Black Ops

by W. E. B Griffin

  I’m not even going to respond to that ridiculous remark.

  He’s trying to get a rise out of me.

  “I know all about that chemical factory,” Montvale went on. “There’s nothing of interest there.” He grinned. “You have been conned out of two million dollars, my young friend.”

  Castillo caught his pulse rising at the condescension.

  Let it go. . . .

  He counted to ten, then said in a reasonable tone: “Tell you what. Why don’t we call the agency and ask them? If they say there’s nothing of interest to our national security there, then once again you’ve put blind faith in who feeds you your intel. Because they and you are wrong. More egg on their face and more, I’m afraid, on yours. There is a very active chemical laboratory and factory there, funded with oil-for-food money. It has the mission of poisoning the water supplies of our major cities and, they hope, poisoning as many millions of Americans as possible as collateral damage.”

  “Berezovsky told you this?”

  Castillo nodded.

  “And you believe him?”

  Castillo nodded again.

  “I don’t have to call the agency to verify what I already know.”

  “If I were you, I would call,” Castillo said. “If you do, and they tell you they’re on top of the situation, and there’s nothing to worry about, then you’ll be covered, with Ambassador Silvio and I as witnesses, when this comes down. You asked and they assured you everything was hunky-dory.”

  For a moment, Castillo thought Montvale would not reach for the thick-corded secure telephone on Ambassador Silvio’s desk, but in the end he did.

  “How does this thing work?”

  Silvio held out his hand and took the handset from Montvale.

  “What we’re going to have to do is get a secure line to the State Department switchboard. They can connect you with the CIA,” Silvio said, then switched on the secure telephone.

  “This is Ambassador Silvio. Get a secure line to State, then get a secure line to the director of Central Intelligence. Ambassador Montvale is calling.”

  Toward the end of saying “Ambassador Montvale is calling” Silvio had raised his voice questioningly while looking at Montvale, in effect asking, Did Montvale want the DCI or someone else?

  Montvale had nodded, signaling that DCI was fine.

  “Put it on the speakerphone,” Castillo said. “That way Ambassador Silvio and I can both testify that you asked the DCI personally.”

  Montvale gave him a dirty look, then looked at the phone base and pushed the speakerphone button in time for everyone to hear, “Office of the DCI.”

  “This is Ambassador Montvale. Get me the DCI, please.”

  Moments later, the voice of John Powell, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, inquired cheerfully: “How are you, Mr. Ambassador?”

  “I’m well, thank you, Jack.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m sitting in Ambassador Silvio’s office in Buenos Aires.”

  “Little warm down there, isn’t it?”

  “Brutal. Jack, Lieutenant Colonel Castillo is with us.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “The question has come up—actually, Castillo raised it—about activity in the Democratic Republic of the Congo; specifically, on that experimental farm the West Germans used to operate down there. You know what I mean?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Do you know of anything going on down there?”

  “Is that what Castillo suggested?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Where did he get that?”

  Castillo clapped his hands, then drew his right hand in a cutting motion across his throat.

  “He’d rather not say,” Montvale said.

  “I see. Well, as I said, I haven’t heard anything. But if you’ll give me a minute, I’ll check to see if anything has happened that I missed. Hang on a minute, please.”

  There came the murmur of unintelligible voices in the background, and then Powell came back on: “It’ll take a couple of minutes. Are you on a speakerphone?”

  “Yes, Jack, we are.”

  “How are you, Colonel?”

  Castillo said: “I’m very well, Mr. Powell. Thank you. And yourself?”

  “I understand you’ve been in Vienna.”

  “There is a rumor circulating to that effect, sir.”

  “Apropos of nothing whatever, Colonel, to kill the time while we’re waiting to hear about Africa, so to speak, a couple of interesting Interpol warrants crossed my desk this morning.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “The Russians say that several of their diplomats—Dmitri Berezovsky and Svetlana Alekseeva, known to be SVR officers, one in Copenhagen and the other in Berlin—have absconded with large amounts of money. More than a million dollars from Copenhagen, and twice that from Berlin.”

