The Hunters

by W. E. B Griffin

“Julio Artigas, Major,” Artigas answered. “I’m a legal attaché in Montevideo.”

  Castillo took the offered hand.

  “And what brings you to Buenos Aires, Mr. Artigas?”

  Their eyes met, causing Artigas to conclude, This is one tough, intelligent character.

  “I asked him to come, Major,” Yung said.

  Castillo looked questioningly at him.

  “Artigas has pretty well figured out what’s going on, Major,” Yung said.

  “Figured out what that’s going on?” Castillo asked.

  “Colonel…” Ambassador Silvio began.

  Castillo saw that Yung had picked up on the rank.

  “…Mr. Artigas was taken to the estancia by the Uruguayan National Police,” Silvio continued. “He’s…been around…this situation practically from the beginning.”

  “And he was with Chief Inspector Ordóñez when Ordóñez took Lowery and me to the estancia,” Yung said.

  “And how much did you—and/or Lowery—tell him?”

  “Nothing he hadn’t already pretty well figured out for himself, Maj…did the ambassador call you ‘Colonel’?”

  “Yes, I did,” Silvio said.

  “Well, congratulations,” Yung said. “Well deserved.”

  He is high, Castillo thought. There’s no other explanation for that. He seems genuinely pleased.

  “Thank you,” Castillo said as Yung enthusiastically pumped his hand.

  “What did they give you for the pain, Dave?” Castillo asked.

  “Nothing. I took a couple of aspirin.”

  I’ll be damned!

  “Artigas, you’re a problem I didn’t expect,” Castillo said. “Mr. Ambassador, may I use your secure line?”

  “Of course,” Silvio said. “It’s in a small closet euphemistically referred to as my office.”

  [THREE]

  “Sir,” Castillo told Silvio, “if you’ll get a secure line to the White House switchboard no one in the embassy will know I’m here.”

  “I’ll have to go through the State Department switchboard.”

  “They’ll switch you over.”

  Silvio picked up the heavily corded handset.

  “This is Silvio. Would you get me a secure line to the department switchboard, please?” That took about twenty seconds and then the ambassador said, “This is Ambassador Silvio. Please get me a secure connection to the White House switchboard.”

  He handed off the handset to Castillo and said, “I’ll leave you alone.”

  “Please stay,” Castillo said.

  Silvio nodded.

  “White House.”

  “Colonel Castillo. I need Ambassador Montvale on a secure line.”

  “Ambassador Montvale’s secure line,” a familiar voice said.

  “This is Colonel Castillo, Mr. Ellsworth. Put the ambassador on, please.”

  Ten seconds passed before Montvale came on the telephone.

  “Hello, Charley,” he said, cordially. “I’ve been hoping to hear from you. How’s things going?”

  “A lot has happened, Mr. Ambassador. Can I give you a quick rundown, then fill you in completely when I’m in Washington?”

  “When do you think that will be, Charley?”

  Castillo met Silvio’s eyes.

  “I hope to get out of here late in the afternoon the day after tomorrow. It may be twenty-four hours after that.”

  “You must be very busy.”

  “I’ve been pretty busy,” Castillo said. “An attempt to kidnap my source in Budapest was made. When the kidnapping didn’t go off, they tried to kill him. They wounded him twice. The next morning, they tried again, this time to assassinate him in his apartment, then burn the apartment and whatever information he might have had in it. That attempt also failed.”

  “He’s all right, I hope?”

  “He’s all right. And his files are either en route to Washington or already there.”

  “And when am I going to get to see them?”

  “As soon as they get there, if you like. But I’m afraid in the form they’re in that I’m going to have to translate them. And I can’t do that, obviously, until I’m in Washington.”

  “And that will not be for several days, right?”

  “Just as soon as I can get there, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “Is your source safe in Budapest?”

  “I brought him to Argentina with me.”

  “Personal jets are really nice things to have, aren’t they?”

  “Oh, you heard about that, did you?”

