Hunters pa-3

by W. E. B Griffin

  "Why do I suspect the people you talked to at Langley cannot be counted among his legion of admirers?" Castillo asked. "For the record, I like him very much. You can find him in my dictionary under both 'highly competent' or 'widely experienced.'"

  "Not for the record, the people I spoke with seem to feel that not only does he regret the Cold War is over, but that he is both a Francophobe and-am I coining a phrase?-a UNphobe."

  "Maybe that's because he's been dealing with the French and the United Nations for a longtime."

  "They asked me if he might be considering retirement when his temporary duty with me is concluded."

  "With all respect, Mr. Ambassador, his temporary duty is with me. And if they ask that question, tell them not to hold their breath."

  "You're fond of that expression, aren't you?" Montvale said, then finished his original comment: "'And no, Mr. President, there is no firm intelligence to confirm this fascinating theory. Colonel Castillo is going on a hunch.'"

  Castillo said nothing.

  "No comment, Colonel?"

  "Mr. Ambassador, I told you I would keep you abreast of what I'm doing and plan to do. I've just done that."

  "Does the FBI expert, Inspector Doherty, whom you told not to hold his breath when he said he expected you to tell him if you had any contact with Pevsner or former FBI agent Kennedy-"

  "You knew about that, and still sent him to me?"

  "You asked for their best man and that's who I sent you," Montvale replied. "Does Doherty know about this fascinating theory that Putin is playing games with us?"

  "He does, and I'd say he shares your opinion of it, sir."

  "Well, while you're off in Texas and Argentina would it be possible for him to come see me and tell me what he thinks of the situation?"

  "I'm taking Inspector Doherty with me, sir."

  "To South America?"

  "I want him to work with the people and the data down there, Mr. Ambassador."

  "I'd really like to have his take on the probability of there being nuclear weapons about to be detonated in this country."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Does that mean you're going to send him to see or not?"

  "I've got two more telephone calls to make, Mr. Ambassador, and then we're going to the airport."

  "In other words, you're not going to send him to see me."

  "There's just not time, Mr. Ambassador."

  "This is another of those times when I really wish you were working for me, Castillo."

  "Yes, sir. I thought something like that might be running through your mind."

  There was a long silence, then the White House operator came on the line: "Are you through, Colonel?"

  Castillo realized that Montvale had broken his end of the connection.

  "It looks that way. Thank you."

  Castillo put the White House phone back in its cradle and picked up the handset of another. "Lopez."

  "Carlos. You weren't in your office, but they gave me your cellular number."

  "I'm at the Double-Bar-C," Fernando Lopez said.

  "What are you doing there?"

  "Why do you think, Gringo? Abuela's here."

  "So are half a dozen Secret Service agents."

  "I thought I should be here, okay? What's on your mind?"

  "What do you know about the Kenyon oil company, specifically the Kenyon Oil Refining and Brokerage Company? Is there a Kenyon?"

  "Jesus, you really don't live here anymore, do you?" Lopez said, not very pleasantly. "Yeah, there's a Kenyon. There's a lot of them. One of them, Philip, is a classmate of mine. You don't remember him?"

  "No, I don't."

  "Now that I think about it, I'm really surprised. You belted him good one time when he said you had to be queer because you talked funny and rode a sissy saddle."

  "Tubby?" Castillo asked as the memory came to him of a heavyset twelve-year-old trying to fight back tears after his nose had been bloodied.

  "Yeah," Fernando said. "Tubby. Nobody calls him that much anymore."

  "He runs Kenyon?"

  "Yeah, he does. Why do I think, Gringo, that I am going to be unhappy when you explain this sudden interest in Philip J. Kenyon III?"

  "You're not going to like it, Fernando," Castillo said. "Is he in Midland now, do you think?"

  "He was yesterday," Fernando said. "I saw him in the Petroleum Club. He asked me if I still played poker and I had to tell him no because Maria and Abuela and the Munzes were with me. The Friday-night three-card stud games of fame and legend are still going."

  "He'll be there-at the Petroleum Club-tonight?"

  "You going to tell me why you want to know?"

  "Not over the phone. I'll tell you when I see you."

  "And when will that be?"

  "As soon as I make one more telephone call, I'm headed for the airport. It's about three hours in the air. Figure another hour and a half to go wheels-up. It's now ten. Knock an hour off because of the time zones. We should be there sometime before three."

