The outlaws pa-6

by W. E. B Griffin

  "And the Russians?"

  "Actually, one of the Russians has expressed an interest in meeting you, Roscoe."

  "Where is Castillo, Two-Gun?"

  "You will learn that later."

  "And if I say no?"

  "Then we shall regretfully have to stuff you in the trunk of your car. And by the time Gerry hears your piteous cries for help-and finally figures out where they're coming from-Alex and I will have folded our tent and disappeared."

  Goddamn it! I'm smiling again.

  "Okay. Give me ten minutes to throw some things in a bag and grab my laptop."

  "No. If we're going, it has to be right now."

  "Why?"

  "There's about one chance in ten that Alex and I were not as successful as we believe we were in eluding the Secret Service guys surveilling our house, which raises the possibility that there may be some of them outside."

  "What makes you think they won't see, follow, stop, whatever, us when you and I leave?"

  "Because just before we leave, Alex is going to leave the garage as if Satan himself is in hot pursuit. If there are no Secret Service agents waiting for him outside, fine. If there are, Alex will lead them on a tour of the scenic spots of our nation's capital while you and I make our leisurely way to BaltimoreWashington International."

  "And Harry Whelan won't be involved, right?"

  "I was afraid you would ask that."

  "Meaning he will be?"

  "Meaning he will be offered the same opportunity."

  "Can I cut his throat?"

  "When you come back, you can do anything you want to."

  "I haven't a clue why I'm going along with this," Roscoe J. Danton said as he put the key in the car door. [ONE] Office of the Director The Central Intelligence Agency Langley, Virginia 0930 10 February 2007 J. Stanley Waters, the CIA's deputy director for operations, stood looking over the shoulder of DCI John Powell at the screen of a laptop computer. The screen showed an arrow positioned over a map of Budapest, Hungary. A box beside the arrow held the legend HOTEL GELLERT, SZENT GELLERT TER 1 and the local date and time.

  "There is our friend Castillo right now," the DCI said.

  "What's he doing in the Hotel Gellert in Budapest?" Waters asked.

  "Does it matter? Just as long as the case officers know where to find him when they get there."

  "It would have been easier, and maybe quicker, to send the plane from Tampa. We know the guys on the plane are good, know the score, and if we had sent it over there the moment we saw he was headed for Europe, they would be there, or almost there, now."

  "So you've been saying, five or six times," the DCI said.

  "I stand chastised."

  "And well you should," the DCI said, only half-jokingly.

  When enough time for that to have sunk in had passed, the DCI went on: "And what you can do with this software, Stan-that Casey is really a fucking genius-is program a time lapse into it. Like this."

  He tapped a few keys. The map changed and now showed a map covering the world from near Acapulco to Budapest.

  "This arrow is when Castillo started to move from Grandma's house," the DCI said. "That was at sixteen-thirty Acapulco time yesterday. I'll set this thing to show us where he was by the hour."

  He tapped keys.

  "There it is…"

  A series of arrows appeared on a line from Acapulco to Budapest.

  "Unfortunately, there was a cloud cover, so we couldn't get a very good picture of what's moving. But enough to categorize it as a small jet. One hour later…"

  He used his finger as a pointer.

  "… it was almost halfway to Cancun, and two hours later, it was almost in Cancun, telling us it was making about three hundred thirty knots, which suggests that he's flying the family Lear, which makes sense, as we know the Gulfstream III is in Panama City, Panama.

  "An hour after that, having taken on fuel in Cancun, he was about two hundred miles on his way to Panama City… Watch the arrow jump, Stan. Another hour, another three hundred forty nautical miles, and then another, et cetera, until he reaches Panama City, Panama.

  "And there Castillo sat for almost three hours until he boarded Varig Flight 2030 for Madrid."

  "Jack, for Christ's sake, you're like a kid with your goddamn computer!"

  "Indulge me," the DCI said. "And there he is in Madrid."

  "Goddamn it, Jack!"

  "And finally, courtesy of Lufthansa, there he is in Budapest."

  "What do you think he did with his airplane in Panama City?"

