The Argentine Triangle: A Craig Page Thriller

by Allan Topol

  His face was twisted in a horrible mask of anger that provoked an expression of shock and terror on hers.

  “Where are you meeting him when you leave here?” Estrada demanded to know.

  Unwilling to lie again, she looked down at her feet and remained silent.

  “I’m willing to forgive you for everything you’ve done so far,” he said. “I’ll consider it an unfortunate error induced by young love.”

  His words gave her a tiny basis for hope that she might be able to extricate herself from this situation. She watched him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. To hear what he was offering.

  “In return,” he said, slowly so she didn’t miss a word, “I want you to go to your meeting with Craig tonight. Tell him that the device fell off before you got to our meeting. So you discarded it. When we spoke, I explained to you that he was wrong in thinking that last week’s attack was bogus or that a large attack would be coming. I will have people following you to make certain you do what I’m asking. Do you understand?”

  When she still didn’t respond, he grabbed her by both shoulders and shook her violently. “What the hell’s wrong with you, girl? Are you crazy?”

  It was all too much for her. Totally out of her element, despite her effort at self-control, she began crying.

  “At least tell me where and when you’re meeting him,” Estrada screamed at her. “We’ll kill him and let you live.”

  The implication was that if she didn’t tell, she would die. She thought about the documents in the folder Craig had given her at Nicole’s and she refused to betray him.

  “If your father ever had any idea that you became a traitor to our country … Well I hate to think of that. It’s good that our hero Miguel Galindo rests in peace.”

  If Estrada thought evoking her father’s name would make her yield, he was mistaken. It had the opposite effect. She recovered her composure and fortified her resolve.

  “My father was no hero. I know now what he did. What you did with him. You were a bunch of murderers and kidnappers.”

  With the back of his hand, Estrada lashed out and smacked the side of her face, knocking her to the ground.

  “He’s been feeding you lies,” Estrada shouted with saliva coming out of his mouth.

  The pain on her face was sharp. Still she raised her voice to respond. “I saw documents from the time.”

  “All American lies.”

  “Documents generated here. Orders signed by my father.”

  “I’ve treated you like my own daughter all these years. In return, you betray me. And you betray his memory. You’re both pathetic and contemptible. And do you know what else?”

  She looked up at him, fearful of what he planned to do with her.

  Estrada continued, “Your American friend has done me a big favor, tipping his hand by sending you. We’ll advance the attack. The Americans will never be able to stop us.”

  He called in Schiller. “Have the pilot fuel up my plane. We’re going back to Iguazu. Right now. From the air, we’ll notify the generals. We’ll launch our attack several hours earlier. Before the Americans have a chance to move their satellites into place.”

  “I’ll notify the pilot right now.”

  “Good. I had planned to remain in Buenos Aires when we attacked and keep the city under control. With the American CIA so close on our tail, everything could become much more complicated. You and I better stay up there for the next twelve hours.”

  Schiller nodded his agreement. “What do we do about her?” he said pointing toward Gina. His tone suggested that he wanted to dispose of her as he would a piece of garbage.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” Estrada replied. “For now, we’ll take her with us. Put her in one of those cells on the second floor of the castle. If the American is as hooked on her as she is on him, she could be valuable in a barter.”

  Middleburg, Virginia

  Bryce realized something was wrong as soon as he saw Treadwell.

  The presidential party arrived at Bryce’s country house at seven thirty in the evening. From the flagstone veranda, Bryce watched the two choppers descend from the dark sky and land on the broad expanse of grassy field covered with leaves in beautiful fall colors.

  Bryce saw a weary looking Treadwell climb down the stairs followed by two Secret Service agents. Behind them came Amy, carrying a heavy briefcase, the collar of her fur coat pulled tightly against her neck to brace against the cold. Bryce was struck by how young she looked compared with the president. Then he thought about Gina and put that out of his mind.

