Black Ops (Presidential Agent)

by W. E. B Griffin

  "Do me the courtesy of hearing me out," Montvale said.

  Castillo met his eyes, then shrugged, then leaned back in his armchair and relit his cigar. "I'm listening."

  "A board of medical officers convened at the Walter Reed Army Medical Center has examined your case and determined that the stress of your duties has rendered you psychologically unfit for active service, and therefore decided that you will be medically retired as of 1 February--"

  "What the hell!" Castillo said, sitting upright.

  Montvale held out his hand, palm out, as a Wait sign.

  "Hear me out," he repeated, then went on: "The degree of psychological damage you have suffered in the line of duty has been determined to be twenty-five percent. You will thus receive a disability pension of twenty-five percent of your base pay. There has been some talk that at your retirement ceremony you will be awarded the Distinguished Service Medal.

  "Turning to the retirement ceremony--at which Major Miller will also be medically retired and may be decorated with the Legion of Merit--it will be the regular monthly retirement ceremony at the Army Aviation Center, Fort Rucker, Alabama. At this time, it is currently planned that General Allan Naylor will preside.

  "Major Miller has been placed on terminal leave. You are also on terminal leave--or will be, as soon as you sign the papers Colonel Remley has brought with him.

  "I will be present at your retirement ceremony, as will Mr. C. Harry Whelan of The Washington Post, and DCI Powell. On the flight down, Mr. Powell will tell Mr. Whelan, in the strictest confidence, that there is absolutely nothing to the story Mrs. Davies has told him that you interfered with the CIA operation to turn Colonel Berezovsky and Lieutenant Colonel Alekseeva. And that the Russian defectors are--and always have been--in CIA hands.

  "If it seems to DCI Powell to be the appropriate thing to do--and as a proof of the high regard the CIA holds for Mr. Whelan, as a patriotic American--he will ask my permission to take Mr. Whelan, immediately on our return to Washington, to the CIA safe house in Maryland where Berezovsky and Alekseeva are being interrogated. I will, as proof of my own regard for Mr. Whelan's patriotism and high standing in journalism, grant my permission.

  "Mr. Whelan will thus have proof of what I told him the first time you got us in a mess like this, that Mrs. Davies is a disgruntled former CIA employee who doesn't know what she's talking about. You, rather than running some super-secret operation of the President, are in fact a distinguished warrior who has been pushed beyond his limits and were assigned to an innocuous little agency in the Department of Homeland Security while the psychiatrists and psychologists at Walter Reed tried to help you regain your mental stability. Lamentably, they failed, and Mr. Whelan will see you retired with flags flying, bands playing, and a new medal to add to your already impressive display."

  He paused and met Castillo's eyes as all that sank in.

  "Getting the picture, Castillo?"

  Castillo leaned back in his chair and puffed his cigar. "I've got it."

  "All you have to do now is sign the papers Colonel Remley has for you and get the Russians to the airport, and we can put this all behind us."

  Castillo pointed with his cigar to the secure telephone. "There's the phone. Call the President."

  "Why should I do that?"

  "Because he doesn't know about this. Does he?"

  Montvale shrugged, then confessed: "No. I want to protect him as much as possible from the mess you have caused."

  "You're going to present him with a fait accompli?"

  "That's the idea."

  "Bad idea," Castillo said. "Now, is it my turn to tell you what's not going to happen and what is--"

  "You don't have any choice here, Castillo, for Christ's sake!"

  "Wrong again."

  Montvale glowered at him but said nothing. He started to stand.

  "You want to hear me out?" Castillo asked.

  Montvale looked at him, then took his seat. "If you insist."

  Castillo puffed his cigar as he gathered his thoughts.

  He exhaled, then said: "First of all, the Russians are not going to get on your airplane to be flown to a CIA safe house in Maryland. I don't think I could talk them into that if I wanted to, and I don't. Second, I have no intention of signing anything Colonel Remley may have in his briefcase. That's the 'what's not going to happen' part of my scenario.

