"Don't ask questions, please. Answer mine, but don't ask any. And this conversation goes no further than your ears. Understand?"
"Yes, sir. Just a moment, General." "I can have the USS Bataan at that point by sixteen-hundred hours, sir."
"Tell me about the Bataan."
"It's a Wasp-class amphibious assault ship," General McFadden said.
"I know the class. That'll do fine. Make sure it's on station as of oh-eight-hundred tomorrow. Alert them, Top Secret, to be prepared to receive and fuel four UH-60Ms."
"Yes, sir. Sir, I'm guessing this is a black operation?"
"About as black as it can get. Hold one, Albert," General Naylor said, and turned to McNab.
"General McNab, I presume the four UH-60Ms will be coming from Fort Campbell?"
"Yes, sir," McNab said, and joined Naylor at the map.
"Where's the best jumping-off place for them to fly out to the Bataan, would you say?"
"Sir, can we use the Navy base at Key West?" McNab asked.
"General, I'm the commander in chief of Central Command. Of course we can use NAS Key West. Albert?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Tell Boca Chica airfield to be prepared to receive the Black Hawks, and order them to keep their mouths shut about it."
"Yes, sir."
"I'll get back to you, Albert. General McNab needs the phone."
"Sir, how do I get in touch with you?"
"You don't. I'll check in with you periodically. Naylor out."
"Lester," McNab then said. "Get me the One-Sixtieth Special Operations Aviation Regiment at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. Make it look like I'm calling from Washington."
"Yes, sir."
General Naylor looked around the room. "Why do I feel I'm basking in the approval of a number of people who five minutes ago thought I was a chicken-shit sonofabitch?"
"Dad," Lieutenant Colonel (Designate) Allan Naylor, Jr., said, "why don't we all try to forget what you were five minutes ago?" [TWO] The President's Study The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W. Washington, D.C. 0905 12 February 2007 "Good morning, Mr. President," John Powell, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, said as he walked into the room.
"You're here to tell me that the Russians and Castillo are now en route to Moscow, right?"
"No, sir, I regret that I am not. But there have been some interesting developments, Mr. President, that suggest we're a good deal closer to that solution of the problem than we were at this time yesterday."
"Let's hear them. Before a National Park Service policeman finds another beer barrel of that stuff at Nine Hundred Ohio Drive, Southwest."
"Mr. President, Nine Hundred Ohio Drive?"
"The Lincoln Memorial, Jack. You don't know where it is?"
The President looked very pleased with himself.
"Jack," he went on, "we promised that Russian sonofabitch… what's his name, the rezident?"
"Murov, sir. Sergei Murov."
"We promised Murov his two traitors and Castillo several days ago. If I were this guy, I would be wondering why that hasn't happened, and if I were this guy, I think I would be tempted to leave another barrel of this stuff somewhere-say, at Nine Hundred Ohio Drive, Southwest-as a little reminder. You heard what that Fort Detrick scientist… what's his name, the black guy…?"
"Colonel Hamilton, sir. Colonel J. Porter Hamilton."
"… had to say about how dangerous this stuff is."
"Yes, sir, I did."
"I don't want any more barrels of Congo-X popping up anywhere. You understand?"
"Yes, sir. Of course."
"Now, with that in mind, tell me about the interesting developments."
"Sir, General Naylor has been heard from."
"Where is he?"
"Sir, according to Bruce Festerman-"
"Who the hell is he?"
"Festerman is the CIA liaison officer with Central Command at MacDill, Mr. President. We've been on the phone a half-dozen times since yesterday afternoon."
"And?"
"General Naylor called General McFadden, his deputy, from Mexico City and ordered that a ship, the USS Bataan, which is a Wasp-class amphibious assault ship, be moved to a location in the Caribbean and be prepared to receive and refuel four Black Hawk helicopters. He also ordered the Navy base at Key West to do the same thing; in other words, be prepared to receive and refuel four UH-60s. It seems clear, sir, that the helicopters will be flown from Key West to the Bataan."
"Why?"
"I don't know, sir. What I suspect is that General Naylor has learned where Castillo and/or the Russians are, somewhere in Mexico, and is going to go get them."
"And what does Lammelle think?"