  From the second helicopter, Dr. Deborah Lee emerged with a military aide and three more Secret Service agents. Roaring up the road and through the gate that marked the entrance to Chesterfield were two more cars loaded with Secret Service. Bryce had arranged plenty of food for the entire crowd. His plan was to set out dinner for the Secret Service in a small guest house in back of the main house. That house was also equipped with a large-screen television set where those members of the security detail who weren’t on duty guarding the house could relax at the same time Bryce had dinner in the main house with Treadwell, Amy, and Dr. Lee.

  Bryce was bewildered as he watched the president walking along the lawn, brightly lit by floodlights, toward the house. Treadwell should have been smiling. He was beginning an overnight in the country with his mistress, away from the pressure and fishbowl atmosphere of the White House. Instead, what Bryce saw was tension written all over the craggy face of his old friend.

  Whatever had happened to upset Treadwell, Bryce was determined to change it. “Dinner in an hour,” he announced cheerfully. “Cocktails and local oysters in the study, whenever our distinguished president, Amy, and Dr. Lee can join me.”

  Treadwell brushed the logistics aside. “You and I have to talk,” the president said in a stern voice. “Right now.”

  When he was alone in the study with Treadwell, the door closed and they each had a Johnny Walker blue label on the rocks, Bryce said, “What happened? Tough day at the office?”

  Treadwell walked toward the crackling fire, put his drink down, and turned toward Bryce. “Betty Richards came to see me.”

  Uh-oh, Bryce thought. Now that he knew she had Craig working for her, he was expecting the worst. Still, as an experienced trial lawyer, he believed in going on the attack to overcome adverse evidence. “What’d the old biddy want?”

  “She’s had Craig Page in Argentina undercover. Apparently, he had extensive plastic surgery after I fired him as CIA director. He was racing cars in Italy when she recruited him. Craig’s learned—”

  Bryce cut him off. “That’s outrageous. She never told us that she sent Craig down there in all of the meetings we had about the situation in Argentina. It’s underhanded, deceitful, and duplicitous. I hope you told her that.”

  “Actually, I was thinking that initially. But I had to listen to her because she made a powerful case that Estrada totally duped you and our delegation. She said that the Brazilian attack was phony. It was just a show to justify a larger attack that could come at any time—the way the Nazis did in Poland.”

  “That’s ridiculous. It’s—”

  Treadwell raised his hand. “Hal West corroborated her account. You never brought me the information he learned from the Brazilian military. Even though you told him you would.”

  All of the color drained from Bryce’s face.

  “On top of all of that,” Treadwell continued, “Betty told me that you’ve been feeding information to that Argentine girl. What’s her name?”

  “Gina Galindo.”

  “Yes, Gina. She’s been passing it right back to Estrada. That’s what’s eating me up inside.” His voice was cracking with emotion. “You’re my oldest and closest friend. You’ve made a fool out of me with the Brazilian president. How… how … how …” he stammered, sounding distraught. “How could you have done this? It’s outrageous. It’s horrible.”

  Bryce’s face grew beet red. “I can’t
believe Betty made up a story …”

  Treadwell raised his hand. “Don’t you lie to me,” he said raising his voice.

  “I wasn’t lying. I was …”

  “She gave me transcripts of conversations between you and that girl. In her bedroom and on the phone. They’re in the briefcase Amy has. You can read them.”

  Bryce knew he had been caught red-handed. He slumped down in a chair. Trying to argue that the transcripts were phony was futile and would outrage Treadwell further. He didn’t dare do that. Ditto for reminding Treadwell that recording in that manner was illegal.

  Bryce thought he saw a way to dig himself out of this mess. “I suspected all along,” he said softly, “that Gina was working for Estrada. I was extremely careful in what I told her. Only facts that reflected policies you decided on that would have reached Estrada in any event, such as your decision to sell certain weapons to Argentina.”