  "No telling. We should know by the morning when we get the satellite imagery. It could be sitting on the tarmac there, or that Air Force guy, Torine, could have flown it somewhere. I never understood how that worked. Torine was a pretty senior full colonel, and our boy a very junior lieutenant colonel. So how come Torine works for Castillo?"

  "I have no idea. What are you going to do with Lammelle?"

  "What do you mean, do with him?"

  "You are going to tell him that Castillo is in Budapest?"

  "I could tell Frank, but he would have to tell General Naylor, and General Naylor would naturally want to know how Lammelle, or the CIA, knows where Castillo is. The truthful answer to that would be that, courtesy of Aloysius Francis Casey, those people in Las Vegas are tracking Colonel Castillo through a GPS transmitter in his laptop. And we don't want to reveal that, do we?"

  "So Frank just sits at MacDill?"

  "Unless McNab thinks he has found Castillo, and they all rush off to the wrong place to put them in the bag. You wouldn't believe, Stan, how low our director of National Intelligence has sunk in the President's esteem as a result of his wild-goose chase in Argentina. It would be unfortunate if Lammelle came to be known as a Wild-Goose Chaser in the mold of Ambassador Montvale, but that's the way the ball just might bounce. If that should happen, of course, it would tend to eliminate Frank as a replacement for me when Clendennen gives Montvale the boot and I become the DNI. I would recommend you to replace me if it were not for your unfortunate tendency to mock my interest in Casey's electronic toys."

  "I can reform, Jack."

  "You had fucking well better, Stan." [TWO] Office of the Commanding General United States Army Central Command MacDill Air Force Base Tampa, Florida 1605 10 February 2007 "Vic needs a minute, General," Command Sergeant Major Wes Suggins said from McNab's door.

  Naylor did not like the rapport that had developed almost immediately between his sergeant major and D'Allessando, but he both understood it-Sergeants major are in fact the backbone of the Army and that's especially true with men like these two, who function at the highest levels of the service-and he knew that he couldn't warn Suggins against D'Allessando, who was in fact at this moment not a trusted member of the team but the enemy.

  He motioned for Suggins to admit D'Allessando, and called, "Come on in, Vic."

  "Afternoon, General," D'Allessando said. "Call for you."

  He handed Naylor what looked like a BlackBerry but was in fact a CaseyBerry.

  Naylor took it.

  "General Naylor."

  "General McNab, General. And how are things on beautiful Tampa Bay this afternoon?"

  The sonofabitch has this thing on LOUDSPEAKER.

  And I will be damned if I will give him the satisfaction of knowing I don't know how to turn it off.

  "I've been wondering when we were going to hear from you, General," Naylor said.

  "I can understand that, General."

  "I'm a little surprised you didn't call on a secure line."

  "This is about as secure a line as you can get, actually."

  "Have you found what you're looking for?"

  "I'm always looking for peace, love, and affluence, but I suspect you're asking, 'Did you find Charley?'"

  D'Allessando chuckled.

  Don't let either of these bastards make you lose your temper!

  "And did you?"

  "I managed to have a chat with him."

  "And?
Where is he?"

  "He didn't say. But he's agreeable to talk with you, if you like, as an old friend."

  "Right now, General, we're not old friends, but a general officer and a lieutenant colonel."

  "Oh, I guess I misspoke. Or at least should have made this clear. I spoke with a German national by the name of Karl Wilhelm von und zu Gossinger. During the course of our conversation, he said he was surprised that I didn't know that Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, Retired, having been ordered by the President of the United States to disappear and never be heard from again, was in compliance with his orders."

  "General, the President of the United States has ordered me to order Colonel Castillo-"

  "General, how can you order someone to do anything who has disappeared and will never be heard from again?"

  D'Allessando chuckled again and smiled at Naylor.

  "Something amuses you, D'Allessando?" Naylor snapped.

  "Looks like you have a problem, General," D'Allessando said.

  "Get the hell out of my office!"

  "Yes, sir," D'Allessando said, and put out his hand. "May I have my CaseyBerry, please?"

  You sonofabitch, that's going to cost you!

  "What Herr von und zu Gossinger said he is willing to do, General," McNab went on, "is meet you in Cancun tomorrow morning."

  "Cancun, Mexico?" Naylor asked incredulously.