"Sir, that's a development I don't quite understand."
"What development don't you understand?"
"Sir, the GPS transmitter in Lammelle's shoe places him aboard the Queen of the Caribbean, a cruise ship, which is now in the Caribbean bound for Malaga. There has been nothing from him."
"And the GPS transmitter in Castillo's laptop places him aboard a river steamer on the Danube between Budapest and Vienna, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"And now you're telling me General Naylor thinks he's found Castillo in Mexico?"
"I am making that inference, sir. I can't imagine why else General Naylor has-"
"Well," the President interrupted, "one possibility is that Lammelle has suddenly decided he needs a vacation, and taking a cruise is the way to do that. But, sitting around here, Jack, with nothing to occupy my mind, I have been thinking of all the bad spy movies I've seen over the years to see if anything in them might be useful."
"Sir?"
"For example, do you think it's possible that somebody shot Lammelle with that whiz-bang dart gun of his and then loaded him onto the cruise ship?"
"Why would anyone want to do that, sir? You're suggesting that Castillo-"
"I'm suggesting General Naylor might have done it. Or more likely, now that I think about it, General McNab."
"Why would they want to do that, sir?"
"To keep him from fucking up what they're doing to put Castillo and the traitors in the bag."
"I don't think that's likely, Mr. President."
"Tell me about Castillo on the river steamer. You sent people over there, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"And what have they found out?"
"The ship is called Stadt Wien," Powell said. "It plies the Danube back and forth between Budapest and Vienna."
"I already know that. The question is, is Castillo-and maybe the Russians-on it or not?"
"We've learned that Castillo never made a reservation on it."
"That wasn't the question."
"We don't know, Mr. President."
"Did it occur to your people to go aboard the damned ship and look for him?"
"They couldn't get a ticket, Mr. President. And without a ticket you can't get on the Stadt Wien. Apparently, sir, you have to make reservations at least two weeks in advance." Powell hesitated and then went on: "What the Stadt Wien is, Mr. President, is somewhere the Viennese and the Budapesters take their romantic interests for an overnight trip. Not always their wives, if you take my meaning. It's very popular."
"Jesus Christ, Jack! Castillo hasn't been over there two weeks. How the hell could he have made a reservation on this Hungarian Love Boat?"
"Mr. President, all I can tell you is that's where Casey's GPS locator shows he is."
"Presumably fucking the woman traitor as they cruise up and down the Danube? Jack, listen closely: I don't think Castillo is anywhere near Europe. I think Naylor and McNab have found him in Mexico. And presuming neither the CIA nor Ambassador Stupid get involved and fuck things up for them-the more I think about it, Naylor or McNab did shoot Lammelle with that dart gun and load him on that cruise ship to get rid of him-"
President Clendennen interrupted himself, took a deep breath, and then went on: "Jack, what I want you to do is get in touch
with all your Clandestine Service officers who are running around chasing their tails looking for Castillo and the Russians and get them back to Langley. And then lock them in. Naylor is going to bag Castillo if you don't get in the way. You understand me?"
"Yes, Mr. President."
"The next time you walk in that door, Jack, I want you to tell me that you've just learned from General Naylor that he's dealt with the problem. And I don't want to see you until you can do that." [THREE] Cozumel International Airport Isla Cozumel Quintana Roo, Mexico 1010 12 February 2007 Dick Miller and Dick Sparkman had flown the Policia Federal Preventiva UH-60 from Drug Cartel International to Cozumel. They had carried with them all but two of the ex-Spetsnaz special operators and all the weapons and other equipment that would be needed.
Both pilots had been more than a little pissed-and vocally so-with their assigned tasks in the operation. Miller had wanted to fly with Castillo in the UH-60 in the assault, and Sparkman had simply presumed until the last minute that he would be Jake Torine's co-pilot when the Tu-934A was flown out of La Orchila.
Uncle Remus Leverette had similarly taken for granted that he would be in on the assault and was more than displeased with his assigned role: He was now to "hold the fort" at Laguna el Guaje. It was more than a figure of speech. There was a small but real chance that some members of the drug cartel-either not having heard, or not caring that Drug Cartel International was closed-would drop in.
