Black Ops

by W. E. B Griffin

  “Keep her in the car until I see what’s going on,” Castillo ordered, and, holding the pup with one hand and the sanitary/sartorial newspaper in the other, got out of the car.

  Max nimbly jumped from the backseat, went out Castillo’s door, and raced toward Corporal Bradley, clearing the waist-high fence as if it wasn’t there.

  By the time Castillo reached the gate in the fence, and the airport policeman guarding it, two of the men in the Peugeot sedan that had been following them were out of the car and at the gate. One held it open for him, and the other one said, “I will take that newspaper from you, Colonel, and get rid of it.”

  Castillo handed it to him, marveling at both how soaked the newspaper had become on the way from Pilar—You little sonofabitch, he thought, scratching the pup’s ears, you must be mostly bladder—and at the unaccustomed courtesy of the gendarmería officers.

  They usually stand around practicing how to look dour.

  The reason became immediately apparent. Their commanding officer walked toward Castillo, then broke into a trot and, when he reached Castillo, wrapped him in a bear hug, pounded his back, and kissed him wetly on both cheeks.

  “Oh, my friend Charley,” he said. “It is so good to see you!”

  What the hell is this all about?

  “El Coronel Munz told me that you understand,” El Comandante Liam Duffy said. “But that doesn’t make it any better.”

  “There’s nothing to be concerned about, Liam.”

  “I had three men killed and six wounded—in addition, of course, to the two men those bastards massacred as soon as we were”—he paused, smiled, and switched to English—“boots on the ground”—then back to Spanish—“and there were funerals and I had to deal with the families.”

  “I understand, Liam.”

  “I just could not get to Uruguay right away, and when I did, you had already gone to the U.S. of A.”

  He grabbed Castillo’s arms with both hands.

  “I should have somehow arranged to go to Montevideo,” he said. “You shed blood with us! You are one of us, Carlos!”

  He got control of himself.

  “You remember Segundo Comandante Martínez and Sargento Primero Pérez, of course?” Duffy said, indicating the two gendarmes who’d opened the gate for Castillo and taken care of the sodden newspaper.

  Why do I think the last time I saw these guys they were in camos and had black-and-brown grease all over their face and hands?

  “How could I forget?” Castillo said, smiling broadly, offering his hand, and then—Oh, hell, when in Rome or Buenos Aires!—hugging them and kissing their coarse cheeks.

  “You have luggage, mi coronel?” the younger one—Probably the sergeant, Castillo thought—asked.

  “There’s a couple of bags in the trunk,” Castillo said.

  “And is the Russian woman in the car?” Duffy asked.

  Castillo nodded.

  “I would like to introduce her to my wife and children,” Duffy said, “and then kill her slowly and painfully.”

  And that, Castillo decided, is not what they call hyperbole.

  “Liam, she was in Europe when that happened,” Castillo said.

  “She’s one of them,” Duffy said simply.

  “She and her brother have information I need.”

  “So Alfredo says. What I want are the names of the people who tried to kill my wife and children.”

  “I will first have to find out who ordered the attack on you,” Castillo said. “And then, if you can get him, you can find out from him who actually attacked you and your family.”

  “You find out who he is—or she is—and I’ll get him,” Duffy said.

  “I’ll do my best, Liam.”

  Munz, Sparkman, Davidson, and Bradley walked up to them.

  “Nice flight, Lester?”

  “I was never in first class before, sir,” Bradley said.

  “Well, that was certainly a mistake. We’ll take the difference out of your pay.”

  Bradley recoiled at that, but it didn’t take him long to realize he was having his chain pulled.

  “Do you have a pistol, Lester?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Get him one, Jack,” Castillo ordered. “Make sure Little Red Under Britches sees you give it to him—and that she sees you chambering a round, Lester.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bradley said. “Little Red—what did you say, sir?”