  "That's the one. And he wants you to fly there commercially. There's an Aeromexico flight out of Lauderdale tonight at seventeen-thirty; it'll put you in there a little after oh-one-thirty. They call it the Drug Dealer's Red-Eye. He says it probably would attract less attention if you didn't wear your uniform…"

  Sonofabitch!!!

  "… and he hopes you and your party will be his guests at El Dorado Royale in Cancun. People from El Dorado Royale-it's a five-star hotel-will meet your flight. How many will there be in your party, General?"

  "That would presume I'm going along with this, wouldn't it?"

  "Excuse me, General?"

  "Myself, Mr. Lammelle, Major Brewer, and, I presume, Mr. D'Allessando. And my son."

  "Oh, Allan's coming? Good. I'm sure Herr von und zu Gossinger will be glad to see him. And it'll be educational for him, won't it?"

  "Is that about it?"

  "General, I think I should tell you that I don't think Char… Herr von und zu Gossinger is going to be in Cancun. I don't think he entirely trusts Frank Lammelle. But it's the first step. And we are playing by his rules, aren't we?"

  "For the moment," Naylor said.

  "Your tickets will be waiting for you at the airport. First class, of course. There's nothing cheap about our… Herr von und zu Gossinger, is there? Nice to talk to you, General."

  There was a muted click and General Naylor realized that General McNab was no longer on the line. [THREE] Office of the Director The Central Intelligence Agency Langley, Virginia 1625 10 February 2007 "What are you going to do, Frank? Send the Gulfstream down to Cancun ahead of you?" Jack Powell asked.

  "No. I think what I'll do is move it to the Lauderdale airport now, and then have it follow the Aeromexico flight once they're sure we're actually on it. Castillo may be up to something clever, like actually being in Disney World, or someplace, and this whole Mexican thing may be a diversion."

  "Well, wherever you go, the people in the Gulfstream will know. Keep me posted, Frank."

  The director of the Central Intelligence Agency hung up.

  "Have a nice wild-goose chase, Frank," he said aloud, although there was no one to hear him.

  Then he said, slowly, savoring each syllable, "John J. Powell, the director of National Intelligence."

  He thought it had a certain ring to it, a certain je ne sais quoi. [FOUR] Room B-120 El Dorado Royale Spa Resort Kilometer Forty-five, Carretera Cancun-Tulum Riviera Maya Quintana Roo, Mexico 0230 11 February 2007 Vic D'Allessando had almost wished, as he crawled across the floor of Frank Lammelle's room toward the bed, that the sonofabitch would wake up. He would have loved an excuse to pop the bastard with one of the darts in the Glock-like air pistol he held in his hand.

  But luck-at least, that kind of luck-had not been with him.

  Frank Lammelle hadn't stirred as D'Allessando first pried the heels off Lammelle's shoes, removed the GPS transmitter from the right heel, and then replaced both. Not even when D'Allessando had grunted with the effort.

  Neither had he stirred when D'Allessando went into Lammelle's briefcase, found Lammelle's Glock-like dart gun, removed the gas cylinder from the stock, and replaced it with a gas cylinder he had exhausted earlier shooting darts at the pineapple atop the tray of fruit that the El Dorado management had sent to his room as a welcoming gift.

  Once he was back in his room, one floor up and directly above B-120-it might have been necessary, had Lammelle fastened the mechanical door lock, to gain entrance to his room by climbing down from the balcony-Vic checked his watch. The entire operation had taken twelve minutes, thirty seconds.

  "Here," D'Allessando said in Russian, handing the GPS transmitter to a tall blond man in a nautical uniform. "Tell me, Captain, on the Queen of the Caribbean, are there lifeboats on an upper deck exposed to the sky?"

  "Lifeboats, no," the blond man said. "Life rafts, yes."

  "Then please put it someplace on one of the life rafts where it will not be seen, not get wet, and is in the best position to send a clear signal."

  "I know just the place."

  "And what time do you sail?"

  "At half past eight."

  "Marvelous! Bon voyage!"

  "And when we get to Malaga, what do I do with the GPS transmitter?"