  “Well, I suppose that goes to show we’re not the only ones with crooked diplomats,” Castillo said, and winked at Ambassador Silvio, who smiled and shook his head.

  “The Russians seem really upset about these two,” Powell went on. “They’ve offered a large reward for information leading to their arrest. And no one seems to know where they are or how they got there.”

  “Well, I’ll keep my eyes peeled for dishonest-looking Russians, Mr. Powell. And you’ll be the first to know if I find any.”

  “I don’t like to think what will happen to these people—Lieutenant Colonel Alekseeva is Colonel Berezovsky’s sister, and his wife and little girl are apparently with them—if the SVR catches up with them. As they will eventually.”

  “Well, just off the top of my head, Mr. Powell, I’d say if anyone knew how to dodge the SVR it would be a couple of senior SVR officers. Especially if they had a lot of cash. What did you say they’re supposed to have stolen? Three million dollars?”

  “And off the top of my head, Colonel Castillo,” Powell said with more than a little impatience in his voice, “if the situation presented itself, I’d think it obviously would be in their self-interest to place themselves under the protection of the CIA.”

  “And you’d really like to talk to them, right?”

  “Yes, we would really like to talk to them.”

  “Well, I’d say that might be possible somewhere down the pike, but not anytime soon.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, if I have heard that the Vienna station chief has a big mouth—I understand she’s been telling wild stories to her old pal, Mrs. Patricia Davies Wilson, who in turn has been running her mouth to C. Harry Whelan, Jr.”—Castillo glanced at Montvale to gauge his reaction to the mention of the journalist who’d tried to crucify Castillo but was outsmarted by Montvale—“I think we have to presume these people have heard it, too. Under those circumstances, I don’t think if I were them I would place a hell of a lot of faith in the agency to protect them. Would you?”

  There was a long silence, then Powell asked, “Did you ever hear of Lieutenant Colonel Oliver North, Colonel Castillo?”

  “Isn’t he one of those talking heads we see on Fox News?”

  “Before that, he was a serving Marine officer who was given more authority than he could handle.”

  “The story I get, Mr. Powell, is that Colonel North saw what he was doing as his duty as an officer sworn to protect the United States from all enemies, foreign and domestic, and to do what he was doing despite a lot of opposition from what he called the ‘LAs.’ ”

  “The what?”

  “I think it stands for ‘Langley Assholes,’ but I’m not sure.”

  Silvio suddenly had the urge to clear his throat. Castillo looked at him, but the ambassador apparently was finding the tips of his shoes fascinating.

  Powell shot back: “Can I infer from that that you share North’s opinion of the agency?”

  “I don’t know what Ollie thinks of the CIA. But if you’re asking for my opinion?”

  “Yes, I am.”

 
“Some really wonderful people struggling to stay afloat in a sea of politically correct left-wing bureaucrats.”

  “Interesting,” Powell said icily.

  “This is getting us nowhere,” Montvale said. “How long is it going to take to get the information on the alleged chemical factory in the Congo?”

  “I think Mr. Montvale means the Democratic Republic of the Congo,” Castillo offered.

  “It was just handed to me,” Powell said. “The latest analysis is dated five days ago. It states that there is no discernible activity there of interest to the United States. They are apparently experimenting with fish farms.”

  “ ‘Fish farms’?” Castillo parroted.

  “Yes, Colonel. I spell: Foxtrot-India-Sierra-Hotel farms.”

  Castillo shook his head. “Are you open to a suggestion, Mr. Powell?”

  “I’ll listen to one, Colonel Castillo.”

  “You might consider the possibility that whoever filed that, and whoever analyzed and approved the raw data, are cut from the same cloth as Mrs. Davies.”

  “Thank you for sharing that with me, Colonel,” Powell replied again with more than a hint of sarcasm. “I will indeed take it under consideration.”

  “Nice to talk to you, Mr. Powell,” Castillo said.