  "The second part, 'what is going to happen,' is that--with or without your help--I'm going to the Democratic Republic of the Congo to verify what I've been told is going on there."

  "You're out of your mind!"

  "And when I have proof of that, I'm going to take that factory out myself, and if I can't do that, lay the proof on the President's desk and tell him I did what I did because the CIA refused--again--to believe what I told them."

  "You know I can't permit you to do anything like that," Montvale said.

  "And you know you can't stop me," Castillo said. "So here is a possible compromise that should cover most of the bases:

  "First, we get Dick Miller on the first plane down here. I need somebody to help me fly the Gulfstream, as Colonel Torine and Captain Sparkman are going to return to Washington with you. Another proof for you to show your pal the journalist that I was not running OOA--Torine is a full-bird colonel; I'm a lowly lieutenant colonel.

  "Jack Doherty of the FBI is now in Vienna with Dave Yung. They are no longer needed there, as I have turned up another very reliable source of information vis-a-vis who assassinated the Kuhls and Friedler . . ."

  "Your new Russian friends, obviously," Montvale said sarcastically.

  ". . . and tried to kill Duffy and the Brittons. When all the t's are crossed and all the i's dotted, I will turn that information over to you.

  "I spoke with Doherty and Yung last night. Yung's resignation from the FBI will be in the mail this morning. So he will not be available to anyone, like Whelan, to be questioned.

  "Doherty, on the other hand, wants to return to the J. Edgar Hoover Building. So he's on his way to Washington, where, if Whelan finds him, he can tell Whelan that he was on temporary duty with the OOA, analyzing the operations of Homeland Security, had always worked for Torine, and knows almost nothing about me except that he heard I wasn't playing with a full deck.

  "Alex Darby and Edgar Delchamps are going to retire from the agency and won't be available. Jack Britton will resign from the Secret Service, as will Tony Santini; Whelan won't be able to find them, I don't think, and even if he does, will learn nothing from them."

  "Ambassador Silvio," Montvale said, "I put it to you that you've heard enough of this to fairly conclude that Lieutenant Colonel Castillo is not only as unstable as the doctors in Walter Reed have concluded but that he is threatening to do a number of things--which he is entirely capable of undertaking in his delusional state--that are not only illegal but which will almost certainly cause great embarrassment not only to the President personally but to the country, and that under these circumstances, it is your clear duty to help me get him on my airplane and to the United States, despite any promises you made to him not knowing the seriousness of his mental condition."

  "You sonofabitch!" Castillo said. "If I am held here against my will, much less forced to--"

  Ambassador Silvio made a gentle gesture with his hand, silencing Castillo. "Ambassador Montvale," Silvio began in a measured tone, "first let me say that I don't need you to point out my 'clear duty' to me. As ambassador, by law I am the senior American officer in Argentina. And let me be frank: As I've listened to the exchange between you and Colonel Castillo, and between Colonel Castillo and Mr. Powell, I wondered about my responsibilities in that regard in this matter.

  "When Colonel Castillo first came to Argentina, the President told me personally that Colonel Castillo was acting on his behalf and with his authority, and directed me to provide him with any assistance he required. Given that--"

  "You've heard this insanity!"

  "Pray let me continue,"
Silvio said. "Given that, Mr. Ambassador, I don't think you have the authority to force Colonel Castillo to go anywhere or do anything he doesn't want to do, absent a specific order from the President placing him under your authority. Quite the opposite, actually, I see it as my 'clear duty' to do whatever I can to assist him in carrying out his orders from the President and to prevent anyone from interfering with him."

  "His orders say nothing about abducting Russian defectors from the CIA," Montvale argued, "and certainly nothing about conducting any kind of an operation in the Congo."

  "Since what exactly his orders actually entail seems to be in question, it seems obvious that the only person who can clarify them is the President himself. Absent that clarification, I am not going to challenge Colonel Castillo."

  Montvale met his eyes for a long moment.

  He then said: "May I use your secure telephone again, Mr. Ambassador?"

  "To call the President?"

