The shooters

VI

[ONE] 7200 West Boulevard Drive

Alexandria, Virginia 0630 4 September 2005 Castillo's cell phone buzzed, and on the second buzz, he rolled over in bed, grabbed it, rolled back onto his back, put the phone to his ear, and said, "You sonofabitch!"

"Good morning, Colonel."

Castillo recognized the voice as that of his Secret Service driver.

"It may be for you," Castillo said, "but I have just been licked-on the mouth-by a half-ton dog."

"I tried to put my head in your door to wake you, but Max made it pretty clear he didn't think that was a good idea."

"I'll be right down," Castillo said, and sat up.

Max was sitting on the floor beside the double bed.

Castillo put his hand on the bed to push himself out of the bed. The blanket was warm. He looked, and saw that the pillow on the other side was depressed.

"Goddamn it, Max, you're a nice doggie, but you don't get to sleep with me."

Max said, "Arf."

Castillo pulled open the door to the front passenger seat of the Denali. Max brushed him aside and leapt effortlessly onto the seat.

"Tell him to get in the back, Dick," Castillo said.

Major Dick Miller gave Lieutenant Colonel Castillo the finger and bowed Castillo into the second seat.

There was a muted buzz and the red LED on the telephone base mounted on the back of the driver's seat began to flash.

Castillo looked at it. The legend DNI MONTVALE moved across the screen.

Castillo picked up the handset.

"Good morning, Mr. Ambassador."

"Where are you, Charley?"

"We just pulled into a Waffle House for our breakfast."

"Are you open to a suggestion?"

"Yes, sir, of course."

"Vis-a-vis the briefing this morning: If I sent Truman Ellsworth, representing me, and he announced that you were representing Secretary Hall, I think fewer questions would be raised."

Truman C. Ellsworth was executive assistant to Montvale. He had worked for Montvale in a dozen different positions in government over the years. Montvale had tried to send him to work as liaison officer between the office of the director of National Intelligence and the Office of Organizational Analysis.

Recognizing this as an attempt to plant a spy in his operation, Castillo had declined the offer, and had to threaten that he would appeal it to the President to keep Ellsworth out of OOA. For this and other reasons-as Ellsworth seemed to be personally offended that the OOA did not come under Montvale's authority-Castillo knew he was not one of Ellsworth's favorite people.

His first reaction was suspicion-What's the bastard up to here?-but what Montvale was suggesting made sense. The less conspicuous he was, the better.

"That makes sense, Mr. Ambassador," Castillo said.

"I think so," Montvale said, and the connection was broken.

They all ordered country ham and eggs for breakfast. When Castillo was finished with his, he collected the ham scraps and silver-dollar-sized bone and put them onto a napkin.

"For the beast?" the Secret Service driver asked, and when Castillo nodded, added his to the napkin. And then Miller added his. The napkin now was full to the point of falling apart.

In the Denali, Max sniffed the offering. He then delicately picked up one of the pieces of bone. There was a brief crunching sound, and then he picked up another, crunched that, and then picked up the third.

"I wonder," the Secret Service man asked softly, "how many pounds of pressure per square inch that took?"

"Try not to think what he would have done to your arm had you tried to disturb my sleep," Castillo said.

[TWO]

Office of the Chief

Office of Organizational Analysis

Department of Homeland Security

The Nebraska Avenue Complex

Washington, D.C. 0745 4 September 2005 "Good morning, Chief," OOA Deputy Chief of Administration Agnes Forbison greeted Castillo. "And hello again, Max. Where's your sweetheart?"

"That's right," Castillo said. "You've met Max. Madchen is in the family way, and resting at the Motel Monica Lewinsky. It's a long story…"

"What are you going to do with him?"

"I don't really know," Castillo admitted. He switched to Hungarian. "Say hello to the nice lady, Max."

Max looked at him, then walked to Agnes, sat down, and looked up at her.

Agnes scratched his ears.

"What did you say to him?" she asked.

"I told him you had a pound of raw hamburger in your purse."

"I don't, Max," Agnes said to him. "But if you're going to be here for long, I'll pick some up at lunch." She looked at Castillo. "Is he? Going to be here for long?"

Castillo told her how he had come into temporary possession of Max. Agnes smiled and shook her head.

"Well, maybe he's just what you need, Chief. Every boy should have a dog. And it looks to me that he's not all that upset about getting the boot from his happy home."

Max had returned to Castillo and was now sitting beside him, pressing his head against Castillo's leg.

"He's an excellent judge of character," Castillo said.

"The intelligence community is gathering in the conference room," Agnes said. "Is there anything you need besides a cup of coffee before you go in there?"

She put action to her words by going to a coffee service on a credenza behind her desk and getting him a cup of coffee.

"Thank you, ma'am," Castillo said, and then asked, "What do we hear from Jake Torine?"

"He called five minutes ago. Over one of those new radios you got in Vegas."

"What did he have to say?"

"They just took off from Buenos Aires. That translates to mean that he'll be in Baltimore in about ten hours."

"I can't wait that long," Castillo said, thoughtfully. "And Jake'll be beat when he gets here."

"Wait that long for what?"

"I have to go to Fort Rucker."

"You want to go commercial-which may be difficult because of the hurricane-or are you in your usual rush?"

"What's the other option?" he asked as Dick Miller walked in.

"OOA now has a contract with ExecuJet," she said, "who promise to provide service at the airport of your choice within an hour, then transport you to any airport of your choice within the United States in unparalleled luxury and comfort."

"Two questions. Isn't that 'unparalleled luxury and comfort' going to be painfully expensive? And how do you think-what did you say, ExecuJet?-feels about dogs?"