  “You should have told me about all of this,” Treadwell protested. “I even had that girl to the White House. Not a good thing to do for an agent of a foreign government, who I’ll bet never even registered.”

  “You’re right. I should have,” Bryce said, sounding contrite. “I’m sorry for that.”

  When Treadwell didn’t respond, Bryce thought he had won a reprieve. He tried deftly to change the subject. “Personally, I doubt that Betty was right about the Brazilian attack being bogus. If—”

  Treadwell cut him off.

  “I told Betty, and I want you to understand that the last decision we reached on nonintervention was only applicable if Brazil attacks first. I told her, and I told the presidents of Brazil and Argentina in phone calls, with Betty still in my office, that if Argentina attacks first, we will come to the assistance of Brazil militarily, if that’s what they ask. I’ve told General Forbes to focus satellite surveillance on the area. Also, to move our Air Force planes to nearby locations. I told him to let me know if Argentina attacks first and Brazil wants our help. In that situation, I would be willing to use American planes in support of Brazil.”

  Bryce realized he could never recover his position of trust with Treadwell. When this was over, the best future for him would be in Argentina where he could live, not only as Gina’s husband, but as a key adviser on world affairs to Estrada, who was certain to become president. That thought led him to defend Estrada. “I would like to review the evidence Betty and West relied upon for their conclusion that the Brazilian attack was bogus. It may be that they made an honest mistake in assessing intelligence information. It won’t be the first time the CIA has done that.”

  Treadwell shook his head vigorously from side to side. “We have a long night here together. I intend to weigh carefully what you’ve just said before I decide what this means for our relationship and your involvement in my presidency. Perhaps, I should turn this over to the attorney general to determine if there’s cause for prosecution, or perhaps I should accept your explanation and overlook it. I’ll let you know about that in the morning, but …”

  The veins were protruding on Treadwell’s neck. His breath was coming in short spurts. He paused for a second; then he continued. “But regardless, you will be recused from any issues relating to Argentina in any way. Do you understand that?”

  Feeling relief that Treadwell, at least for now, was not pursuing a criminal prosecution, Bryce responded in a conciliatory manner. “I do,” he said softly.

  “That means you will not have anything to do with matters concerning Argentina.”

  Bryce was tempted to respond, “You don’t have to define the word recusal for me. I was near the top of my Harvard Law School class.” But he bit his tongue.

  “I understand, Mr. President. Now let’s get the others for cocktails and dinner.”

  Once Treadwell, Bryce, Amy, and Dr. Lee filed into the dining room, Bryce’s chef, Jean Pierre, took over. Cooking for the president of the United States, he had spared no effort in the preparation. A variety of hot hors d’oeuvres were followed by cold salmon mousse. The main course was roast pheasant, followed by salad and then a flourless chocolate torte in the shape of the White House.

  Jean Pierre’s efforts were wasted. The group ate in a tense, grim silence, matching the president’s mood. Intermittent conversation was strained. Dr. Lee and Amy looked perplexed. Bryce made no effort at levity.

  After dinner, Bryce suggested a game of billiards downstairs, hoping that might lighten Treadwell’s mood. In response, the president announced, “Amy and I are going upstairs to work on that economic speech.” He turned toward Bryce and added, “And don’t you call Gina Galindo or anyone else about what we discussed. I don’t want you to have anything more to do with the Argentine-Brazilian dispute.”

  Bryce watched in dismay as Treadwell trudged up the stairs slowly with Amy two steps behind.

  Buenos Aires

  It was eleven thirty and El Bodegon was filling up. Seated alone in a dark and dingy booth with the single beer he had ordered hours ago, Craig listened to the melancholy tune with despair. It described two lonely people, star-crossed lovers, helpless to deal with powerful forces in the world. The song had been written during the Dirty War and played surreptitiously while it raged.

  A flaming redhead in her forties, Craig guessed, with an hourglass figure came over, wanting him to tango with her. She held out a hand and swayed her torso with the rhythm. Craig shook his head, and she drifted away.