  “Did you ever hear the old Russian proverb, Colonel, that people who dig their own graves usually are buried in them?”

  “I think you just made that up,” Castillo said.

  “I’ll get back to you later, Jack,” Montvale said.

  “I think that would be a good idea, Mr. Ambassador.”

  Montvale’s face showed he didn’t know what to do with the telephone. Ambassador Silvio took it from him and said into the handset, “Break it down, please.”

  “Satisfied, Castillo?” Montvale asked.

  “Not really. With all the money we spend on the CIA, it seems to me they ought to be able to find their ass with only one hand, let alone both.”

  “As a matter of curiosity, why did you go out of your way to insult the DCI?”

  “What’s chiseled there in stone on the wall of the lobby at Langley? ‘You shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free’? If hearing the truth insults the DCI, maybe he should look for other work.”

  “Okay. I’ve had enough. I am now going to tell you what’s happened, and what’s going to happen.”

  “Correction: What you would like to think is going to happen,” Castillo said. “Unless I hear from the President to the contrary, I’m not subject to your orders.”

  “Do me the courtesy of hearing me out,” Montvale said.

  Castillo met his eyes, then shrugged, then leaned back in his armchair and relit his cigar. “I’m listening.”

  “A board of medical officers convened at the Walter Reed Army Medical Center has examined your case and determined that the stress of your duties has rendered you psychologically unfit for active service, and therefore decided that you will be medically retired as of 1 February—”

  “What the hell!” Castillo said, sitting upright.

  Montvale held out his hand, palm out, as a Wait sign.

  “Hear me out,” he repeated, then went on: “The degree of psychological damage you have suffered in the line of duty has been determined to be twenty-five percent. You will thus receive a disability pension of twenty-five percent of your base pay. There has been some talk that at your retirement ceremony you will be awarded the Distinguished Service Medal.

  “Turning to the retirement ceremony—at which Major Miller will also be medically retired and may be decorated with the Legion of Merit—it will be the regular monthly retirement ceremony at the Army Aviation Center, Fort Rucker, Alabama. At this time, it is currently planned that General Allan Naylor will preside.

  “Major Miller has been placed on terminal leave. You are also on terminal leave—or will be, as soon as you sign the papers Colonel Remley has brought with him.

  “I will be present at your retirement ceremony, as will Mr. C. Harry Whelan of The Washington Post, and DCI Powell. On the flight down, Mr. Powell will tell Mr. Whelan, in the strictest confidence, that there is absolutely nothing to the story Mrs. Davies has told him that you interfered with the CIA operation to turn Colonel Berezovsky and Lieutenant Colonel Alekseeva. And that the Russian defectors are—and always have been—in CIA hands.

  “If it seems to DCI Powell to be the appropriate thing to do—and as a proof of the high regard the CIA holds for Mr. Whelan, as a patriotic American—he will ask my permission to take Mr. Whelan, immediately on our return to Washington, to the CIA safe house in Maryland where Berezovsky and Alekseeva are being interrogated. I will, as proof of my own regard for Mr. Whelan’s patriotism and high standing in journalism, grant my permission.

  “Mr. Whelan will thus have proof of what I told him the first time you got us in a mess like this, that Mrs. Davies is a disgruntled former CIA employee who doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You, rather than running some super-secret operation of the President, are in fact a distinguished warrior who has been pushed beyond his limits and were assigned to an innocuous little agency in the Department of Homeland Security while the psychiatrists and psychologists at Walter Reed tried to help you regain your mental stability. Lamentably, they failed, and Mr. Whelan will see you retired with flags flying, bands playing, and a new medal to add to your already impressive display.”

  He paused and met Castillo’s eyes as all that sank in.

  “Getting the picture, Castillo?”

  Castillo leaned back in his chair and puffed his cigar. “I’ve got it.”

  “All you have to do now is sign the papers Colonel Remley has for you and get the Russians to the airport, and we can put this all behind us.”

  Castillo pointed with his cigar to the secure telephone. “There’s the phone. Call the President.”

  “Why should I do that?”