"Expensive, yes. But painfully, no. You did hear that there has been a substantial deposit to our account in the Caymans…right at forty-six million?"

Castillo nodded. "Ill-gotten gains about to be spent on noble purposes," he said, mockingly solemn.

"You're taking Max with you?"

"Until I figure out what to do with him. Maybe my grandmother'd take care of him for me."

"I don't think that's a viable option, Chief," she said drily.

"And I'll have to take one of the new radios and our Sergeant Neidermeyer with me. Dick can work the radio here until we can get some more communicators up here from Bragg."

"Once more, Colonel, sir," Dick Miller said. "Your faithful chief of staff is way ahead of you. We now have four communicators, five counting Sergeant Neidermeyer. General McNab said to be sure to tell you how much he now deeply regrets ever having made your acquaintance."

"I'll give ExecuJet a heads-up," Agnes said. "Max won't be a problem. When do you want to leave?"

"As soon as whatever happens in there is over," he said, nodding at the door to the conference room. "First, I want to hit the commo room."

There were five young men in the small room off Castillo's office, which had been taken over as the commo room. There was something about them that suggested the military despite their civilian clothing-sports jackets and slacks-and their "civilian haircuts."

No one called attention, but the moment Castillo pushed open the door all of them were on their feet and standing tall.

"Good morning, Jamie," Castillo said to the young man closest to him, gesturing for the men to relax.

"Welcome home, Colonel," Sergeant James "Jamie" Neidermeyer said.

Neidermeyer, just imported from the Stockade at Bragg to run the OOA commo room, was a little shorter than Castillo, with wide shoulders, a strong youthful face, and thoughtful eyes.

"Thank you, Jamie. Unfortunately, I won't be staying. Got your bag packed?"

"Yes, sir."

"You don't have to leave our nation's capital, of course, Jamie. You could send one of these guys."

Castillo put out his hand to the next closest of the young men.

"My name is Castillo."

"Yes, sir. Sergeant First Class Pollman, Colonel."

As he repeated the process with the others, Max went to the near corner of the room and lay down, his eyes on Castillo and the room.

"What do you guys think of our new radios?" Castillo asked.

There was a chorus of "Outstanding, sir!" and "First class, sir!"

"We just talked to Colonel Torine, sir," Neidermeyer said. "He was five minutes out of Buenos Aires."

"Mrs. Forbison told me," Castillo said. "I guess Jamie has brought you up to speed on the new radios? And what we're doing here?"

Another chorus of "Yes, sir."

"Anyone got any family problems-girlfriend problems don't count-with working with us-here and elsewhere-for a while?"

Another chorus, this time of "No, sir."

"And everybody is on per diem, right? Which doesn't look like it's going to be enough for Washington?"

This time it was apparent that all of them were reluctant to complain.

"Mrs. Forbison will get you each an American Express credit card," Castillo said. "They will be paid by the Lorimer Charitable amp; Benevolent Fund, which understands the problems of a hardship assignment in Washington. Use them for everything-meals, your rooms, laundry-everything but whiskey and wild women. Save your per diem for the whiskey and wild women. There's a threat to go along with that: Make any waves that call any attention whatever to what's going on here and you will shortly afterward find yourself teaching would-be Rangers how to eat snakes, rodents, and insects in the semitropical jungle swamps at Hurlburt. Everybody understand that?"

That produced another chorus, this time with smiles, of "Yes, sir."

"Okay. I'm glad to have you. I know that Vic D'Alessando wouldn't have sent you if you weren't the best." He paused to let that sink in, then asked, "Questions?"

"Sir, what kind of a dog is that?"

"Max is a Bouvier des Flandres," Castillo said. "It has been reliably reported that one of his ancestors bit off one of Adolf Hitler's testicles during the first world war."

That produced more smiles.

"And you, Sergeant Phillips, are herewith appointed his temporary custodian. I've got to go sit around a table with some Washington bureaucrats, and I don't think Max would be welcome. Have we got anything we can use as a leash?"

Phillips opened a drawer in the table holding the radios and came out with a coil of wire from which he quickly fashioned a leash.

He handed it to Castillo, who looped it to the D-ring of Max's collar and then handed the end of it to Sergeant Phillips.

"Max, you stay," Castillo said, in Hungarian, and then switched back to English. "And while I'm gone, Jamie, make up your mind who's going with me."

"Ever willing to make any sacrifice for the common good, Colonel," Neidermeyer said, "I will take that hardship upon myself."

"Your call, Jamie."

"Where we going, sir?" Neidermeyer said. "Buenos Aires?"

"You like Buenos Aires, do you?"

"It is not what I would call a hardship assignment, sir."

"We're going to Rucker, Sergeant Neidermeyer. One more proof that a smart soldier never volunteers for anything."

Castillo raised his arm in a gesture of So long and walked out of the radio room and into his office.

Miller was sitting on the edge of his desk.

"They're waiting for you," he said, nodding toward the door to the conference room. "You want me to come along?"

"Please," Castillo said, and went to the door and opened it.

Truman Ellsworth, a tall, silver-haired, rather elegant man in his fifties, was standing at a lectern set up at the head of the conference table.

There were a dozen people sitting at the table, which had places for twenty. There were perhaps twice that number sitting on chairs against the walls, obviously subordinates of the people at the table, and not senior enough to be at the table.

The only person Castillo recognized was Milton Weiss. He was sitting near one end of the table, between a man and a woman, obviously the CIA delegation.

Castillo and Miller took seats halfway down the table across from Weiss, who looked at Castillo but gave no sign of recognition.