If this should happen, Uncle Remus would politely suggest to them that they come back another day-say, in a week-and if that didn't work, he would take the appropriate measures. The drug runners would, if possible, be disarmed, placed in plastic handcuffs, and confined.
If the disarmament option didn't work, they would be eliminated.
To assist him in this task, in addition to the two ex-Spetsnaz operators, Uncle Remus had Mr. Vic D'Allessando, former Gunnery Sergeant Lester Bradley, and Lieutenant "Peg-Leg" Lorimer (Retired). Former Special Forces Sergeant Aloysius F. Casey and Generals Naylor and McNab were to be the reserve force.
General McNab had voiced no objection to this, but everyone knew if there was shooting, McNab would be in the middle of it.
Lieutenant Colonel (Designate) Naylor-having been told that he would be useless on the actual assault due to the fact that he (a) was a tank driver, (b) had no Special Operations training, and (c) spoke no Russian-first pleaded to be taken along. Then, when his pleas fell on deaf ears, he said very unkind things to Colonel Castillo.
Colonel Castillo forgave the outburst, kissed him on the forehead, and charged him with sitting-literally, if that became necessary-on the deputy director of the CIA, Mr. Lammelle.
All of those remaining at Drug Cartel International had come to see-if very reluctantly-that there was no valid argument against Castillo's logic in making the assignments. The more the operation was polished, the more it became apparent how much success would depend upon Dmitri Berezovsky's ability to dazzle-or at least substantially confuse-General Sirinov's Spetsnaz until they had a pistol up the general's nose.
Castillo didn't plan to open his mouth, but if he had to, his Russian was so fluent that people thought he came from Saint Petersburg. None of those being left to hold the fort spoke the language so well. And although Uncle Remus's Russian was nearly as good as Castillo's, there were very few Russians as black as God had made Uncle Remus.
Colonel Jake Torine's Russian was very limited, but he could read the lettering they would find on the instrument panel of the Tu-934A. Navigation of the airplane would be by the Casey GPS system installed on their laptops.
Max, as he was wont to do, suspected his master intended to leave him behind. So, when Castillo, Sweaty, Dmitri, and Roscoe J. Danton got into the Cessna Mustang for the flight to Cozumel, they found Max already lying in the aisle looking at Castillo with melancholy eyes that melted his master's heart.
What the hell! When we leave Cozumel, I'll chain him to the seat. Sparkman will be flying this back. He and Sweaty can deal with him; he likes them.
That did not come to pass.
When the Policia Federal Preventiva UH-60 had been refueled at Cozumel, and after Castillo had spent an hour explaining the cockpit specifically and the aircraft generally to Colonel Torine, he had climbed out to see how the loading of the Spetsnaz was going.
He found that everybody had changed into their combat uniforms, which were in fact commercially available summer-weight camouflage-pattern hunting jackets and trousers. They and the khaki trousers/yellow polo shirts everyone wore at Laguna el Guaje had been purchased at three Walmarts in Mexico City, Distrito Federal, by Peg-Leg Lorimer, who had charged them to his LCBF Corporation American Express card.
Peg-Leg reported, on his return from his shopping trip, that his purchases had just about wiped out the stocks in all three Walmart stores.
"When that information is sent by the Walmart computers to Walmart headquarters in Bentonville, Arkansas," Peg-Leg said, "the company will rush to replace the deleted stocks. This in turn will result in a gross overstock of khaki trousers, yellow polo shirts, and summer-weight camouflage-pattern hunting clothes in Mexico City. Walmart executives will be baffled.
"But I strongly suspect that Ol' Jack Walton," Peg-Leg concluded, "will be smiling down at us from that Great Watering Hole in the Sky, pleased that we outfitted this operation from his daddy's store."
John Walton-son of the founder of Walmart, and at his death the eleventh-richest man in the world-had earlier in his life been awarded the nation's third highest award for valor, the Silver Star, while a Special Forces sergeant in Vietnam. Among those donning their Walmart combat uniforms was former Lieutenant Colonel Svetlana Alekseeva of the SVR, who was rolling up the sleeves of hers when Castillo came around the nose of the Black Hawk. Max was lying on the floor of the Black Hawk's cabin, watching with his head between his legs.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Castillo demanded.
