“Cutting to the chase, that nice young man was naturally curious what a doggie light bird was doing running around in Montvale’s personal Gulfstream V. Diligent snooping around revealed that the doggie light bird was doing something clandestine for that Air Force Legend in His Own Time, Colonel Jacob Torine. He found that interesting, because said Colonel Torine was the ring knocker who talked him out of turning in his suit and going to fly airliners. So he called OOA at the Nebraska Complex, finally got Miller on the horn, and Miller transferred the call here.”
“What did he want?” Castillo said.
“A transfer to do anything at all for his mentor,” Torine said, “so long as it gets him out of flying the right seat in Montvale’s Gulfstream.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I’d get back to him. That’s when I called Ellsworth to ask him how the ambassador would feel about letting us have him.”
“Jesus, Jake, we could really use—we really need—another Gulfstream pilot,” Castillo said.
“Especially since one of three we have has gone home to wife and kiddies, and the second can count his Gulfstream landings on his fingers.”
“Really? I thought you had more landings than that,” Castillo said, as if genuinely surprised.
Leverette smiled and shook his head.
Torine gave Castillo the finger.
“So what did Ellsworth say?” Castillo asked.
“He was charm personified. He said he really couldn’t talk to me then because he had to meet someone at the Willard, that that would take about an hour, and would I be free to meet him in the Round Robin after his meeting, as he would really like to buy me a drink?”
The Round Robin is the ground-floor bar of the Willard InterContinental Hotel. It usually has two or more lobbyists in it feeding expensive intoxicants to members of Congress as an expression of their admiration.
“And you went?” Castillo asked.
“I even put on a clean shirt and tie. I was prepared to make any sacrifice for the OOA. In the end, I was glad I went. Mr. Ellsworth said all kinds of nice things to me.”
“Such as?”
“He told me—in confidence, of course—how happy Ambassador Montvale and he are that I’m in OOA, where I can serve as a wise and calming influence on the brilliant but somewhat impetuous C. Castillo. After all, he said, we all have the same responsibility to make sure the President is never embarrassed.”
“That sonofabitch!” Castillo grunted, but there was more admiration in his voice than anger.
“I did admit to having concerns about your impetuousness,” Torine said. “And then he told me—as if the thought had just come to him—that ‘if something like that came up,’ perhaps if he and the ambassador knew about it…”
“And you of course agreed to call him?”
“I was reluctant at first. He didn’t push. What he did say was that he thought OOA was going to not only be around for a while, but grow in size and importance. And that being true, it would need someone more senior than a junior lieutenant colonel…”
“An impetuous junior lieutenant colonel?”
Torine nodded. “…to run it. A brigadier general, for example. And wasn’t I eligible for promotion?”
“And then you blushed modestly?”
“Uh-huh. And I think we parted with him thinking I thought he and I had an understanding.”
“I don’t know if I’m amused or disgusted,” Castillo said. “But his job is to protect his boss, who, like us, has an obligation to keep the President from being embarrassed. And I am a junior lieutenant colonel. An impetuous one. He really would be happier if you had this job.”
“Moot point, Charley. You were there when the President—before the Finding—asked me if I would have any trouble working for you. I didn’t have any problem working for you then, and I don’t have one now. Most important, your name is on the Finding setting up OOA, not mine. The commander-in-chief has spoken.”
Castillo met his eyes for a moment, but said nothing at first. Then he asked, “So did you get us this Gulfstream jockey you talked into staying in the Air Force?”
“He’ll be here at three. I told him to bring a toothbrush, as you would probably want to go somewhere.”
“As hard as it may be for any of you to believe, there are several minor but as yet unresolved little problems with my grand master plan. For one thing, I don’t know where Special Agent Timmons is being held. Or by who. And once I get the H-models into Uruguay, I don’t know what to do with them. And I can’t keep them in Shangri-La long. Chief Inspector Ordóñez, I’m sure, has the local cops keeping an eye on it. Which means that I’m going to have to get Munz to get his pal Ordóñez to look the other way, briefly. Even if—big ‘if’—Ordóñez is willing to do that, he won’t do it for long. Which means I will have to get the choppers out of Uruguay quickly. Pevsner has at least one estancia in Argentina. Maybe more than one. If I can find him—another big ‘if’—maybe that’ll be the answer.
“And then there’s this small problem I have with the agency.”
“An old problem,” Torine said, “or a new one?”