"If I may have your attention, ladies and gentlemen," Ellsworth said. "Now that Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, who is the representative of the Department of Homeland Security, has joined us, we can get this under way."

You pompous sonofabitch!

Should I have brought a note from my mommy saying why I'm late?

"My name is Truman Ellsworth. Ambassador Montvale had other things on his plate this morning and sent me to represent him. This is, as I said, an informal meeting, but in view of the sensitive material which may come to light, a Top Secret security classification is in place, and it is not to be recorded.

"As I understand it," Ellsworth went on, "the attorney general and the DNI, Ambassador Montvale, are agreed that there may well be intelligence aspects to the kidnapping of a DEA agent in Paraguay, and that it behooves us to share, informally, what information we have which might shed light on the situation.

"May I suggest that the principals identify themselves? Why don't we work our way around the table?"

He sat down and nodded to a swarthy man on his right.

"John Walsh, DEA," the man said.

"Helena Dumbrowsky, State Department," a somewhat plump, red-haired woman announced.

"Norman Seacroft, Treasury." He was a slight, thin man in a baggy suit.

"Milton Weiss, CIA."

"Colonel K. L. DeBois, DIA." The representative of the Defense Intelligence Agency was tall and wiry, and wore his hair clipped almost to the skull.

"C. G. Castillo, Homeland Security."

"Inspector Bruce Saffery, FBI." Saffery was a well-tailored man in his early fifties.

Castillo thought: I wonder if he knows Inspector John J. Doherty?

"Excuse me," Colonel DeBois said, looking at Castillo and holding up his index finger. "But didn't Mr. Ellsworth just refer to you as 'Lieutenant Colonel'?"

Ellsworth, you sonofabitch. I'm not wearing a uniform. You didn't have to refer to me as an officer.

And why do I think that wasn't an accident?

"Yes, sir, I believe he did."

"You're a serving officer?"

"Yes, sir."

"And-presuming I'm allowed to ask-what exactly is it you do for the Department of Homeland Security, Colonel?"

"Sir, I'm an executive assistant to the secretary."

"How much do you know about the Office of Organizational Analysis?"

"Aside from that we're using their conference room, sir, not much."

"The reason I'm asking, Colonel, is that I was ordered to transfer one of my officers, a young lieutenant who was stationed in Asuncion, to the Office of Organizational Analysis."

Oh, shit! Lorimer!

Castillo glanced at Truman Ellsworth and saw that he was looking at him. Ellsworth's face was expressionless, but he was looking.

"His name is First Lieutenant Edmund J. Lorimer," DeBois pursued.

"I just can't help you, Colonel," Castillo said.

This meeting hasn't even started and I'm already lying through my teeth to a fellow officer who looks like a nice guy.

"Perhaps you could ask Secretary Hall, Colonel Castillo," Ellsworth suggested, helpfully.

Oh, you miserable sonofabitch!

"Yes, I suppose I could do that," Castillo said. "I'll get back to you, Colonel, if I'm able to find out anything."

"I'd appreciate it," DeBois said. "He's a nice young officer who lost a leg from above the knee in Afghanistan. I've been sort of keeping an eye on him."

"I'll see what I can find out for you, sir, as soon as this meeting is over."

"I'd really appreciate it, Colonel."

"Why don't we start with you, Mr. Walsh?" Ellsworth said. "Exactly what happened in Asuncion?"

Walsh took ten minutes to report in minute detail less than Castillo already knew. He didn't mention the garrote with which Timmons's driver had been murdered, just that he had been killed, means unspecified. Castillo decided he either hadn't been told how the driver had been killed, or had and didn't understand the significance.

Without saying so in so many words, Walsh made it clear that he thought the DEA could get Timmons back by themselves, if certain restrictions on what they could do were relaxed.

Mrs. Dumbrowsky of the State Department took the same amount of time to explain the excellent relations enjoyed by the United States with the Republic of Paraguay, expressed great admiration for the Paraguayan law-enforcement authorities, and made it clear without saying so in so many words that she strongly felt it would be a diplomatic disaster if a cretin like Walsh was allowed to destroy the aforesaid splendid relationship by going down there guns blazing and taking the law into his own hands.

Mr. Seacroft of the Treasury Department somewhat jocularly said that while he wasn't much of an admirer of anything French, he did think it was hard to disagree with their criminal investigation philosophy of searching for the money, and announced that he was going to run everything he had through the computers again and see what came out the other end.

Castillo had glanced at Ellsworth several times during Mr. Seacroft's discourse. Castillo had seen from Ellsworth's look of utter contempt that he, too, knew that the French criminal investigation philosophy was Cherchez la femme-though their seeking of femme meant "women," not "money."

Milton Weiss of the CIA said that he had to confess being a little surprised at the attention the kidnapping of Special Agent Timmons was getting. He had heard-unofficially, of course-that it was a not-uncommon occurrence-perhaps even common-and that in the end the drug thugs usually turned the kidnappee free.

He implied that the agency had far more important things to do than worry about one DEA agent, who, it could be reasonably assumed, had some idea of what he was getting himself into when he first became a DEA agent and subsequently went to Paraguay. The CIA would, however, Weiss said, keep its ear to the ground and promptly inform everybody if it came up with something.

It was Castillo's turn next.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know nothing about this. I'm just here to listen and learn."

And the truth here, if I'm to believe what I've heard from these people, is that I know more about this than anyone else.

Except, of course, Weiss, and he's lying through his teeth.

Making at least two of us here who are doing that.

Colonel DeBois was next, and he immediately began to prove that he had come to the meeting prepared to share whatever knowledge the DIA had with the rest of the intelligence community.