  “Because he doesn’t know about this. Does he?”

  Montvale shrugged, then confessed: “No. I want to protect him as much as possible from the mess you have caused.”

  “You’re going to present him with a fait accompli?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “Bad idea,” Castillo said. “Now, is it my turn to tell you what’s not going to happen and what is—”

  “You don’t have any choice here, Castillo, for Christ’s sake!”

  “Wrong again.”

  Montvale glowered at him but said nothing. He started to stand.

  “You want to hear me out?” Castillo asked.

  Montvale looked at him, then took his seat. “If you insist.”

  Castillo puffed his cigar as he gathered his thoughts.

  He exhaled, then said: “First of all, the Russians are not going to get on your airplane to be flown to a CIA safe house in Maryland. I don’t think I could talk them into that if I wanted to, and I don’t. Second, I have no intention of signing anything Colonel Remley may have in his briefcase. That’s the ‘what’s not going to happen’ part of my scenario.

  “The second part, ‘what is going to happen,’ is that—with or without your help—I’m going to the Democratic Republic of the Congo to verify what I’ve been told is going on there.”

  “You’re out of your mind!”

  “And when I have proof of that, I’m going to take that factory out myself, and if I can’t do that, lay the proof on the President’s desk and tell him I did what I did because the CIA refused—again—to believe what I told them.”

  “You know I can’t permit you to do anything like that,” Montvale said.

  “And you know you can’t stop me,” Castillo said. “So here is a possible compromise that should cover most of the bases:

  “First, we get Dick Miller on the first plane down here. I need somebody to help me fly the Gulfstream, as Colonel Torine and Captain Sparkman are going to return to Washington with you. Another proof for you to show your pal the journalist that I was not running OOA—Torine
is a full-bird colonel; I’m a lowly lieutenant colonel.

  “Jack Doherty of the FBI is now in Vienna with Dave Yung. They are no longer needed there, as I have turned up another very reliable source of information vis-à-vis who assassinated the Kuhls and Friedler . . .”

  “Your new Russian friends, obviously,” Montvale said sarcastically.

  “. . . and tried to kill Duffy and the Brittons. When all the t’s are crossed and all the i’s dotted, I will turn that information over to you.

  “I spoke with Doherty and Yung last night. Yung’s resignation from the FBI will be in the mail this morning. So he will not be available to anyone, like Whelan, to be questioned.

  “Doherty, on the other hand, wants to return to the J. Edgar Hoover Building. So he’s on his way to Washington, where, if Whelan finds him, he can tell Whelan that he was on temporary duty with the OOA, analyzing the operations of Homeland Security, had always worked for Torine, and knows almost nothing about me except that he heard I wasn’t playing with a full deck.

  “Alex Darby and Edgar Delchamps are going to retire from the agency and won’t be available. Jack Britton will resign from the Secret Service, as will Tony Santini; Whelan won’t be able to find them, I don’t think, and even if he does, will learn nothing from them.”

  “Ambassador Silvio,” Montvale said, “I put it to you that you’ve heard enough of this to fairly conclude that Lieutenant Colonel Castillo is not only as unstable as the doctors in Walter Reed have concluded but that he is threatening to do a number of things—which he is entirely capable of undertaking in his delusional state—that are not only illegal but which will almost certainly cause great embarrassment not only to the President personally but to the country, and that under these circumstances, it is your clear duty to help me get him on my airplane and to the United States, despite any promises you made to him not knowing the seriousness of his mental condition.”

  “You sonofabitch!” Castillo said. “If I am held here against my will, much less forced to—”

  Ambassador Silvio made a gentle gesture with his hand, silencing Castillo. “Ambassador Montvale,” Silvio began in a measured tone, “first let me say that I don’t need you to point out my ‘clear duty’ to me. As ambassador, by law I am the senior American officer in Argentina. And let me be frank: As I’ve listened to the exchange between you and Colonel Castillo, and between Colonel Castillo and Mr. Powell, I wondered about my responsibilities in that regard in this matter.