Leverette said, "Colonel Torine was kind enough to take pity on us when we met him in Montevideo and told him that unless he took us with him, we couldn't get here in less than seventy-two hours."
"He was weeping piteously," Torine said. "He said you needed him."
"To do what, Uncle Remus?" Castillo asked.
"To get you out of whatever trouble you're in," Leverette said.
"And your excuse, Two-Gun?" Castillo asked.
"I came to deliver this," Yung said, and handed Castillo a small package.
"What's this?"
"Two hundred thousand in used-therefore nonsequentially numbered-hundreds, fresh from the cashier's cage at the Venetian," Yung said. "When Casey told me you'd asked for the money, I told him to give it in cash to Jake. It would have been too easy to trace if it went into and out of your personal German account."
"I don't recall asking for volunteers," Castillo said.
"Oh, come on, Charley," Leverette said. "Come and let Uncle Remus give you a great big kiss."
"Screw you," Castillo said.
Moving with astonishing speed for his bulk, Leverette walked quickly to Castillo, wrapped his massive arms around him, which pinned Castillo's arms to his sides, and then proceeded to wetly kiss both of Castillo's cheeks and then his forehead.
Castillo saw that Pevsner was smiling.
That's a genuine smile.
Because Uncle Remus is kissing me?
Or because he's really happy to see the reinforcements?
Leverette finally turned Castillo free.
"Now," Leverette announced, "just as soon as I have a little something to cut the dust of the trail, we will see what Charley's problem is, and set about solving it. I already have the essential ingredient." He dug in his pocket and came out triumphantly with a small bottle. "Peychaud's bitters. I never leave home without it. I shall also require rye whisky-good rye whisky-some simple syrup, absinthe, lemons, ice, and a suitable vessel in which to assemble the above."
"I feel better already," Castillo said.
"What is he talking about?" Pevsner asked.
"A Sazerac," Castillo said.
"And what is a Sazerac?" Tom Barlow asked.
"Nectar of the gods," Leverette said. "God's reward to the worthy."
He examined the stock of intoxicants in the bar, finally coming up triumphantly with a bottle of Van Winkle Family Reserve rye in his left hand and a bottle of Wild Turkey rye in his right.
"These will do nicely, but I can't find any syrup, absinthe, or lemons. Presumably, there is room service?"
"Lester," Castillo ordered, "get on the horn and tell room service that Mr. Pevsner requires immediately what Uncle Remus just said."
"Yes, sir," Bradley said, and started for the telephone.
"You're all going to sit around and get drunk, is that the idea?" Pevsner asked unpleasantly. "We have a serious problem and-"
Leverette interrupted him. "Charley, I hate to tell you this, but I'm starting to dislike your Russian buddy. Again."
"Me, too," Edgar Delchamps said.
"Who do you think you're talking to?" Pevsner demanded angrily.
"Somebody who thinks he's Ivan the Terrible, Jr.?" Leverette asked innocently.
Castillo laughed, but even as he did, he realized that was not the wise thing to do.
"Not one more word from anybody!" Svetlana snapped. "Not one!"
Everyone looked at her in surprise.
Castillo and Leverette had much the same thought at the same moment, but Leverette was the first to say it out loud: "Be careful," he said in Russian. "Sweaty just put on her podpolkovnik's hat."
"You'd better be careful," Castillo said. "That's way over your word limit. What Podpolkovnik Alekseeva said was 'Not one more word.'"
"I said from anybody and that includes you," Svetlana snapped. "For God's sake, Charley, you're in command. Act like a commander!"
Everyone looked at Castillo to see what his reaction to that would be.
His first reaction was a sudden realization: This is getting out of control.
And the commander is in large measure responsible.
Sweaty's right about that.
His next reaction was: On the other hand, Sweaty should not have snapped at the commander like that, telling him to act like a commander.
One of the problems of having women subordinates is that one cannot jump all over their asses when they deserve it.
Especially when said female subordinate is sharing one's bed.
This sort of situation was not dealt with in Problems of Leadership 101 at West Point, nor anywhere else since I've been in the Army.