"I think I-the DIA-has more knowledge of the situation down there than maybe we should," he began. "The background to that is that our people there, the defense attache and his assistants, are encouraged to report informally on matters that come to their attention that are not entirely defense related but which they feel may be of interest to the DIA.

"Lieutenant Lorimer, to whom I referred earlier, became friends with Special Agent Timmons, and from him learned a good deal about the DEA operations there, which Lorimer passed on to us. Timmons may well have crossed the 'need to know' line there, telling Lorimer what he did, but I think that area's a little fuzzy. If we're here to share intelligence, what's really wrong with our people in the field doing the same thing?"

"It's against the law, for one thing," Milton Weiss said.

"Oh, come on, Weiss," John Walsh of the DEA said. "They all do it, and we all know they do it, and you know as well as I do that there's nothing really wrong with it."

Good for you, Walsh. I think I like you.

"If I'm getting into something here that perhaps I shouldn't?" DeBois said.

"Whatever you heard from your people couldn't really be called reliable intelligence, could it?" Ellsworth said. "It would be, in legal terms, 'hearsay,' would it not?"

"I'd like to hear the hearsay," Castillo said.

Ellsworth flashed Castillo an icy look.

Is that because he doesn't like me challenging him?

Or because he doesn't want DeBois to report what Lorimer told him?

"Please go on, sir," Castillo said.

"I thought you were chairing this meeting, Mr. Ellsworth?" Weiss demanded.

"We're supposed to be sharing intel, so let's share it," Castillo said.

Careful, Charley, you don't want to lose your temper.

After a moment's hesitation, Ellsworth said, "I think if Colonel Castillo wants to hear what Colonel DeBois has to say, then we should. With my caveat that it really is hearsay."

"Actually, rather than hard intelligence," DeBois said, "what Lieutenant Lorimer provided might be called background-his informal assessment of the problems down there, his own opinions, plus what he heard from Special Agent Timmons and others."

"Why don't you get on with it, Colonel?" Weiss said impatiently. "So the rest of us can get out of here?"

"Very well," DeBois said. "Lorimer reported that Timmons said, and he agreed, that the drug operations in Paraguay are more sophisticated than might be expected."

"Sophisticated?" Weiss parroted incredulously.

"The drug people in Paraguay seemed to be taking unusual steps to keep from calling attention to themselves," DeBois said.

"I thought all drug dealers did that," Weiss said.

"If you keep interrupting Colonel DeBois, Mr. Weiss," Castillo said, "we'll all be here a long time. Why not let him finish, and then offer your comments all at once?"

Colonel DeBois looked at Castillo gratefully, then went on: "According to Lorimer, Timmons said they had sort of a system, a sophisticated system, of dealing with the Paraguayan authorities. A system of rewards and punishment."

"I'd like to hear about that," Walsh said. "This is all news to me."

"For one example, people approach the children of Paraguayan police on their way home from school. They give them envelopes to give to their mothers. The envelopes contain money."

"I don't understand," Mrs. Dumbrowsky said.

"Well, to Special Agent Timmons, it was pretty clear it was a message. If you don't give us trouble, we will give you money. And if you do, we know where to find your family."

"Mr. Walsh, how experienced an agent was Timmons?" Weiss asked.

"He hadn't been down there long, if that's what you're asking," Walsh said.

"And how long had he been with the DEA?"

"He hasn't been in DEA very long, but if you're suggesting he was-that he is-sort of a rookie, I don't think that's right. He was a cop in Chicago. He comes from a family of cops. And he's a lawyer. He was recruited for the DEA by one of our guys in Chicago who met him and liked what he saw. He's fluent in Spanish."

"Go on, please, Colonel," Weiss said, "and tell us whatever else this very bright, very new DEA agent has theorized."

Colonel DeBois nodded and said, "Timmons also saw sophistication in how these people dealt with DEA agents. There were significant differences. For one thing, there were no envelopes with money, which Timmons felt was significant because it meant that the drug people knew the DEA agents could neither be bought nor coerced by threats against their families. Or because the drug people knew that injuring-or killing-the family of an American would bring a good deal of attention."

"But they are willing to kidnap DEA agents?" Inspector Saffery of the FBI asked.

That's the first time he's opened his mouth.

"Oh, yes."

"One would think that DEA agents would protect themselves from being kidnapped," Weiss said. "Wouldn't you, Inspector?"

"Very few FBI agents are kidnapped," Saffery said, chuckling.

"That's what Timmons found interesting," DeBois said.

"Doesn't kidnapping imply a ransom?" Norman Seacroft, of the Treasury Department, asked. "That's interesting! How much did they ask?"

"Kidnapping is taking someone against his or her will," Saffery said, somewhat intolerantly. "There doesn't have to be a ransom element."

"These people don't ask for a ransom?"

"Not so far," Walsh said.

"Then why do they kidnap them? And how do we get them back?" Seacroft asked.

"According to what Timmons told Lorimer, they kidnap them to suggest that working too hard to interdict the flow of drugs is not smart."

"But they turn them loose, right?" Seacroft said.

"As I understand it, all the DEA agents who have been kidnapped have been returned unharmed," Weiss said.

"Mr. Weiss, are you suggesting that becoming addicted to heroin is not being harmed?" Colonel DeBois asked, coldly courteous.

"Addicted to heroin?" Seacroft parroted.

DeBois explained, "I don't know the exact figure-Timmons didn't know-but at least two kidnapped DEA agents who were turned free by their captors had become addicted to heroin."

"Four," Walsh said.

"Let me make sure I understand this," Inspector Saffery said. "While these people held the DEA agents, they forced heroin on them? Turned them into addicts?"

"Correct," Walsh said.