“The new one. Didn’t Miller tell you?”
“Delchamps did. If you’re talking about this Weiss guy coming here?”
Castillo nodded.
He went on: “I don’t believe for a second, of course, that the agency would even think of fucking up something I’m doing to protect something that they’re doing.”
“Perish the thought,” Torine said in agreement. “What the hell is that all about, Edgar?”
“Which brings us to my little tête-à-tête with the DCI,” Delchamps said. “The bottom line of which is that he’s either a much better liar than I think he is, or he doesn’t know what Weiss and Company are up to in Paraguay.”
“How did you come to have a little tête-à-tête with the DCI?” Castillo said.
“Well, there I was rooting around in the bowels of the palace in Langley, and all of a sudden I looked up and there he was.
“‘Ed Delchamps, right?’ he asked, and put out his hand. ‘I’m Jack Powell.’ I picked up right away on that. Here was John Powell, the director of Central Intelligence, wanting to make kissy-kissy with a dinosaur-slash-pariah, which I found interesting.
“So I enthusiastically pumped his hand and told him I was really pleased to meet him, Mr. Director, sir.”
Leverette chuckled deep in his throat.
“So Jack asked me if I had time for a cup of coffee, and I said, ‘I always have time for you, Mr. Director, sir,’ or words to that effect, thinking we would then take the elevator to his office, where I would either be charmed or terminated.
“Wrong. He takes me to a little room in the bowels, furnished with chrome-and-plastic tables and chairs, and a row of machines offering candy bars, snacks, Coke, and coffee dispensed in plastic cups. It is where the filing cabinet moles go to rest from their labors.
“One look at who had just dropped in and the room emptied of file clerks in thirty seconds flat. There we are alone, holding plastic cups of lukewarm, undrinkable coffee, two pals-slash-coworkers in the noble, never-ending effort to develop intel against our enemies.”
“And he told you how happy he was that you were in a position to restrain the impetuosity of our Charley?” Torine asked.
Delchamps took a sip of his drink, then said: “No. I expected something like that, but that’s not what happened. What he said was that he understood there had been problems and disagreements in the past, and that he wasn’t going to pretend he wished I hadn’t changed my mind about retiring, or that he was happy I was ‘in the building with an any-area, any-time pass hanging around my neck, but that’s what’s happened. More important, that’s what Montvale ordered….’”
Delchamps stopped and after a moment went on, “He was even honest about that. He said something about Montvale having ordered him to let me in only because the President had told him
to, and that Montvale probably didn’t like it any more than he did. Then he said, ‘But the point is the President gave that order, and I have taken an oath to obey the orders of those appointed over me, and I don’t intend to violate that oath.’”
Delchamps looked at Leverette.
“You don’t know me, Uncle Remus, but these guys do. They’ll tell you that I am inexperienced in the wicked ways of the world; I have no experience in guessing who’s lying to me or not; I believe in the good fairy and in the honesty of all politicians and public servants. They will therefore not be surprised that—in my well-known, all-around naïveté—I believed my new friend Jack.
“And my new friend Jack said that the reason he had come to see me was to personally ensure the President’s order was being carried out, that there were those in the company who sometimes decide which orders they will obey and which they won’t, justifying their actions on the basis that obedience is sometimes not good for the company. ‘I want to make sure that’s not happening here and now with you.’”
“Jesus!” Castillo said.
“He asked me if I had even a suspicion that I was being stiffed by anyone, if I suspected that anyone was not being completely forthcoming.
“I could have given him a two-page list, but the truth was that I had modestly decided that no one had kept me—they’d tried, of course—from looking at whatever I wanted to see. And, in their shoes, I probably would have done the same thing. But nothing, I decided, was to be gained by being the class snitch.
“So I took a chance. I said, ‘Mr. Director, I have been led to believe you’re aware that the President has tasked Colonel Castillo with rescuing a DEA agent who has been kidnapped in Paraguay?’
“To which he replied, ‘I’d rather you called me Jack.’”
“Giving him time to think?” Yung asked.
“I don’t think so, Two-Gun,” Delchamps said. “Could be, but I don’t think so. The next thing he said, almost immediately, after he nodded, was ‘I also hear the mayor of Chicago was kind enough to send a detective along with him to help him do so.’”
“I’d love to know how the hell he found that out,” Castillo said.
“The point is, Ace, he knew about Paraguay. I wasn’t springing it on him.”
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