Covert Warriors

FOUR

Camino Real Acapulco Diamante Carretera Escenica Km 14 Acapulco, Mexico 1315 21 April 2007

Vic D’Alessandro walked out of the lobby with Juan Carlos Pena and two of Pena’s bodyguards following.

Immediately, two Policia Federal Suburbans pulled up under the portico to where they were standing.

“Why don’t you get in the back, Mr. D’Alessandro?” Pena suggested.

“You don’t have to do this, chief,” D’Alessandro said. “I can take a taxi.”

“You never heard of Mexican hospitality?” Pena asked. “Get in.”

One of the Policia Federal officers opened the right doors.

“Slide over to the middle, Mr. D’Alessandro,” Pena ordered, “so my men can get in on each side of you.”

D’Alessandro obeyed. He found himself sitting between two large Policia Federal officers.

The Suburbans moved out from under the portico.

D’Alessandro felt something hard and cold against the base of his neck, and had just decided whatever this was, they weren’t going to kill him, at least not here and now, when a voice inquired, “Hey, gringo, you wanna fook my see-ster?”

Juan Carlos Pena laughed out loud, surprising D’Alessandro, for Pena hadn’t so much as cracked a smile during the meeting with Guzman.

“She gives a discount for undersized penile apparatus,” the voice said, now without a Mexican accent. “Like yours.”

“Charley, you sonofabitch!” D’Alessandro said.

“Welcome to Sunny Meh-hee-co,” Castillo said. “How did things go with Guzman?”

“Slick,” D’Alessandro said. “He should be a used-car salesman. And, obviously, I misjudged Senor Pena.”

Pena turned from the front seat and offered D’Alessandro his hand.

“Call me Juan Carlos when no one’s looking, Vic,” Pena said.

“Carlos-Charley-and I go back a long way. He says nice things about you, which may or may not be a good thing.”

“You are going to tell me what’s going on here, right?” D’Alessandro asked.

“On our way to General Juan N. Alvarez International we’re going to plan how to snatch Ferris from the bad guys,” Castillo said. “That’s presuming Guzman went along with having Ferris’s picture taken standing in front of the Oaxaca State Prison.”

“How the hell did you hear about that?”

“I have a lady friend in Foggy Bottom,” Castillo said. “Well, did he?”

“Yeah. You know where Ferris is?”

“Yeah. All Juan Carlos had to do was dangle Senor Monteverde from the twenty-third-floor Tahitian Suite of the Grand Cozumel Beach and Golf Resort on a bedsheet and he quickly volunteered to tell us Ferris is being held by drug guys working for Venezuelans under the direction of the SVR-”

“You’re talking about Murov? He’s disappeared, too.”

“Didn’t your mommy tell you it’s not polite to interrupt people?” Castillo asked, then went on: “. . in Retainhuled, Guatemala, which is a small town about fifty miles from the border. Now, their plan, Murov, Juan Carlos, and I think-”

“Murov?” D’Alessandro interrupted. “You know where he is?”

“He’s in the Suburban behind us.”

Involuntarily, D’Alessandro turned to look. All he could see was the darkened windows of the following Suburban.

“He’s in that Suburban?” D’Alessandro asked, incredulously.

“All right, we’ll go down that road. Ol’ Sergei has had a religious experience. He has seen the light, and is now prepared to fight the good fight against the forces of evil. When you get back to Biggs Army Airfield, Frank Lammelle will be there to meet him with open arms and a briefcase with one million dollars in it, which I’m sure Sergei will count carefully on his way to wherever Frank intends to stash him.”

“You turned Murov for a million dollars? That’s peanuts! Jesus Christ, Charley! He’s Putin’s number two!”

“Was Putin’s number two,” Castillo said. “But then he had the religious experience I mentioned, which caused him to examine the downside of committing suicide.”

Castillo let that set in for a moment, and then went on: “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted-we’ll get to the few remaining loose ends when I finish-Sergei, Juan Carlos, and I are agreed that their most likely plan is to take Ferris to the prison and then-when you and Abrego arrive-whack everybody.”

“That scenario occurred to me,” D’Alessandro said drily.

“So, what we are going to do is grab Ferris before that; as he’s being transported from Retainhuled to the prison.”

“Who’s we? And how?”

Castillo told him.

“Pity you won’t be there, Vic. It will be like old times.”

“Tell me about the ‘few remaining loose ends,’” D’Alessandro said. “Offhand, I can think of, say, fifty, but I’d rather hear them from you.”

“Well, for example, I haven’t made up my mind about the million dollars. Whether I should let the CIA pay it or Those People.”

“That’s not what I meant, Charley.”

“And I haven’t made up my mind how we should handle the two SVR people looking over Clendennen’s shoulders.”

“You know who they are?”

Castillo nodded. “What I haven’t decided is who I should tell, if anybody, or what to do about them.”

“I’m not anybody, Charley,” D’Alessandro said evenly.

“No, you’re not. And I haven’t figured out how to get Ferris out of Mexico after we grab him.”

“That’s what they call changing the subject,” D’Alessandro said.

“Yeah,” Castillo agreed. “I guess it is.”

“Well?”

After a brief moment, Castillo said: “Clemens McCarthy and a Secret Service agent named Douglas. I never heard of him.”

“Clendennen calls him ‘Dumbo,’ ” D’Alessandro said. “You’re sure?”

“I got it from Murov. Who said this whole exercise is designed to prey on Clendennen’s instability. To create another impeachment crisis. Nixon and Clinton.”

D’Alessandro considered that a moment.

“Have you told Frank?”

Castillo shook his head.

“Sometimes, Charley, despite the old saw that any action is better than none, the best thing to do is nothing. At least, for a while.”

“We’re almost at the airport,” Juan Carlos said. “How do you want to handle this?”

“We’ll load Murov and Vic on their Black Hawk,” Castillo said.

“And wave bye-bye, and then Lester and I will get in the Mustang.”

“Lester’s here?” Vic said.

“Sitting on Sergei,” Castillo said, jerking his thumb toward the following Suburban.

“I thought you said Murov had seen the light?”

“I don’t want him committing suicide by Policia Federal. I’m sure he’s figured out that we can’t let him go free. So he knows if he runs, he gets shot.”

“How are you going to stop him?”

“Juan Carlos has told his guys not to shoot, and I gave Lester an old Winchester pump.22 of mine, with which he will shoot Sergei in the leg. Or legs. I figured if that proved necessary, he wouldn’t bleed to death before you got him to the States. He’s in pretty bad emotional condition.”

“Don’t tell me remorse.”

“Thinking of his wife and family in Lubyanka.”

“That’ll do it,” D’Alessandro said.

They pulled close to the U.S. Army UH-60F sitting in a remote corner of the airfield.

“Charley, I didn’t mention this before because it’s lunacy on its face. Clendennen’s got everybody running around getting a submarine ready to refuel the 60Fs he plans to send to the shoot-out at the prison.”

“If we snatch Ferris, there won’t be a need to send 60Fs to the prison,” Castillo said.

“I don’t think freeing Ferris will stop that mission. Clendennen is now in love with Gray Fox.”

“Find out where the sub will be, and when, and get me the radio call signs.”

“That may be a tall order, Charley. Naylor will want to know why I want to know. And he doesn’t know what you’re up to. Do you want him to?”

“No. Tell him nothing,” Castillo said. “But see what you can find out about the submarine, please.”