"That's hard to believe!" Mrs. Dumbrowsky said.

"The ones who were addicted were released after there had been a successful delivery of a large drug shipment," Walsh said.

"This is the first I've heard of this!" Saffery said, indignantly.

"Inspector," Walsh said, "think about it. If you were a field agent who had become involuntarily addicted, would you like that information to become widely known? Even-perhaps especially-within the FBI?"

"As Mr. Ellsworth has pointed out, this is nothing more than hearsay," Mrs. Dumbrowsky said. "The State Department has heard nothing like this."

"And unless the colonel has some more fascinating hearsay to relate," Weiss said, "I really do have other things to do."

He stood up.

"As a matter of fact, Mr. Weiss, I wasn't quite through," DeBois said, coldly.

Weiss reluctantly sat down.

"Putting everything together, Timmons had been wondering if perhaps the Paraguayan drug-shipment operation was being run by someone other than the Paraguayan/Colombian/Bolivian drug people."

Castillo glanced at Weiss.

You didn't expect to hear that, did you, Milton?

But who is he talking about?

I can't believe that Timmons got into the Stasi/DGI involvement.

"That's absurd!" Weiss said.

"Why is it absurd, Mr. Weiss?" DeBois asked, courteously.

"On its face," Weiss said.

"Wait a minute," Saffery said. "Why not? The drug trade didn't start last week. A lot of these people have lived in the States for years-some of them even legally with Green Cards, even citizenship-"

"Your point, Inspector?" Weiss interrupted.

"What I'm saying is that they've been in the States long enough to figure out what Cousin Jose back in Colombia has been doing wrong and to tell him how to do it right."

"Define 'right' for me, please, Inspector," Weiss said.

"Don't kill our DEA people," Saffery said. "That draws attention to you. Knock off that macho bullshit-excuse me, Mrs. Dumbrowsky-that doesn't make us any money. Getting the stuff through is what makes us money."

"With all respect, Inspector, I still think that's absurd," Weiss said, and stood up again. "Mr. Ellsworth, if I have to say this, if the agency comes by some solid intelligence, it will be immediately brought to your attention, and that of Ambassador Montvale."

"Thank you," Ellsworth said.

The rest of the CIA delegation was now on its feet.

They followed Weiss to the door.

"Not that one, Weiss," Castillo blurted. "That's the door to my office."

By then Weiss had cracked the door open.

He turned to look at Castillo.

Max, towing Sergeant Phillips behind him, shouldered the door open.

The edge caught Weiss on the side of the face.

"Sonofabitch!" he exclaimed, and backed away, running into the rest of the CIA delegation and causing further consternation. No one actually fell down, but almost, and two briefcases hit the floor.

Max went to Castillo, sat down, and offered him his paw.

"Colonel, I'm sorry," Phillips said. "I didn't realize how strong he is!"

"Presumably, Castillo, that animal is yours?" Ellsworth said.

"Actually, I'm just minding him for a friend," Castillo said. "You all right, Mr. Weiss?"

Weiss glared at him, then marched to the other door, and the CIA delegation departed.

The others in the room were reacting as if an auto accident had just happened before their eyes. No one moved, or showed any inclination to do so.

"Well, it would appear this meeting is over," Castillo said.

Ellsworth looked at him with a stone face, then turned to those at the table and said, "Yes, it would appear that way. Thank you, all, for coming."

"Colonel," Castillo said to Colonel DeBois. "May I have a moment of your time, sir?"

He gestured toward the open door to his office.

DeBois nodded, stood up, and walked to the door, then through it. Castillo, with Max and Phillips behind him, followed, and then Miller.

"Dick," Castillo said, "close and lock that behind you, will you, please?"

"I thought I heard you say 'my office,'" DeBois said. "Are you going to tell me what's going on here, Colonel?"

Castillo did not immediately respond.

He said, "Take the leash off Max, Phillips, and then see if you can raise the safe house."

"Yes, sir."

Max-as if he had understood what Castillo had ordered-sat down and allowed Phillips to remove the wire leash from his neck. Phillips went into the commo room. Max walked to Castillo and lay down at his feet.

Castillo met DeBois's eyes.

"Sir, with respect, you are not here and never have been here. But if you had been here, everything you might have seen, heard, or intuited is classified Top Secret Presidential."

DeBois's eyebrows rose, but he didn't reply.

Phillips came to the door of the commo room and said, "We're up, sir."

"Sir?" Castillo said, and asked DeBois with his eyes to go ahead of him into the commo room.

Sergeant Neidermeyer handed Castillo the handset.

The screen flashed the legend SUSANNA SIENO.

Castillo pressed the speaker button, then said: "Good morning, Susanna."

"How are things in our nation's capital?"

"I just had an unpleasant session with one of your coworkers, a guy named Milton Weiss. Know him?"

"Unfortunately."

"Is Eddie Lorimer around?"

"Right here, Colonel," Lorimer's voice came over the speaker.

"Colonel DeBois of DIA has been asking about you."

"I guess that was bound to happen. Colonel DB's one of the good guys, Colonel. What did you tell him?"

"Nothing, of course," Castillo said. "Hold one, Eddie."

He put his hand over the microphone.

"I'm sorry, Colonel," Castillo said. "But that concludes your tour of the Office of Organizational Analysis."

DeBois looked at him a long moment before he spoke.

"Thank you, Colonel Castillo. If you ever need anything, anything at all, you know where to find me."

"Thank you, sir. And if you hear anything interesting, I'd be grateful if you'd pass it to Major Miller."

DeBois nodded and walked out of the commo room. Castillo put the handset to his ear and turned off the speaker.

