By Order of the President

"FBI."

"Are you the duty officer?"

"Who is this, please?"

"My name is Castillo. I'm with the Secret Service. Are you the duty officer?"

"I'll need more than that, Mr. Castillo."

"Okay. Write it down. Castillo, I spell: Charley-Alpha-Sierra-Tango-India, Lima-Lima-Oscar. Initials: Charley-Golf. Supervisory Special Agent. Assignment, Secret Service, Washington. Verification telephone number:"

As he gave the number, he sensed Betty's eyes on him and when he met her eyes she looked away.

": I'll hold while you verify," Charley finished.

That took four minutes, during which time Sergeant Betty Schneider looked at everything in the room but C. G. Castillo.

"How may I help you, Agent Castillo?"

"On or about twelve December 2004, Chief Inspector Kramer of the Philadelphia PD Counterterrorism Bureau gave you some surveillance photographs he had made of two Muslim mullahs he considered suspicious. You ran them, identified the men, and told Chief Kramer they were okay. Somehow, Chief Kramer didn't get the names you came up with when you made these people. He and I need them, and right now."

"That would come under 'Counterterrorism,' I suppose. If we ran these people, I'm sure their names are in the file."

"Can you get them for me, please?"

"What I'll do is make a record of this telecon and I'll put it on the chief of Counterterrorism's desk so he'll see it first thing when he comes in in the morning."

"I need these names now, not in the morning. If you can't get into the files, how about calling this guy up and having him come in?"

"Well, I suppose I could do that, but I'm not sure if he'd be willing:"

"Call him," Castillo interrupted. "Please. I'll hold."

"Agent Castillo? You still there?"

"I'm still here."

"I've got Special Agent Lutherberg on the line. He wants to know what this is all about."

"It's about the Secret Service needing the names of two men you ran and identified."

"That's not really telling us very much, is it?"

"That's all I'm going to tell you."

"Hold one."

"Agent Castillo?"

"I'm still here."

"Special Agent Lutherberg said to tell you he'll be happy to discuss this with you first thing in the morning if you want to come into the office."

"In other words, he's not going to get me the information I need now?"

"He'll be happy to talk to you about it in his office in the morning."

"I'd like to leave a message for him-one that applies to you, too-if that would be possible."

"Certainly."

"Fuck you, you candy-ass bureaucratic sonofabitch. I'm going to do whatever I can to burn your ass, his ass, and the ass of the special agent in charge over this. You would be wise to deliver the message and dig out the information that I need, because someone who can get you people off your candy asses will be calling shortly."

He slammed the phone down in its cradle.

"They do try one's patience on occasion, don't they?" Chief Kramer asked, innocently.

Charley took out his cellular telephone and punched an autodial key.

It was answered on the second ring.

"Three-zero-six."

"Charley Castillo. I need to speak with Joel Isaacson right now."

"Hold one."

That took three minutes.

"Isaacson."

"Charley, Joel."

"I knew I wasn't going to get any sleep. What's up, Don Juan?"

"I think there's a very good chance we have an ID on the guys who stole the 727," Charley began, explained why, and related the details of his telephone conversation with the duty officer of the Philadelphia office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

"My, we do use some really naughty words when we're peeved, don't we?" Isaacson said.

"Peeved is the fucking understatement of the year, the fucking decade. Can you do anything about those bastards, Joel?"

"I think so, yes. Where are you?"

"I'm in the Homicide Bureau of the Philadelphia Police Department. But call me on the cellular."

"Have they got a fax machine where you are?"

Charley looked at Sergeant Betty Schneider.

"I need a fax machine number," he said.

She left the office and returned in less than a minute with the number written on a sheet of notebook paper. He gave it to Isaacson.

"It was sent to you at the Mayflower," Isaacson said, "marked 'Please Deliver Immediately.' They did, and my guy sitting on your apartment sent it out to Nebraska Avenue, thinking I was still there. My guy there read it to me over the phone. So I'll call out there and have them fax it to you."

"What the hell is it?"

"I don't know; I don't want to know. It's probably a mistake."

"Jesus Christ, Joel!"

What he's saying, of course, is that he thinks it's from Kennedy. I wonder what the hell it is?

"As soon as I do what I can about the FBI, I'll let you know," Isaacson said. "Good job, Don Juan."

He hung up.

"Your boss?" Chief Inspector Kramer asked.

"A heavy-duty Secret Service guy. Good guy."

"You think he'll be able to do something?"

"If anybody can, Isaacson can. But fighting the FBI is like punching a pillow."

"Uh-huh," Kramer agreed.

"Can I talk to your undercover guy now?"

Kramer rose from behind the desk and motioned for Castillo to follow him.

They'd barely had time to introduce themselves when Betty Schneider came into the interview.

"Your fax came in, Mr. Castillo," she said and handed it to him. "It's addressed to somebody named Gossinger, but I have a hunch it's intended for you."

Castillo took the fax from her and read it.