  "I expect the battery will go dead before you're halfway across the Atlantic. Just put that gadget in a life raft, check it a couple of times a day, and after a week, toss it over the side." [FIVE] En route to Cancun International Airport Cancun Quintana Roo, Mexico 0915 11 February 2007 They were traveling in the same kind of minibus sent the night before to bring them from Cancun International Airport to El Dorado Royale Resort. It was manufactured in Mexico on a Mercedes-Benz chassis, and could hold fourteen passengers and their luggage in air-conditioned comfort.

  This morning it held General Naylor, Colonel Brewer, Lieutenant Colonel (Designate) Naylor, Mr. Lammelle, Mr. D'Allessando, and two rather massive white-jacketed members of the El Dorado Royale's staff, one driving the bus and the other sitting in a jump seat beside him to handle the luggage and an enormous insulated container that held their lunches.

  "Where are we going?" Frank Lammelle suddenly demanded to know. He was sitting alone on the row of seats at the back of the bus.

  "We're off to see the Wizard, Frank," Vic D'Allessando said. "I told you where we're going: Where Charley told me to take you."

  "Not good enough, D'Allessando. I want to know where."

  "Pull to the side of the road, please," Vic called in Russian.

  The bus pulled off to the side and stopped.

  "That was Russian!" Lammelle challenged.

  "God! You could tell?"

  "What the hell is going on here?" Lammelle demanded. "I want you to tell me where we're going!"

  "Or what? You'll stamp your foot?"

  Lammelle's face showed that he understood, but he said nothing.

  "Wouldn't do you any good, anyway, Frank," D'Allessando said. "Charley's not anywhere close."

  "I know that. Castillo's in Budapest."

  "Your computer tell you that, Frank?"

  "You know fucking well it did. So what's going on here?"

  "Allan-Allan Junior-did you ever see Ol' Frank's computer? He thinks-he's wrong, but that's what he thinks-it shows where Charley is. Why don't you let Allan Junior see your computer, Frank?"

  "Fuck you, D'Allessando," Lammelle said.

  "That's not nice!"

  "Get out of the aisle, you sonofabitch. I'm getting off the bus."

  "Sorry. Not permitted. When you go off to see the Wizard, you've got to go all the way."

&nb
sp; Lammelle came out with his Glock-like air pistol, aimed it at D'Allessando, and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. He squeezed the trigger again.

  "Funny thing about air pistols, Frank," D'Allessando said. "They don't work without air."

  And then he took his Glock-like air pistol from under his pillowing Mexican resort shirt, aimed at Lammelle, and squeezed the trigger. There was a psssst sound.

  "Shit!" Lammelle said, looking down at the dart in his chest.

  "Allan Junior," D'Allessando said, "why don't you help Ol' Frank sit down before he falls down? And on your way back, bring his computer."

  "What the hell is that you shot him with?" Allan Junior asked, as he moved down the aisle.

  "I guess I'm not the only one your father didn't tell about Lammelle's CIA wonder gun," D'Allessando said. "Which raises the question, What do I do with General Naylor and his faithful sidekick, Colonel Brewer?"

  Everyone watched as Lammelle went limp and as Allan Junior lowered him onto the row of seats. Then Allan Junior came down the aisle carrying a laptop.

  D'Allessando called out in Russian.

  The minibus began to move.

  "General," D'Allessando said, "Charley said I was to treat you with as much respect as possible under the circumstances. Are you going to try anything brave and noble? Or… are you willing to give me your parole, sir?"

  "That's a seldom-used term, isn't it?" General Naylor said. "The last time I think an officer gave his parole was when Colonel Waters-General Patton's son-in-law-gave his to his German captors, who then took him to the Katyn Forest and showed him the graves of the thousands of Polish officers the Russians had murdered."

  "With all respect, General, thanks for the history lesson, but that doesn't answer my question."

  "It seemed germane here. One of the German officers to whom Colonel Waters gave his parole was Oberst Hermann von und zu Gossinger, Colonel Castillo's grandfather. Yes, Mr. D'Allessando. If you give me your word that we are en route to see Colonel Castillo, I will offer my parole. And if memory serves, the Code of Honor says that my parole includes that of my immediate subordinates, which would mean you also have the parole of Colonel Brewer and my son, Major Naylor."