"Susanna, how long will it take to get just about everybody there? Including Darby and Santini? And Munz."

"Probably the better part of two hours."

"Well, it's important. So will you set it up, please? Give me a call when everybody's there."

"Will do," she said.

"Break it down, Neidermeyer," Castillo said, and handed him the handset. "Stay loose. As soon as I'm finished with that call, we're off."

"Yes, sir."

Castillo walked out of the commo room and sat down at his desk.

"You shut off the phones in the hotel?" he asked.

Miller shook his head.

Castillo picked up one of the telephones on his desk and punched one of the buttons on it.

"And how are you this bright and sunny morning, Uncle Billy?" Castillo asked in German.

"I probably shouldn't admit this to you," Eric Kocian said, "but I'm actually feeling pretty chipper. Madchen and I took our morning constitutional past the White House. I was reminded of what people say about Paris."

"Which is?"

"Beautiful city. If it wasn't for the people, I'd love it. And then I came back to the hotel and had a word with the manager-"

"What didn't you like?"

"I told him that once he provided a decent leather armchair with footrest, the accommodations would be satisfactory. And to continue to send the bill to Fulda."

"Billy, what am I supposed to do with Max?"

"You were the one who sent Madchen to him. As ye sow, so shall ye reap."

"I've been thinking of sending him to my grandmother."

"His broken heart would be on your conscience, Karlchen. Max took one look at you and-for reasons that baffle me-transferred his affections to you. But dogs choose their masters, you know, rather than the other way around."

Castillo looked across his office. Max was lying on the carpet in front of the couch, his head between his paws, looking at him.

"Where was Sandor Tor when you took your walk this morning?"

"He insisted on going with me. He and an apparently deaf man from the Secret Service. He wears a hearing aid and keeps talking to his lapel."

Castillo laughed, even though he knew he shouldn't.

"You know why he's there, Billy."

"Even as much as they dislike me, I don't think the FSB is going to try to shoot me in front of the White House."

"Never underestimate your enemy. Write that down, Uncle Billy."

"If you have nothing important to say, Karlchen, the hotel has at long last delivered our breakfast. They do a very nice corned beef hash with poached eggs. I suspect Madchen will like it."

"I've got to go out of town for a couple of days. We'll resume this conversation when I get back."

"Remember not to give Max more than one small piece of chocolate at a time. Too much chocolate gives him flatulence. Auf Wiedersehen, Karlchen."

Castillo put the handset back in its cradle. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but didn't. A red LED on another telephone was flashing. Castillo leaned to it to read the legend.

"Montvale," he said, and reached for it.

"That didn't take long, did it?" Miller asked.

"Good morning, Mr. Ambassador," Castillo said. "Why do I think you've just been talking to Mr. Ellsworth?"

"He has a phone in his Yukon," Montvale said. "Did you actually bring that dog to the meeting?"

"Actually, Max invited himself."

"I gather the meeting wasn't all that we hoped it would be?"

"I didn't learn much that I didn't already know."

"So what's next?"

"In case the President asks?"

"In case the President asks."

"Well, I have to go to MacDill to see General McNab, and then to Fort Rucker to see about Hueys, and then to Mississippi to see if I can talk Ambassador Lorimer out of going to Uruguay."

"Your plane is back already?"

"No. I'm going to travel in unparalleled luxury and comfort in an ExecuJet aircraft."

"Which will not be able to land at either MacDill or Fort Rucker without making waves. Would you like to use my plane?"

"I'd love to use your plane. But what if you need it?"

"I'll get something from Andrews."

"Then I gratefully accept. Thank you."

"It'll be waiting for you in, say, thirty minutes. Keep in touch, Charley."

"Yes, sir. I will."

The line went dead.

"Do you think he's loaning you his airplane because he likes you," Miller asked, "or because he can now tell the President he loaned it to you?"

"You have a suspicious and devious mind, Major Miller. Have you ever considered a career in intelligence?"

"Charley, if you want-it would save you two hours-I can bring the people in Argentina up to speed. Unless there's something I don't know?"

"Bottom line: Make no waves."

Miller nodded.

Castillo stood up and walked to the door of the commo room.

"Come on, Neidermeyer," he said. "We're off."

[THREE]

MacDill Air Force Base

Tampa, Florida 1135 4 September 2005 The ground handlers wanded the Gulfstream V to a stop on the visiting aircraft tarmac. An Air Force master sergeant, who Castillo had decided was a combination of crew chief and steward, moved quickly to open the door.

Max, who had been lying in the aisle beside Castillo's chair, greeted him at the door and went down the steps long before anyone could stop him.

Castillo looked out his window, vainly hoping that no one would be watching.

General Bruce J. McNab was marching toward the aircraft. Two officers, one middle-aged and the other younger, were on his heels. All were wearing the Army combat uniform, a loose-fitting garment of light green, gray, and tan camouflage material, worn with the jacket outside the trousers. All were wearing green berets.

One of McNab's rather bushy eyebrows rose and his head moved toward the nose of the aircraft. Castillo couldn't see what he was watching, but there was a very good chance he was watching Max void his bladder on the nose gear.

"Sorry, Colonel," Neidermeyer said. "That sonofabitch is quick."

"Not a problem," Castillo said, as he pushed himself out of his seat. "General McNab would have found something to criticize anyway."

When Castillo got to the door, he saw Max was sitting at the foot of the stair door, waiting for him. He went down the steps, faced General McNab, came to attention, and saluted crisply.

McNab returned it with a casual wave in the direction of his forehead.

"I was going to compliment you, Colonel," McNab said, "on your recruiting poster appearance. But curiosity overwhelms me. Where did that animal come from?"