  “The lady in the car is a SVR officer, Les. A lieutenant colonel. I don’t think she’ll try to run away—she’ll have no idea where we will be, and I have all of her identification in my briefcase—but she may. I don’t want her dead.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I just happen to have one with me,” Davidson said, and took a Colt Model 1911A1 from the small of his back. He handed it to Bradley. “There’s already one in the chamber.”

  “Yes, Sergeant Major,” Bradley said politely, then with speed and precision that visibly astonished the gendarmes, he ejected the magazine, worked the action to eject the round in the chamber, caught it on the fly, examined the pistol to make sure the chamber was indeed empty, fed the just-ejected round to the magazine, fed the magazine to the pistol, let the slide slam home, carefully lowered the hammer to de-cock it, and finally slipped the pistol under his belt on the small of his back.

  “He’s usually much faster than that,” Davidson said with a straight face.

  “Bradley—” Castillo began.

  “May I see you a moment, please, Colonel?” Alfredo Munz interrupted.

  Castillo followed him toward the Aero Commander.

  Duffy’s face showed that he didn’t like Munz and Castillo having a private conversation.

  But there doesn’t seem to be anything that can be done about it.

  Munz, his back to Duffy, immediately proved him wrong.

  “Take out some money, and count out a lot of it, and hand it to me,” Munz said. “I’m making it seem like I don’t want Liam to see.”

  Castillo didn’t hesitate.

  “Charley, I think I had better go with you to Bariloche,” Munz said.

  “I can handle her, Alfredo.”

  “And I can handle Liam’s gendarmes in Bariloche,” Munz said, “who I suspect are going to try to be far more helpful than you want them to be.”

  Munz put the money in his pocket, laid a hand on Castillo’s shoulder in thanks for the cash, and led him back to the others.

  “Colonel,” Sparkman said, and handed him a flight plan. “Perfect weather all the way.”

  “Thank you,” Castillo said.

  And what happens to you, Dick, if—when—the worst scenario happens?

  That would effectively end your Air Force career. Getting shot down in flames for your association with the disgraced OOA will be even worse for you than your association with the Air Commandos.

  “Colonel,” Davidson said, “I put an AFC device aboard.”

  “Thank you.”

  Munz handed Davidson the wad of hundred-dollar bills Castillo had given him.

  Duffy’s face showed he wondered what the hell that was all about.

  “Lester,” Castillo ordered, “go with Colonel Munz and put the lady in a backseat in the airplane.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As she walked past him, Lieutenant Colonel Alekseeva asked Castillo if she could ask where they were going.

  He didn’t reply.

  [FOUR]

  The Llao Llao Resort Hotel

  San Carlos de Bariloche

  Río Negro Province, Argentina

  1625 30 December 2005

  The manager of the luxury resort—who was attired in a tailcoat and striped trousers—met them at the front door, shook Munz’s hand, ignored everybody else, and led them through the lobby—where a dozen employees were engaged in changing the holiday decorations from Christmas to New Year’s—then to the elevator bank, and on to a top-floor suite.

  “This will do nicely, thank you,” Munz said aft
er examining the four rooms. “I will need keys for all the doors, of course.”

  The manager handed him a dozen keys on a ring.

  “The boat is available at the dock, Colonel,” he said, bowed his head, and left.

  “May I use the restroom?” Svetlana asked.

  Munz pointed to a door.

  “Wait outside for her, Bradley,” Castillo ordered. “If she tries to get away, try not to shoot her, but . . .”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Svetlana did not look at Castillo as she walked past him. Max walked after both of them. Castillo set the puppy on the floor, where he immediately followed his father to the bathroom door, then raised his leg against the leg of a small table and puddled the carpet.

  “I wonder where he gets it all,” Castillo said, almost admiringly.

  “You’re taking him with you?” Munz asked.

  Castillo nodded.

  “He’s for Elena. For her and Sergei and Aleksandr, but primarily for her.”

  Munz nodded.