Correction: During the time I was in the Army.
So, what are you going to do now, General MacArthur, so that everyone can see you are in fact acting like you're in command?
Confidently in command.
There's a hell of a difference between being in command, and being confidently in command.
And those being commanded damned well know it.
You better think of something, and quick!
Colin Leverette came to his rescue.
"I know what," Leverette said. "Let's start all over."
"What?" Svetlana asked.
"No, Mr. Pevsner," Leverette went on, "we are not all going to sit around and get drunk. We're going to have one-possibly two-Sazerac cocktails, and then we're going to get down to business."
Pevsner didn't respond.
Castillo looked between them, and thought: I believe Uncle Remus just saved my ass.
What is that, for the two hundred and eleventh time?
"That was your cue, Mr. Pevsner," Delchamps said, "to say, 'I should not have said what I did. Please forgive me.'"
Pevsner looked at him incredulously.
"It's a question of command, Aleksandr," Tom Barlow said, his tone making it clear that now he was wearing his polkovnik's hat. "If Charley, the commander, doesn't object to something, you have no right to. Now, ask Uncle Remus to forgive your runaway mouth."
"You have just earned my permission, Podpolkovnik Berezovsky," Leverette said, "to call me Uncle Remus."
Now, everyone looked at Pevsner.
"Uncle Remus is waiting, Mr. Pevsner," Delchamps said after a long moment.
After another long moment, Pevsner smiled, and said, "If an apology for saying something I should not have said is the price for one of Mr. Leverette's cocktails, I happily pay it."
Castillo had another unpleasant series of rapid thoughts:
Well, Pevsner caved, and quicker than I thought he would.
Problem solved.
Wait a minute! Aleksandr Pevsner-unlike me-never says anything until he thinks it through.
He knew the apology meant he understood he can't question me.
But what about the first crack he made?
Was that an attempt to put himself in charge?
If we'd caved, that would have put him in a position to question-question hell, disapprove-of anything.
Alek, you sonofabitch!
His chain of thought was interrupted by the arrival of the butler-not a bellman; penthouses A and B shared the full-time services of an around-the-clock butler-bearing simple syrup, absinthe, a bowl of ice, a bowl of lemon twists, and a tray of old-fashioned glasses.
"The first thing we will do-actually, Lester will do," Leverette announced, "is fill the glasses with ice. This will chill them while I go through the rest of the process. Now, how many are we going to need?"
Everyone expressed the desire to have a Sazerac.
Leverette arranged all the old-fashioned glasses in two rows.
"You understand, Sweaty," he said, "that one of my Sazeracs has been known to turn a nun into a nymphomaniac?"
"I'll take my chances. Stop talking and make the damned drink."
"First, we muddle the syrup and the Peychaud bitters together," Leverette announced. "When I've done that, we will carefully measure three ounces of rye per drink and
a carefully measured amount of ice into the mixing vessel."
He picked up a champagne cooler, and quickly rinsed it in the sink of the wet bar.
"This will serve nicely as a mixing vessel," he said, and then demonstrated that his notion of a carefully measured three ounces of rye and ice per drink was to upend the bottle of Wild Turkey over the champagne cooler and empty it. He shook it to get the last drop, then repeated the process with the bottle of Van Winkle Family Reserve. He then added four handfuls of ice cubes.
He stirred the mixture around with one of the empty bottles.
"You'll notice that I did not shake, but rather stirred. I learned that from Double-Oh-Seven," he said, then looked at Bradley. "Lester, dump the ice."
Lester emptied into the sink the melting ice from all the glasses.
"I will now pour the absinthe, and Lester will swirl. I know he will do a good job of swirling because I taught him myself."
Leverette then picked up the bottle of absinthe, and ran it very quickly over the lines of glasses in one motion. This put perhaps a teaspoon of the absinthe in each glass.
Lester then picked up each glass, swirled the absinthe around, and then dumped the absinthe into the sink.
Leverette picked up the champagne cooler. Lester picked up a silver strainer and held it to the lip of the champagne cooler to hold back the ice cubes as Leverette poured the chilled liquid content of the cooler into the glasses.