"Carlos, I don't like it when you use that tone to me."
"You and Max are going back to the lake on the Mustang!"
She pointed at the runway. Castillo looked. The Mustang was beginning its takeoff roll.
"Well, Svet, you got that past me. But now you can wait here. You're not going."
"Of course I'm going. Wherever did you get this idea I wasn't?"
"Honey, for Christ's sake, we don't know what's going to happen at La Orchila. People are likely to get hurt."
"Did you ever think, Generalissimo Carlitos," she snapped, "you poor man's von Clausewitz, what would happen if one of Sirinov's Spetsnaz takes Dmitri out the moment we land? When you speak Russian, you sound like a Saint Petersburg poet." She wet her finger and ran it over her eyebrow, the gesture's meaning unmistakable. "You'd make the Spetsnaz giggle. I was a podpolkovnik of the SVR and I sound like one. I know how to deal with Spetsnaz and I'm going!"
After a moment's reflection, Castillo asked, "And Max? You want to take him too, I suppose, Podpolkovnik Alekseeva?"
"Absolutely! You get Max to show his teeth to Yakov Sirinov the way you did to Lammelle and he'll wet his pants. I may not even have to hurt him."
Castillo considered that a moment, and then asked, "Have you got a weapon?"
"Of course I've got a weapon," she snapped, still angry. "I've always got a weapon. You should know that. You've been looking up my dress from the day we met."
Castillo had an immediate, very clear mental image of that day.
Svetlana's skirt had risen high as she nimbly jumped from the tracks of Vienna's Sudbahnhof onto the platform, revealing that she was wearing red lace underpants with a small pistol-he later learned it was a Colt 1908 Pocket Model.32 ACP-holstered on her inner thigh just under them.
Roscoe J. Danton walked up.
"Not to worry, Charley," he said. "I understand Colonel Alekseeva was speaking off the record."
"Roscoe, sometimes he makes me very, very angry," Sweaty said.
Jake Torine walked up.
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"I didn't hear that either," Torine said, and then went on: "It's about time for us to get going, Charley." [FOUR] The USS Bataan (LHD 5) North Latitude 14.89, West Longitude 77.86 The Caribbean Sea 1255 12 February 2007 Almost as soon as he spotted the Bataan, Castillo saw that four black 160th SOAR UH-60M helicopters were already sitting on her deck, their rotors folded.
"I think I should tell you, First Officer, that the Bataan has a very impressive array of weaponry-including four forty-millimeter Gatling guns-with which to discourage strange and possibly hostile aircraft from approaching."
Torine gave him the finger and activated his microphone.
"Bataan, this is Keystone Kop."
"Keystone Kop, Bataan, be advised we have you in sight. Go ahead."
Castillo said, "What he meant to say, First Officer, was 'gun-sights.'"
"Well, Bataan," Torine spoke into the microphone, "if you have us in sight, then I guess I don't have to tell you I estimate we are at one thousand feet about two klicks off your stern. Request permission to land."
"Keystone Kop, are you carrier-qualified?"
Torine looked at Castillo.
"Lie, Jake. We don't have enough fuel to go back to Cozumel."
"Affirmative, we are carrier-qualified."
"Keystone Kop, be advised that Bataan is headed into the wind. The wind down the deck is at twenty knots. Acknowledge."
"Bataan, Keystone Kop understands wind down the deck is at twenty, and Bataan is headed into the wind."
"Keystone Kop, you are cleared to land. Be advised a rescue helicopter is to port."
"I think he knows we were lying," Torine said. "You really have never done this before?"
"Only as a passenger," Castillo said. "And what I think the pilot told me that day was that if the wind across the deck is at, say, twenty knots, and you're indicating twenty knots, that means you're in a hover over the deck, which, relatively speaking, has an air speed of zero."
As Castillo very carefully lowered the Black Hawk onto the deck-I am really in a ground effect hover, even if I'm indicating that I'm making twenty knots. How can that be?-he found it easier to look at the "ground," which was to say the deck, of the USS Bataan out the left window of the cockpit rather than the deck forward of the helo. That way he could tell, relatively speaking, if the Bataan 's island was moving-in which case he was in trouble-or not.
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