  “I hear things, Charley, as you know. That one I heard from Major Miller. I had to remind him you had given me your word that I would be in the loop. He did not, however, tell me where you had gone from Budapest. I had to learn that myself.”

  “Learn it? Or make a guess?”

  “I made a guess and then sought confirmation. Have you by any chance been in touch with Ambassador Silvio? Or Mr. Darby?”

  “I’m calling from the residence, sir. Ambassador Silvio is with me. Mr. Darby is just outside.”

  “And how is Mr. Yung? Was he able to accomplish what you sent him down there to do before that horrifying carjacking incident?”

  “You heard about that, did you?”

  “Secretary Cohen was good enough to call and tell me what Ambassador McGrory had called to tell her. Crime seems almost out of control down there, doesn’t it?”

  “Yung’s here with me, too. He wasn’t badly hurt. I presume he did what I sent him to do or otherwise he would have said something. I’m probably going to bring him to the States with me.”

  “To do what?”

  “To see what sense he can make of all the files we now have to work with.”

  “Are you also going to bring your source?”

  “What I’m going to do is put my source in a safe house here that the Lorimer Charitable Fund has rented and he will work with his files, Yung’s files, and whatever else I can get him.”

  “The Lorimer Charitable Fund? I rather like that,” Montvale said. “I don’t want to appear to be looking for praise, Charley, but you do remember my contribution to setting up the fund, don’t you?”

  “And I shall be forever grateful to you, sir.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, Charley?”

  “Now that you mention it, there’s an FBI agent, a ‘legal attaché,’ in the Montevideo embassy, one Julio Artigas, who I think would be of far more use to Ambassador Silvio than he is to Ambassador McGrory. Could you arrange his transfer?”

  “What’s that all about?”

  “He’s come up—on his own—with answers to questions Ambassador McGrory may ask him.”

  “Is anyone else liable to do that?”

  “I hope not. I don’t think so.”

  “I’ll have a word with Director Schmidt the first chance I have.”

  “Today would be nice, sir. As soon as we get off the phone would be even better.”

  “That important, eh? Consider it done. Will you spell that name for me, please?”

  Castillo did so.

  “Got it,” Montvale said.

  “That’s all I have, sir, until I can get to Washington and brief you fully.”

  “The sooner you can do that, the better.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  “We still have the matter of exploding briefcases to deal with, you know. I find that quite worrisome.”

  “Yes, sir. So do I. And I’ll get on that as soon as I can.”

  “Good to hear from you, Charley.”

  “Always a pleasure to talk to you, sir,” Castillo said and clicked the phone. When the operator came on, he told her, “Break it down,” then hung up.

  He looked at Ambassador Silvio.

  “Ambassador Montvale gave me everything I asked for,” Castillo said. “And no static. Why does that make me very nervous?”

  Ambassador Silvio smiled but didn’t reply directly.

  “They’re waiting for us in
the living room,” he said.

  [FOUR]

  Artigas, Solez, Munz, Santini, and Yung, talking quietly among themselves while cooling their heels on two of the couches, got to their feet as Castillo and Ambassador Silva came into the room. The look on Artigas’s face reminded Castillo of what he’d said about him being “an unexpected problem” just before getting on the secure line to Montvale.

  He knows I was talking to someone about him. But the look on his face is concern, not fear. He is concerned about what the great and all-powerful Colonel Castillo has had to say about him—but not afraid.

  He knows he’s done nothing wrong, so why should he be afraid?

  I think I like this guy. Let’s see how smart he is.

  “Okay, Artigas,” Castillo said, “why don’t you tell me what you think you have figured out about what may have happened down here?”

  Artigas was visibly unhappy about being ordered to do that.

  “It’s all right, Mr. Artigas,” Ambassador Silvio said. “What you say will get no further than this room, and it’s important to Colonel Castillo and myself to know how much highly classified information may have been deduced or intuited by you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Artigas said and proceeded to clearly outline his suspicions and the conclusions he had drawn from them and why.