  "Midland-Odessa or here?"

  "Midland. We're going from there to Buenos Aires, and I can't do the customs stuff from the strip at the Double-Bar-C."

  "Who's we?"

  "Yung, a guy named Delchamps, a guy named Doherty-an FBI big shot-Miller, and me."

  "Plus Jake Torine. It'll be a little crowded, but it'll be all right."

  "Jake's not coming, and we may not be staying overnight."

  "First things first. Yes, you are staying overnight. Abuela will expect you to spend the night. Jesus, you just don't give a damn about people's feelings, do you, Carlos?"

  "Okay. We'll spend the night."

  "If Jake's not coming, who's flying the Gulfstream?"

  "Miller will work the radios," Castillo said after a just-perceptible hesitation.

  "Sure. Why not? You've been flying that Gulfstream for, what, ten whole days now? And really racked up a lot of time. Maybe ten, even twelve, hours. And shot maybe six landings. You're out of your mind, you know that?"

  "I can fly the Gulfstream," Castillo said.

  "There are old pilots and there are bold pilots, but there are no old bold pilots. You ever hear that?"

  "I can fly it. It practically flies itself."

  "I was about to say it's been nice knowing you, but that wouldn't be entirely true."

  "So I don't suppose you're going to meet me at Midland-Odessa?" Castillo asked, but, before Lopez had a chance to reply, went on: "No, actually have the senior Secret Service agent meet us. I have to talk to him and I'd rather do that at the airport."

  "Your wish is my command, Carlos. See you sometime this afternoon."

  The connection went dead.

  He called me Carlos again. He called me Carlos three times. He must be really pissed at me.

  And, unfortunately, with good reason.

  He got another dial tone, and then, reading them from Alex Darby's cellular, carefully punched in a long series of numbers. "?Hola?"

  "Hello, Alek," Castillo said, in Russian.

  After a long moment, Aleksandr Pevsner replied, in Russian, "Ah, Colonel Castillo, my former friend. I am surprised that you would dare to call me ever again."

  "'Former friend,' Alek?"

  "You lied to me, and about something you knew was very important to me."

  "Are you going to tell what? Or are you just going to sulk like a little boy?"

  "You dare to deny it? To mock me?"

  "To mock you, sure. You're the mockable type. But I can't deny anything until you tell me what it is."

  "Munz is what I'm talking about."

  "What about him?"

  "You knew where he was all the time and said you didn't."

  "I didn't say I didn't know where he was," Castillo said. "I didn't tell you I didn't know. You jumped to that conclusion."

  "Do you know where he is now?"

  "Kennedy can't find him?"

  "Or his family, Colonel Ex-Friend."

  "I don't understand
the question. Are you telling me that Howard can't find Alfredo and his family? Or asking if I know where Senora Munz and the girls are?"

  "If you knew where the women are would you tell me? The truth?"

  "I do and I would."

  "Where are they?"

  "Safe. In the safest place I can think of them to be right now."

  "You're not going to tell me where?"

  "No."

  "And Alfredo?"

  "He's in the second-safest place I could think of for him to be."

  "I want to talk to Alfredo."

  "Well, he has your number, Alek. If he wanted to talk to you, I think he would have called. That's his call. So far as Senora Munz is concerned, give me four hours or so to have her released from her cell and for the tranquilizers to wear off and I'll ask her if she wants to call you. But I have to say, I don't think she'd call unless Alfredo said it was okay, and we're right back to square one."

  "You sonofabitch. When I find you, you will be sorry."

  "Actually, you won't have to find me. I'll be in Argentina in twenty-four hours or less and I want to talk to you. And so do several friends of mine."

  "Ha!"

  "The reason I'm calling, Alek, is to try to make sure you'll still be alive when I get there."

  "Meaning what?"

  "I think it's entirely possible that certain people-certain of your countrymen, as a matter of fact-would like it a lot better if you had one of those Indian beauty marks you're always talking about in the center of your forehead."

  There was a perceptible pause before Pevsner replied.

  "My countrymen? What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

  "One of the people who were there when Alfredo shot himself cleaning his pistol was a member of the Cuban Direccion General de Inteligencia. That being the case, isn't it reasonable that the KSB is involved?"