  “I’d like to think I’m doing that simply to be a nice guy,” Castillo said. “But I’m not sure if it’s not because it will get to Pevsner.”

  “I like the kids, too,” Munz said. “And I know you’re a nice guy, whether or not you like to admit it.”

  Castillo looked at him but remained silent.

  And what happens to you, Alfredo, when the worst scenario comes down?

  A nice settlement payment, of course, but what about after that?

  Munz pulled back his jacket, revealing a revolver in a high-mount hip holster.

  Castillo recognized the offer and shook his head. “I go in peace. And I would be heavily outgunned, anyway.”

  “Well, don’t worry about Mata Hari. I can deal with her,” Munz said, then smiled and added, “Or if I can’t, Lester can.”

  Castillo chuckled.

  She’s figured that out. She may be curious about Lester, but she saw that very professional display of pistol handling, and as a pistoleer herself, she knows that there is a very strong chance she will be wounded seriously with a heavy-caliber bullet if she tries to run.

  And by now she also knows that despite some spectacular initial success in turning me into a chump, that’s over. She’s given up on the soulful looks into my eyes.

  “You know how to get to the boat?” Munz asked.

  “Get on the elevator and push the Minus-2 button, and then down the corridor.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  Castillo walked to the bathroom door, scooped up the puppy, said, “Come on, Max,” then nodded at Munz and walked out of the suite.

  Castillo heard the boat’s engine quietly burbling when he walked out onto the long pier jutting into the lake, but he couldn’t see it until he was almost to where it was tied by the stern to the pier.

  He was a little surprised by the boat. He expected a cabin cruiser. This was—he searched for the word and after a moment found it—a speedboat. There had been one like it when he was a kid, at the beach house on the Gulf of Mexico. That had been a Chris-Craft, and he and Fernando were never allowed to take it out themselves—but of course had—as their grandfather thought it was dangerous in ocean water.

  The speedboat waiting for him now was made of mahogany and had two passenger compartments, one fore and one aft, with the engine mounted between them. The forward compartment had the controls and an automobile-like steering wheel. The aft compartment had a leather-upholstered seat for three behind a small windshield that was supposed to protect the passengers from spray—but never did.

  The man standing on the pier directed him: “In the rear seat, please, mi coronel . For the balance.”

  “Thank you,” Castillo said, and, holding the puppy against him, carefully stepped into the boat and then down into the seat. Max leapt effortlessly aboard, inspected the front compartment, then came back and sat beside Castillo.

  Castillo then set the pup on the footboards. He had not thought to bring newspaper or one of the Llao Llao’s monogrammed towels with him.

  The man untied the stern, then jumped onto the boat, causing it to rock somewhat. He squatted beside Castillo and handed him a cellular phone.

  “I know the colonel has probably told you, mi coronel, but button seven is my phone and button four is the colonel.”

  Munz had not said a word.

  “Thank you,” Castillo said.

  “I will take you to the pier. You can get out without help?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then I will go beyond the floodlights, which, if they don’t come on as we approach the pier, will do so as soon as you step on the pier. There are motion sensors.”

  “Okay.”

  “There is a guard shack, usually only one man, at the shore end of the pier.”

  Castillo said, “Thank you,” instead of what started to come to his lips: “I know. This is not my first visit to ‘Karinhall.’”

  The man moved on hands and knees to the forward compartment and dropped into it. Castillo both heard and felt the chunk as the man engaged the transmission and the propeller began to spin.

  Thirty seconds later, the engine revved and Castillo sensed the speedboat going up on the step. Ten seconds after that, he got a face full of spray. Max went down on the floorboards next to the puppy. Castillo sought what refuge he could behind the windshield.

  The speedboat slowed and almost stopped as suddenly as it had accelerated twenty minutes before.

  Castillo raised his head above the windshield and saw in the faint light that they were very close to a pier. He grabbed the puppy from the floorboard by the loose skin above its neck and stood up on the leather seat.