"There is a slight excess," Leverette announced as he looked into the cooler. "Stick this in the fridge, Lester. 'Waste not, want not,' as my saintly mother was always saying."
Leverette then picked up handfuls of the lemon twists and squeezed them in his massive hands, which added not more than two drops of the essence into each glass.
"Finished!" he announced triumphantly.
He handed one to Castillo and another to Pevsner. He handed a third to Sweaty, and took a fourth with him as he walked to the couch.
He raised his glass to Pevsner, took an appreciative sip, and then asked, "And what do you think, Mr. Pevsner?"
Pevsner sipped his cocktail.
"Unusual," Pevsner said. "But very good."
"I will pretend that I don't know the only reason you said that is because you knew I would tear off both of your arms and one leg if you hadn't, and will accept that as a compliment."
"You're insane," Pevsner said with a smile.
"Genius is often mistakenly identified as insanity," Leverette said. "I'm surprised you didn't know that. Now, shall we deal with our problem?"
He came to attention, gestured at Castillo, and gave the Nazi salute.
"Mein Fuhrer, you have the floor."
Pevsner's eyes rolled in disbelief.
Castillo rose from his chair, walked to the bar, and leaned his back against it.
"Two-Gun," he began, "I think you'd better take notes."
Yung gave him a thumbs-up, then reached for his laptop computer.
"To bring everybody up to speed," Castillo began, "let's start with what we do know. First, somebody sent Colonel Hamilton a barrel of Congo-X. Then, in Budapest, Colonel Vladlen Solomatin of the Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki handed Eric Kocian a letter asking him to get it to Tom Barlow. The letter said, in essence, 'Come home. All is forgiven.' I think it's likely the two actions are related."
"About as likely as the sun will come up tomorrow," Svetlana said.
She waited for a chuckle. When she didn't get one, she looked at Castillo.
"We won't know," Castillo said, "about the sun rising until tomorrow morning, will we, Svet? Until then, it's just likely that it will. And the way this works, Svet, is that no one offers an opinion, clever or otherwise, until I ask for it. Got it?"
Her face colored and her eyes flared angrily, but she didn't reply.
Well, Commander Casanova, guess who's not going to get laid tonight?
Castillo took a sip of his drink, then went on: "Let's start with the Congo-X. Where did it come from? That raises the question, 'Did we destroy it all in the attacks on the Fish Farm or not?' Colin?"
"Sir, I respectfully suggest Colonel Torine can answer that better than I can," Leverette said.
"Jake?" Castillo asked.
Torine nodded. "Charley, you know as well as I do, except for nukes, there is no such thing as total destruction of anything by high explosive or incendiary saturation bombing. The question then becomes: 'How much was not destroyed? ' And I suggest Colin can answer that better than I can. He (a) was there, and (b) he's done a lot of damage assessment."
Castillo motioned with his hand toward Leverette.
"The Fish Farm was a collection of concrete block buildings, none of them over three stories, most of them just one," Leverette said. "The few I got into had basements, and I saw a half-dozen buried and half-buried steel-door revetments-like ammo bunkers. Let's say the bombs and the incendiaries took out ninety-five percent of everything."
"Jake?" Castillo said.
Torine nodded his agreement. "Leaving five percent," he said.
"Until we run into a stone wall, let's try this scenario," Castillo said. "Five percent of the Congo-X in barrels survived the bombing. Let's say that's six barrels. Two of them got to the States. How and by what means? Tom?"
"I'm sure one of the first things Sirinov did after the bombing-"
Alex Darby interrupted: "General Yakov Sirinov, who runs the SVR for Putin?"
Barlow nodded, and went on: "What he did was send in a Vympel Spetsnaz team for damage assessment and to see if anyone was still alive."
Castillo said, "Can we presume (a) the Spetsnaz made it into the Fish Farm, and (b) while they were there found-more important, took control of-the six barrels of Congo-X?"
"If Tom is talking about Spetsgruppa V," Leverette said, and looked at Barlow.
Barlow nodded. He said, "Also known as the Vega Group of KGB Directorate B."