"Sir, I'm going from here to Rucker. I thought Class A's would be a good idea."

"And the animal?"

"That's Max, sir. I'm keeping him for a friend."

Neidermeyer came down the stairs.

"Jamie," General McNab said. "Didn't your mother ever tell you that you will be judged by the company you keep?"

"Good afternoon, sir," Neidermeyer said. "Good to see you, sir."

"It won't be afternoon for another twenty-four minutes," McNab said. "But I'm glad to see you, too. Gentlemen, this is Sergeant Neidermeyer, one of the better communicators from the stockade. The splendidly attired officer is Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, and all the terrible things you have heard about him are true."

The colonel walked around McNab and offered Castillo his hand.

"Tom Kingston, Castillo," he said. "And I have to tell you that on the way here, the general told Inman"-he nodded toward the young officer-"that he hopes whatever you have that made you the best aide he ever had is contagious, because maybe he'll get lucky and catch it."

"Colonel Kingston," General McNab said, "who betrays my confidential remarks at the drop of a hat, was wondering what you're doing here, Charley. I couldn't tell him. Are you going to tell him? Or are you going to let him stumble around in the dark?"

"This might not be the best place to get into that, sir."

"Okay. Inman, take Sergeant Neidermeyer-and the airplane crew and that animal-somewhere nice for lunch. Eat slowly. When you're finished, bring them by my quarters. By then, Colonel Kingston, Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, and I will probably be through saying unkind things about enlisted men and junior officers."

"Yes, sir," the aide said.

McNab made a Follow me gesture and started marching across the tarmac.

Mrs. Donna McNab kissed Castillo on the cheek before he was completely through the front door.

"Oh, it's good to see you, Charley!"

"For God's sake, don't encourage him," General McNab said. "I'm trying to get rid of him before he gets me in trouble again."

"How long can you stay?" she asked, ignoring her husband.

"Maybe an hour and a half," Castillo said.

"The Naylors will be really disappointed. They won't be back until tomorrow afternoon."

"Me, too. It would have been great to see them."

She looked at McNab and said, "Everything's set up on the patio, darling. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt that this is important and will leave you alone."

"Thank you. It is," McNab said, made another Follow me gesture, and led Colonel Kingston and Castillo through the house and out back to a walled patio.

There was a gas grill, a side table on which sat a plate of T-bone steaks and another of tomatoes, and a small patio table that seated four and had place settings for three.

"I will now be able to state that my former aide landed here for fuel, and I entertained him at lunch at my quarters," McNab said. "Purely a social occasion."

Castillo nodded his understanding.

"We are having steak and tomatoes," McNab went on, "because I am on a diet that allows me all the meat I want to eat and small portions of fresh vegetables. While I am cooking the steaks, you can bring Kingston up to speed. Or as much speed as you feel appropriate."

"Yes, sir," Castillo said. "Colonel, I have to begin this with the statement that everything I tell you, or you intuit, is classified Top Secret Presidential."

"Understood," Kingston said. "Maybe it would clear the air a little, Colonel, if I told you that the secretary of Defense has called General McNab and instructed him to give you whatever you ask for, and that you would tell us only what you felt was appropriate."

Castillo nodded.

He began, "A DEA agent named Timmons has been kidnapped in Paraguay. The President has promised the mayor of Chicago that he will get this guy back, and tasked me to do so…"

"…and there is one more problem," Castillo said when he had finished explaining what he had planned and the problems he saw in doing it.

General McNab, his mouth full of steak, gestured for him to go on.

"The agency is apparently running an operation down there to catch these people in the act of bringing drugs into the States aboard cruise ships. They intend to seize the ship-ships, plural-under maritime law. A guy named Milton Weiss"-he paused to see if either McNab or Kingston knew of Weiss, and when both shook their heads, went on-"came to see me last night and as much as told me to butt out."

McNab held up his hand as a signal to wait until he had finished chewing. That took at least ten seconds.

McNab then said, "That sort of operation, I would think-correct me if I'm wrong, Tom-would be run by the DEA or the Coast Guard or, for that matter, the Navy. They've got an ONI operation in Key West to do just that sort of thing." He looked at Kingston, who nodded his agreement. "So what does Montvale have to say about this?"

"Montvale doesn't know about it," Castillo said.

"The agency is up to something like that and the director of National Intelligence doesn't know about it?" McNab said.

"Maybe doesn't want to?" Kingston asked.

"I don't think he knows," Castillo said. "He was there when the President gave me this job. He didn't think it was a good idea. Neither did Natalie Cohen. I think if he-and now that I think of it-he or Natalie knew about this agency operation, one or the other or both would have used it as an argument to get the President to change his mind."

"Unless, of course, they know the President well enough to judge that he was not in a frame of mind to change his mind," McNab said.

"I don't think he knows," Castillo said. "I don't think either of them do."

"How did this Weiss character know what you're up to?" Kingston asked.

Castillo told them about Delchamps, and then that Miller had eavesdropped on the session with Weiss, and that both were willing to go with him to the President.

McNab thoughtfully chewed another piece of beef, then said: "My advice, Charley, would be to obey the last lawful order you received, which was to go get the DEA guy back."

"I was hoping you'd say that, sir," Castillo said.

"That was advice, Charley. I'm not in a position to give you orders."

"Yes, sir, I understand. But thanks for the advice."

"I hope it didn't change your mind about anything."

"No, sir. It did not."

"Good. Maybe you did learn something after all during all those years you were my canape passer."

Castillo chuckled. As long as he had been McNab's aide-de-camp, he had never passed a canape to the general's guests. McNab regarded the primary function of an aide-de-camp to be sort of an intern, an opportunity for a junior officer to see how senior officers functioned and learn from it.