  The man driving the boat skillfully put the stern against the pier and held it there long enough for Castillo to jump out of the boat. The moment Max leapt onto the pier, the engine revved and the boat headed back out on the lake.

  Castillo had just enough time to change his grip on the squealing puppy when floodlights came on, blinding him.

  It took perhaps twenty seconds for his eyes to adjust enough for him to see down the pier.

  Twenty yards away a man came warily, in a half-crouch, down the pier toward him. He held an Uzi. Max was halfway between them; his hair bristled, and he was growling deeply.

  The man cocked the Uzi.

  “If you shoot the dog,” Castillo called in Spanish, “you will die!”

  He repeated the same threat in Russian and then a third time in Hungarian.

  “Lower the gun!” a voice from farther away called, loudly and authoritatively, in Hungarian.

  Castillo could now see the second man, who also had an Uzi.

  “Hey, János,” Castillo called in Hungarian to Aleksandr Pevsner’s bodyguard. “What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  And then, as János kept advancing toward them, Castillo ordered in Hungarian, “No, Max! Sit!”

  Max sat, but Castillo could hear him growling still.

  János looked around the pier.

  “You are alone?” János asked, then without waiting for a reply: “You didn’t bring the redheaded woman?”

  “Do you see her, János?”

  “He does not expect you,” János said, then corrected himself: “He did not expect to see you.”

  “Well, he knows as well as I do that life is full of surprises,” Castillo said.

  János gestured for him to walk down the pier. Halfway to the shore, the floodlights died and were replaced with small lights illuminating the pier and a path beyond.

  “You are well now, Colonel?” János asked softly.

  “It hurts me a little to sit down,” Castillo said honestly. “The leg’s okay.”

  “My woman says I now have a zipper,” János said, and drew a line from his waist up his side to his armpit.” He was quiet a moment, then added, “I never say, ‘Thank you, Colonel’—so, thank you.”

  “Y
ou’re welcome, János.”

  A Jeep Wrangler, so new it looked right off a showroom floor, was at the end of the pier. It had a driver waiting behind the wheel.

  Max jumped in the front seat and sat there.

  “In the back, Max,” Castillo ordered.

  Max reluctantly complied after the order had been repeated three times.

  “He bite me if I get in back?” János asked.

  “Probably,” Castillo said, and somewhat awkwardly got in the back.

  [FIVE]

  Aleksandr Pevsner, a tall, dark-haired man, wearing linen trousers and jacket and a yellow polo shirt, was waiting for them under a huge chandelier in the foyer of the enormous house.

  “You’ve lost a lot of weight, Hermann,” Castillo greeted him in German. “And some hair, too. Been on a diet here in ‘Karinhall,’ have you? Nothing but knockwurst und sauerkraut?”

  Pevsner smiled as if he really didn’t want to.

  “Frankly, there are times when one wishes never to see dear friends again,” Pevsner replied in Russian. “This is one of them.”

  “I love you too, Aleksandr,” Castillo said. “But I hope you aren’t going to kiss me.”

  “Never fear. Where’s the redhead?”

  “What redhead?”

  “The one you flew here in that little airplane.”

  “A gentleman never discusses his love life. Didn’t your mother teach you that?” He held up the puppy and gestured at Max. “Besides, I’ve come to trust only canines.”

  Pevsner ignored that. “How is your . . . wound?”

  “My leg is coming along just fine. My ass, not so good. Thank you for asking.”

  “You are absolutely impossible!”

  “Does that mean you’re not going to offer me a drink?”

  “Now that I see you don’t have some floozy with you, I would be honored if you would have a glass of champagne with Anna and me.” Pevsner gestured toward the open door of the library.

  “Where’s the statue?” Castillo said, looking around the foyer. “I would have thought it would be at the foot of the stairs.”

  “What statue?” Pevsner asked automatically, and then his face showed that he understood he was about to have his chain pulled.