  "To call the President."

  "Certainly. But if that is your intention, I think I should tell you that when I speak with the President--and I will do so--I will tell him that Colonel Castillo is, in my judgment, in full possession of his extraordinary mental faculties, and that it seems to me that, motivated by your desire to spare the CIA and yourself embarrassment for losing the Russian defectors, what you and the DCI are trying to do--please forgive the colorful speech--is to throw Colonel Castillo under the bus."

  Montvale looked at him in angry disbelief.

  "I shall also tell him," Silvio went on, "that it is my judgment that if he goes along with you and orders Castillo to Washington, it will be some time--probably years--before the CIA will be able to locate the Russian defectors, much less get them to the United States. I will point out to the President that it took decades for Mossad, the Israeli intelligence service, as you know, to find Adolf Eichmann, who they knew was in Argentina, and wasn't until a couple of years ago that Erich Priebke, who gained infamy for his role in the Ardeatine Caves massacre outside Rome, could be brought to justice, even though he had been in Argentina since 1948 and owned a hotel in Bariloche."

  Montvale's face was white. Castillo wondered if the director of National Intelligence was going to lose control.

  He didn't.

  "Well, it seems our little chat is over, doesn't it, Castillo?" Montvale said.

  "Not quite, Mr. Montvale. I would like to know whether you are going to obstruct my operation in Africa, or provide what assistance I'll need to carry it out under my existing authority."

  Montvale contorted his face. "Why in hell would I do that?"

  "Because, if you give me the help I need, I give you my word that I will go along with your charade about my medical retirement, and even show up for my retirement parade."

  Montvale looked as if he didn't believe his ears.

  "You'll go along with that?" Montvale asked after he'd taken a moment to consider the ramifications. "Why?"

  "I'm as interested in protecting the President as you are. And after this the President would have to choose between us--and, self-evidently, you're far more valuable an asset than I am. I know when it's time to fold my tent."

  Montvale considered that, then nodded once. "I'll give you what you think you need."

  "I don't want the CIA, or anybody else, to know what I'm going to do. Understood?"

  "You have my word."

  "Before a witness," Ambassador Silvio put in.

  "It will take me a couple of hours to explain the situation to Colonel Torine and get him and Captain Sparkman to Jorge Newbery."

  "To where? Oh, the airport." He looked at his watch. "Okay. We'll be there."

  Without thinking about it, when Montvale looked at his watch, Castillo looked at his. Montvale saw it.

  "That looks like a brand-new stainless steel Rolex," the director of National Intelligence said.

  "Actually, it's white gold. A gift from a friend."

  Castillo, using his eyes, then asked for permission to use the secure telephone from Ambassador Silvio, who responded by handing him the handset.

  "Get State on here, please," Castillo said into it, "and get them to give me a secure line to Major Richard Miller at OOA in the Nebraska Avenue Complex."

  In the silence of the room, with Montvale's and Silvio's eyes on him, Castillo took a puff on his cigar while the telephone operator put the call through.

  "Dick? I'll call you back in an hour or so. But right now make plans to get yourself on a plane down here tonight. If there's any trouble with that, call the Presidential Flight and have them fly you down in one of their Gulfstreams. If there's any trouble about that, tell them Ambassador Montvale authorized it."

  Montvale rose from the couch and, without saying a word or looking at either Ambassador Silvio or Castillo, walked out of the ambassador's office.

  Castillo heard Montvale say, "Okay, Remley, we're through here."

  After Castillo broke off his call with Miller, he looked at Silvio.

  "Mr. Ambassador, I didn't realize that you'd wind up in the middle of that. I am indeed sorry. And of course very grateful, sir."

  "No reason for you to be sorry, Charley. Or grateful. I did what I thought it was my duty to do."

  XI

  [ONE]

  Nuestra Pequena Casa

  Mayerling Country Club

  Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

  1605 2 January 2006

  When Jack Davidson turned the embassy's BMW into Mayerling, the gendarmeria Mercedes-Benz SUV following them made a U-turn, then stopped and backed off the road into a position from which it could easily follow the BMW when it left the country club, no matter which way it turned when it came out.