  He asked the proprietor behind the bar for the umpteenth time whether he had a call for a man named Barry Gorman. The gray-haired man with a thick, bushy beard looked at Craig with a kindly expression and said, “Not yet, but I’m sure she’ll call soon.”

  Back in the booth, he glanced at his cell phone one more time. It was fully charged. There were no messages. He willed it to ring, but it remained as silent as a monument in a cemetery.

  Distraught and desperate with worry about Gina, he watched the hands of his watch slowly advance toward midnight. Then he made his move.

  Using his cell phone to make calls was risky, but he was at the point where he had to take chances. He called Nicole.

  “She never came to El Bodegon,” he whispered into the phone. “Did she call you?”

  “I haven’t heard a word.”

  “Estrada must have gotten suspicious and arrested her. But how could he?” As he said the words, Craig was racking his brain for answers. His plan had been so good. The script perfect. The only possibility was that Schiller had learned his true identity and told Estrada. Bryce had been suspicious, but Bryce would have railed at Betty if he had found out. All that was irrelevant. What mattered now was that Schiller and Estrada had Gina in their clutches and were doing God only knew what with her.

  “You won’t want to hear this,” Nicole told Craig, “but Estrada could have persuaded her to tell him everything you’re doing.”

  “You can’t be serious. You were there when we worked with her. She was determined to get what we wanted.”

  “She’s also young and impressionable. Untrained to do something like this. A genuine patriot. Believes in her country. Estrada was like a father to her. You spent time with him. He’s charismatic.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Craig said the words, but they were lacking conviction. “I’m tired of speculating. I intend to get some answers.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “On the chance that somebody might be listening in, he refused to tell her. “Stick by the phone. I’ll call you.”

  He paid the proprietor generously for using the booth all evening. Then left El Bodegon.

  Out on the street, he raised his hand for a cab. In an instant, three of the little black and yellow cars pulled over. Craig took the second one and told the driver to take him to an intersection two blocks from the Ministry of Defense.

  When the cab stopped, he climbed out and looked around nervously. No sign of anyone watching him. He took a long circuitous route to cover the two blocks, satisfying himself there was no su
rveillance.

  The dusky, gray, stone building, in need of a cleaning, looked even more dark and gloomy from the outside. Craig remembered the corner location of Estrada’s office on the third floor. From the street, there were no lights visible in that suite.

  Badly in need of a weapon, he was now sorry he hadn’t asked Betty to bring a gun for him when she came out to California.

  He opened one of the thick glass double doors and walked inside the dimly lit lobby. A single man was sitting behind the wooden counter—a soldier whom Craig remembered being there the one time he had visited Estrada in the building. The man who had asked for his ID and had been firm but professional in directing him to sign the visitor’s log.

  With confidence, he strode up to the reception counter.

  “I’m Barry Gorman,” he said. “I’m sure you remember. I was here about ten days ago to meet General Estrada.”

  The man nodded mechanically. His face was a blank. Craig couldn’t tell if he remembered.

  “The general’s not here,” the soldier said.

  That was a start, Craig thought. Now he needed the rest of the information.

  “I’m aware of that,” he said calmly. “But General Estrada told me that he would leave a note at the desk authorizing you or whoever was on duty to take me up to his office so I could retrieve some important papers I need for a meeting with him tomorrow.”

  The soldier stared at Craig with a bewildered expression, but remained silent. He’ll never take a chance on letting me up, Craig decided.

  Peering over the counter, Craig saw that the soldier was seated at a desk with three drawers on each side. “Perhaps someone left the note in one of those drawers,” he said pointing.

  The soldier began opening the drawers and searching inside. Intent on what he was doing, he never noticed Craig swiftly cut around the desk and swing up behind him.

  Craig took one step forward and looped his right arm around the soldier’s neck. He pressed his powerful right forearm against the man’s throat and yanked back.