  Castillo was very impressed with how much Artigas had “deduced or intuited.”

  This guy is very smart. He’s figured out just about everything that went down—except, of course, who the Ninjas were or where they came from. And nobody knows that.

  The downside of that, of course, is that if he’s figured this out, some of the other FBI agents have probably done the same thing.

  “How much of this have you discussed with anyone else?” Castillo asked. “With other FBI agents? Or anyone else?”

  “No one, sir.”

  “You’re sure?” Castillo pursued.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Artigas, you’re being transferred from the Montevideo embassy to the embassy here,” Castillo said.

  What? Jesus Christ! Artigas thought, then asked: “When’s that going to happen?”

  Castillo thought: Not “I am?” Or “Why?” Or “Don’t I have anything to say about that?” Or even “Says who?”

  Just “When?”

  “It’s happening now,” Castillo said. “Ambassador McGrory will be told only that you’re being transferred. If anyone asks you, you will say you have no idea why that’s happening.”

  “That’s easy,” Artigas said, “because I don’t have any idea why that’s happening.”

  “Did Yung or Howell mention anything about a Presidential Finding?” Castillo asked.

  “Yeah,” Artigas said and smiled and shook his head. “But only ‘hypothetically,’ Colonel. And then they said they would deny ever discussing even a hypothetical Presidential Finding with me.”

  Castillo chuckled. Ambassador Silviosmiled.

  “Everyone take your seat,” Castillo said. “Get comfortable.”

  When they had, Castillo went on: “Okay, this is not hypothetical, Artigas. From now on, anything I—or anybody connected in any way with this operation—tells you is classified Top Secret Presidential.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There has been a Presidential Finding. It established the Office of Organizational Analysis, a covert and clandestine unit within the Department of Homeland Security. I am the chief. The mission is to…”

  Ten minutes later, Castillo ended his uninterrupted lecture: “…until you hear otherwise from me—me, not from anyone else—you are on detached duty with OOA.” He smiled, and added, “This is the point where the lecturer invariably says, ‘Are there any questions?’ I’m not going to do that.”

  I’ve got several hundred questions, Artigas thought, then said: “Not even one question?”

  “One,” Castillo said.

  “What am I going to do?”

  “Good question. The answer is, until I figure that out, you are going to contribute whatever you can from your vast fund of professional knowledge to the solving of a number of little problems OOA faces.”

  “Like what?” Artigas said, smiling.

  “You got one question. You spent it,” Castillo said, meeting Artigas’s eyes.

  Castillo then looked at the others and went on, “The priority problem is how to get Colonel Munz’s family out of here as safely, as quickly, and as secretly as possible.” He paused. “Mr. Ambassador, may I respectfully suggest that this would be a splendid time for you to find something else to do?”

  “I think not, Colonel,” Silvio said. “I really decided a while back that this is one of those ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ situations. Maybe I can be helpful.”

  “You’re sure, sir?”

  Silvio nodded.

  Castillo shrugged.

  “Tony, did Alfredo tell you about the people surveilling him?” Castillo asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay, then let’s do this the military way, by seniority. I think you’re senior, Tony, so tell us how we’re going to do that.”

  “I need all the facts, Charley, and I don’t think I have them,” Santini said.

  “What are you missing?”

  “That friend of yours who speaks Russian,” Santini said. “What’s his role in this?”

  “And a half dozen other languages,” Castillo offered. “Alek Pevsner.”

  “The Russian arms dealer, mafioso?” Ken Lowery asked. “Jesus, I saw a new Interpol warrant for him—smuggling, I think—just a couple of days ago. He’s involved in this?”

  I saw that Interpol warrant, too, Artigas thought. And a dozen others on him. That guy’s a real badass. And he’s Castillo’s friend?

  Castillo nodded. “The question is, how is he involved?”

  “He’s here? In Argentina?” Yung asked.

  “I am going to say as little about Pevsner as I can,” Castillo said. “As a matter of fact, from this moment on he is code-named ‘Putin’ and all references to him will be by his code name. Clear?”