"The Russian Delta Force, Charley," Leverette said. "They're damned good."
"It is because they are so good that they were selected to provide security for the Congo operation," Barlow said. "I was surprised that you didn't encounter at least one or two of them, Uncle Remus, when you were there."
Leverette met his eyes for a moment.
"Quickly changing the subject," Leverette said, making it clear there had been a confrontation with at least one or two Spetsnaz special operators and that they had lost. "So they found the six barrels of Congo-X. What did they do with it?"
"This is conjecture," Barlow said, "based on my knowledge of how Sirinov's mind works. The Spetsnaz were parachuted onto the site from a great height, probably from a specially adapted Ilyushin Il-96 passenger transport on a flight path duly reported to aviation authorities. The parachutists would not have opened their canopies until they were quite close to the ground, so they would appear only momentarily, if at all, on radar screens."
"That's what we call HALO," Castillo said. "High-altitude, low opening."
"Copyright, Billy Waugh," Leverette said.
Castillo, Torine, and Peg-Leg Lorimer chuckled or smiled or both.
"Excuse me?" Barlow said.
"The first guy to do that was Billy Waugh, a friend of ours," Leverette explained.
Castillo said, "Okay, back to the question of now that Spetsnaz has six beer barrels full of Congo-X, what do they do with it?"
"They would have to truck it out," Barlow said. "But since-using Uncle Remus's ninety-five percent destruction factor-there would be no trucks, at least not as many as would be needed, left at the Fish Farm, I don't know how they could have done that."
"They leave the Fish Farm area and steal some trucks," Castillo said. "And then truck it out. But where to?"
"Any field where a Tupolev Tu-934A can get in," Jake Torine said. "And that wouldn't have to be much of a field."
"You know about the Tu-934, Jake?" Tom asked.
"I've never seen one but, oh yeah, I know about it," Torine said.
"I don't," Castillo
said.
"Ugly bird," Torine said. "Can carry about as much as a Caribou. Cruises at about Mach point nine. Helluva range, midair refuelable, and it's state-of-the-Russian-art stealth. And it can land and take off from a polo field. The story I get is that the agency will pay a hundred twenty-five million for one of them."
"You do know about it," Barlow said, raising his drink in a toast, demonstrating he was clearly impressed.
Torine returned the gesture, and they both sipped their Sazeracs.
"Okay, picking up the scenario," Castillo said. "The Spetsnaz load their six barrels of Congo-X onto their stolen trucks and drive it to some dirt runway in the middle of Africa, and then load it and themselves onto this… what was it?"
"Tupolev Tu-934A," Torine furnished.
"… which then takes off and flies at Mach point nine to where? To Russia?" Castillo pursued.
"No. They don't want Congo-X in Russia. They know how dangerous it is," Svetlana said. "They remember Chernobyl. That's why the Fish Farm was in the Congo."
"Could this airplane make it across the Atlantic?"
"Sure. With an en-route refueling, it could fly anywhere," Torine said.
"Where's anywhere? Cuba? Mexico?"
"Distance-wise, sure," Barlow said. "But politically…"
"They'd spot it on radar, right?" Castillo said.
"Charley, it has stealth technology," Torine said. "And even if it didn't, it could fly under the radar."
"So why not Cuba, Tom?" Castillo asked.
"The Castro brothers would be too expensive," Barlow said. "Both in terms of cash and letting them in on the secret. More the latter. Sirinov doesn't like to be obligated to anybody."
"Then right into Mexico," Edgar Delchamps said. "Getting it across the border into the States would be easy."
"I think we could say getting it across the border was easy," Castillo said. "But I have a gut feeling Mexico is not-was not-the final stop."
Alex Darby then said, "Drop off the Congo-X and enough people to get two barrels of this stuff into the States via Mexico, then fly the rest of it on to… where?"
"Venezuela," Delchamps suggested. "Hugo Chavez is in love with Communism, and has yet to be burned by the Russians, as the Castros were burned. And, God knows, Fat Little Hugo is no rocket scientist. Sirinov could easily have put him in his pocket."
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