He wondered if the young captain whom McNab had sent to feed Neidermeyer, Max, and the Gulfstream crew understood this.

McNab had never said anything to me. I had to figure it out myself; that was part of the training.

"Okay, Tom. What do you think?" McNab said.

And that's something else I learned from Bruce J. McNab. I'd heard about it at the Point, but I learned it from him.

A wise officer gets-even if he has to force the issue-the opinions and suggestions of his subordinates before he offers his own, and, more important, makes any decisions.

That way, they say what they think, rather than what they think the boss wants to hear.

"Nothing, General, but how to get the Hueys down there black," Kingston said, thoughtfully. "That does not pose much of a real problem-except the usual ones, time and money. Castillo wants this done yesterday."

"With respect, sir, it's not me who wants it done yesterday," Castillo said. "But black outweighs time."

"How about money?" Kingston asked.

"You tell me how much is wanted, and where, and Dick Miller will wire it within a matter of hours."

"It would be impolitic of you, Tom," McNab said, "to ask where he's getting the money."

"My concern is whether there's enough."

"There's enough," Castillo said.

"Charley has some experience with how much black costs," McNab said. "So how do we get the Hueys down there, and exactly where do we send them?"

"Open for a wild hair?" Kingston asked.

McNab nodded.

"The Ronald Reagan," Kingston said.

McNab pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"Excuse me?" Castillo asked.

"It's an aircraft carrier, Charley. Named after the Gipper," McNab said drily.

Kingston added, "And it's sailing around the world, or at least down the east coast of South America, and around the horn, or whatever they call it, and then up the west coast to San Diego.

"Onto her, Tom," McNab corrected him. "She's sailing around the world."

Kingston nodded. "If we could get those Hueys onto her either before she leaves, or even after she leaves, they could just be flown off…"

"Wouldn't that make waves?" Castillo asked, and then heard what he had just said and, shaking his head, muttered, "Jesus Christ!"

"I don't think so," Kingston said, smiling at him. "We could say they're for the press or something. The Navy probably won't like the idea-"

"The Navy will do what the secretary of Defense tells it to do," McNab said, flatly.

"You have a place where they could be landed black?" Kingston asked.

"I know just the place," Castillo said. "But the last time I was in Uruguay their head cop told me, 'Good-bye and please don't come back.'"

"You want me to set this up with the Navy or not, Charley?" McNab asked.

"Yes, sir, please. I'll find a place to fly them off to before they get there."

"Just the Hueys? Or the Hueys and the shooters?"

"Just the Hueys," Castillo said. "We've got a few days. It would be better to send them down as tourists, or soccer players, a couple at a time."

"No problem with Spanish-speaking A-Teams, Tom?" McNab asked.

"No."

"Get on the horn to Bragg. I want four shooters on their way within twelve hours, different airlines, and six every twenty-four hours thereafter. You have a place for them to go, Charley?"

"By the time they get there, I will."

He wrote several telephone numbers on a sheet of paper and handed the paper to Kingston.

"That's if something happens and Lorimer doesn't meet them at the airport."

Kingston nodded his understanding.

"We could send the weapons and the gear on the Hueys," Castillo said, thoughtfully. "If we can't get the Hueys into the country black, we won't need the weapons. And that'll eliminate having to send them under diplomatic cover, which would open a can of worms."

Kingston grunted his approval.

"Get the weapons and gear moving to Rucker right away," McNab ordered. "There's a buck general there, Crenshaw, I've dealt with before. I'll get on the horn to him and give him a heads-up, tell him to stash the weapons and gear until Charley knows what he wants to do with it."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll also tell him to expect eight Huey pilots-and four crew chiefs-from the 160th at Campbell, same story. I'll get on the horn to Campbell myself as soon as I can."

"Yes, sir," Kingston said.

"Anything else for right now?"

Kingston looked at Castillo.

"The money?" Kingston said.

"You've got a black account here, sir?"

"In the base branch of the Wachovia Bank."

"If you'll give me the number, sir, I'll get on the horn to Dick Miller, and the money will probably be in it by the close of their business day. How much will you need, sir?"

"This isn't going to be cheap, Castillo. We've got-"

"Will a million cover it for openers, sir?"

"More than enough," Kingston said.

"Wrong answer, Tom," McNab said. "Probably not, Colonel Castillo. But we can always come back to you for more, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's it, then?" McNab asked.

"I think that covers just about everything for now, sir," Kingston said.

"Yes, sir. Thank you both."

"Why don't we see if Miller is going to have any problems getting the money down here before I start loaning you money from my special funds?" McNab said.

Castillo took his cellular phone from his pocket. Kingston handed him a slip of paper.

Ninety seconds later, Castillo broke the connection.

"Done, sir. Major Miller sends his compliments, sir."

"Story going around is that he's being retired medically. True?"

"Yes, sir. First of the month. He's going to work for me."

McNab shook his head.

"Goddamn shame," he said, and then heard what he had said. "I don't mean his working for you, Charley. I meant…his being involuntarily retired."

"Yes, sir. It is."

McNab shook his head and then smiled.

"Okay. Those shrill girlish giggles you may have been hearing are those made by my wife when she is playing with a dog. I suspect everybody's here. Once again, my timing is perfect."

He began to scrape the meat scraps from his plate onto another and then reached for Castillo's plate.

"That animal of yours eats meat, right?"

"Yes, sir. He does."

When they went into house, Mrs. Bruce J. McNab was already feeding Max.

"Charley, he's adorable," she said. "And he really loves chocolate, doesn't he? That's his fourth Hershey bar."