  There were nods and yes sirs.

  “What about Putin’s friend, Colonel?” Yung asked. “My ex-friend? Do we need a code name for him?”

  “I think we do,” Castillo said. “How does ‘Schmidt’ strike you?”

  Artigas’s eyebrows rose at hearing the name of the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  “Now that I’ve burned my bureau bridges,” Yung said, “that’s fine with me.”

  Artigas wondered: Now, what the hell does that mean?

  “Okay. Kennedy is now Schmidt,” Castillo said.

  There’s an FBI back-channel locate-report-but-do-not-detain out on a former agent named Howard Kennedy, Artigas thought, then said so aloud, adding, “Did you know that?”

  “I suspected it,” Castillo said.

  “Same guy?”

  Castillo nodded.

  “You used to work with him, right, Yung?” Artigas asked.

  Yung nodded uncomfortably.

  “Dave, when did you decide your bureau bridges were burned?” Castillo asked.

  “Couple of days ago,” Yung said. “I’m still not sure if I burned them or you burned them for me, but when I looked they were gloriously aflame.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “The question is, how do you feel about it?”

  “I’m glad to have you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Then I feel fine about it, Colonel,” Yung said.

  If he’s not high on painkillers, or anything else, what the hell happened to make him change his mind?

  Castillo gave him a double thumbs-up gesture.

  “Okay,” Santini said. “Alfredo thinks it’s likely that some of the people after him are Putin’s guys. I think we have to accept that. I think we have to presume that the Ninjas are on him, too. And he thinks SIDE may also be on him.”

  “Let’s talk about that,” Castillo said.
“Why do you think SIDE is surveilling you, Alfredo?”

  “What the Argentine government wants to do is forget—have everyone forget—what happened to Mr. Masterson,” Munz replied. “And they’ve heard what happened in Uruguay and don’t want to be surprised by any developments in the matter. They don’t know what my relationship with Ale…Putin really was or is. Officially, I was keeping an eye on Putin for SIDE.”

  “They know he’s here, Colonel?” Ambassador Silvio said.

  “I found him,” Munz said, simply.

  “Then why didn’t they act on one or more of the Interpol warrants out on him? Do you know?”

  Munz answered that with the gesture of rubbing the thumb and index finger of his right hand together.

  “All I was told was to keep him under surveillance,” he said. “And that a decision about what to do with him would come later.”

  “Is there a chance he will be arrested?” Silvio asked.

  Munz shook his head and said, “If he has been as generous as I suspect he has, if the decision to act on one or more of the Interpol warrants is made, he’ll be given sufficient warning before the order to go arrest him is given.” He paused and looked at Castillo. “But to answer your question, Karl, they’re watching me so they won’t be surprised by anything that might happen.”

  “Okay. Makes sense,” Castillo said, thought a long moment, then asked, “If somebody tried to grab you or whack you—or your family—and SIDE was watching, what would happen?”

  “That’s what worries me, Karl,” Munz said. “I’d like to think that SIDE was told to protect me—us—and that I left enough friends behind in SIDE, many of whom know my family, so they would protect us, orders or not. But that may not be the case. That’s why I’m so grateful for your offer to get them out of here.”

  “With that—and SIDE—in mind, Charley,” Santini said, “SIDE runs a computer scan of people passing through immigration.”

  “How hard would it be to smuggle them into Uruguay?” Castillo asked. “If that’s possible, we could pick them up at Carrasco with the Gulfstream. I don’t think SIDE is scanning Uruguayan immigration, are they, Alfredo?”

  Artigas thought: Gulfstream? Jesus Christ, has he got his own airplane?

  “We have…excuse me, SIDE has,” Munz corrected himself, as he no longer was chief of SIDE, “an arrangement where Uruguayan immigration checks a list of names SIDE gives them against people coming in or out and lets SIDE know if anybody shows up. I don’t think my name is on that list.”