  Seeing what the gendarmeria vehicle had done, Castillo realized that he was going to have to somehow dump his protective tail. As soon as he could, he wanted to join Svetlana at the Pilar Golf & Polo Country Club, and he didn't want the gendarmes to follow him there. They would attract unwanted attention.

  When they got to the safe house, Jack Britton, holding an Uzi along his leg, opened Castillo's car door and told them that "everybody" was out back by the quincho.

  "Everybody" turned out to be more than Castillo expected.

  When he walked up to the shaded verandah of the quincho, "everybody" was comfortably sprawled like passengers on a cruise ship in lines of teak deck chairs on the verandah and in teak chaise lounge chairs along one side of the pool.

  Susanna and Paul Sieno, Sandra Britton, Bob Kensington, and Dick Sparkman, all in bathing suits, were at the pool. Castillo knew that Paul Sieno had come from Asuncion while he had been in Bariloche. Jake Torine, Tony Santini, and Jack Britton, wearing slacks and polo shirts, were in deck chairs in the shade of the verandah. A garbage can full of iced-down beer was helping them deal with the heat, and a mound of jumbo-sized packages of pretzels and potato chips on a table was giving them sustenance.

  Castillo had not expected to see either Edgar Delchamps or Alex Darby, who were also on the verandah. They were wearing somewhat sweat-soaked dress shirts, and their suit jackets and the shoulder holsters they had worn under them were lying on the tiled floor beside their deck chairs.

  They're supposed to be with Berezovsky and his family at Pevsner's second safe house way the hell the other side of Pilar!

  Castillo's mouth went on automatic: "What the hell are you two doing here? Who's sitting on the Berezovskys?"

  Delchamps didn't like Castillo's tone, and his voice showed it when he replied.

  "In reply to the first question, Ace, we're sucking on a cerveza while waiting for you to tell us all about your chat with Montvale." He took a long pull on his Quilmes beer bottle to illustrate. "As for the second question, Polkovnik Berezovsky and his family are being sat upon by half a dozen heavily armed men working for our own Alfredo Munz, four of them Argentines and the other two former associates of the colonel."

  He paused, and when he saw by Castillo's expression that that information had re
gistered, then went on: "And when you have finished telling us what the ambassador had to say, Ace, we need to have a little chat ourselves."

  Max interrupted the exchange by making a quick run to a table between two of the deck chairs, delicately snatching a jumbo-sized package of potato chips in his mouth, then effortlessly jumping the fence around the swimming pool and trotting to the far side of the pool, away from the deck chairs, where he lay down with the bag between his paws. He tore the bag fully open, took a mouthful of chips, then more or less casually looked up at the humans to see if there was any objection to his action.

  "Max, you sonofabitch!" Castillo called.

  Max took this as permission to proceed--with haste--and dug his nose back into the bag.

  Castillo shook his head but couldn't help but smile.

  "To err on the side of caution, I think I had better deliver the bad news inside," Castillo said as he signaled the swimmers to join him.

  Everybody hoisted themselves out of the deck chairs and filed inside the quincho.

  "Gather 'round me, children," Castillo said after "everybody" had entered and he had hoisted himself to sit on the pool table. Everybody shifted chairs so that they formed a half circle facing him.

  "How did you know I was with Montvale?" Castillo asked, looking at Delchamps.

  "I called here right after Davidson had called saying you were on the way here, had just left Montvale, and wanted everybody here. Alex and I decided we could consider ourselves 'everybody.' "

  "And that it would be all right to leave the Berezovskys with those people?"

  "The only question in my mind, Ace, was whether the sitters would let us go. There were six of them and two of us. It finally took a call to Alfredo before they would."

  "You think they're still going to be there when you go back?"

  "You're not listening, Ace. There were six of them. Alex and I were outnumbered and outgunned. If Berezovsky wanted to leave, he would have left."

  "Interesting."