  There was a perceptible pause before Pevser replied, in a tone of disgust, "The Cuban Direccion General de Inteligencia? Where did you get that? Why should I believe it?"

  "You should believe it, friend Alek, because I'm telling you. And you should also believe that the people who tried to ask Eric Kocian questions in Budapest were ex-Stasi, because I'm telling you that, too."

  When Pevsner didn't reply, Castillo went on. "Why don't you ask your friends? The Cuban was Major Alejandro Vincenzo. He was once Castro's bodyguard. I don't have the names of the ex-Stasi people yet, but I'm working on it."

  There was another long pause before Pevsner asked, "What was this fellow's name?"

  Castillo repeated it, then spelled it for him.

  "Where did you get this, Charley?" Pevsner asked.

  "Sorry."

  "You don't trust me?"

  "Why should I? A minute ago, you told me we're no longer pals." There was another long pause, then Castillo went on: "Alfredo knows. But since he doesn't trust you enough to even give you a call to say, 'Hi, Alek! How they hanging?' I guess you're just going to have to guess where we got it."

  "Alfredo has no reason to distrust me and neither do you," Pevsner said, sharply.

  "Well, truth to tell, I trust you. Up to a point. But Alfredo obviously isn't so sure. Otherwise, he would have been in touch."

  "I want to talk to Alfredo, Charley."

  "Charley? I thought I was Colonel Ex-Friend."

  "I want to talk to Alfredo, Charley," Pevsner repeated.

  "Well, maybe when I'm down there something can be worked out."

  "I mean right now."

  "Give my regards to the family, Alek. And watch your back. You don't have as many friends as you think you do." [TWO] Midland International Airport Midland, Texas 1455 12 August 2005 "I've got it, Dick," Castillo said.

  Miller raised both of his hands, fingers spread, to show that he was relinquishing control of the aircraft.

  They had been cleared for a straight-in approach to runway 34R.

  They could see the airfield clearly.

  He really hated to turn it over me, Castillo thought. At least, subconsciously. He knows it wouldn't be safe for him to land with only one good leg. Dick really loves to fly. I'm not like that, never have been. I do it because that's what I'm supposed to do and I try hard to do it well, because the alternative to doing it well is not pleasant to contemplate.

  I think I should be able to sit this thing down without any trouble. The approach is low and slow, and 34R is 9,501 feet long and 51 feet wide.

  But Fernando was right. I really shouldn't be flying this by myself with only a few hours of on-the-job training.

  The approach control operator's voice in his headset brought him to attention.

  "Gulfstream Three-Seven-Nine," the controller said, "be advised that an Air Force F-15D has just begun his takeoff roll on 34R."

  Before Castillo could open his mouth, Miller responded to the controller: "Thank you. We have him in sight."

  Ahead of them, a dull-silver-painted Air Force fighter was moving with ever-increasing speed down the runway. It lifted off and almost immediately raised its nose so steeply that the entire aircraft seemed to be under them. The fuselage-just wide enough to hold the cockpit-was mounted on the leading edge of the swept-back wing between the intakes for the engines. There were two vertical stabilizers mounted on the rear of the wing.

  The pilot kicked in the afterburners and the plane began to climb at an astonishing speed.

  "Look at that sonofabitch go!" Miller said, softly, in awe.

  "What's a D?" Castillo asked.

  "The trainer," Miller replied. "Two seats."

  "I wonder what it's doing at Midland-Odessa?" Castillo said, then added, "I think this is the time we put the wheels down."

  Ten seconds later, Miller reported, "Gear down and locked." As Castillo taxied the Gulfstream up to the parking ramp before the Avion business-aviation building, Miller pointed out the window.

  "Why do I think that's why that F-15D was here?" he asked.

  Colonel Jacob Torine, USAF, wearing a yellow polo shirt and khaki slacks, was walking from the building toward them.

  "Go let him in, Dick," Castillo said. "I'll shut it down."

  Ninety seconds later, Colonel Torine stuck his head in the cockpit.

  "I don't recall giving you permission, Colonel, to play by yourself in our airplane."

  "And I didn't know the Air Force let old men like you even ride in airplanes like that F-15D," Castillo said, offering Torine his hand.

  "Only if they're full-bull colonels," Torine said. "You think that hard landing you just made did any serious damage?"

  "That was a greaser, Jake, and you know it."

  "Beginner's luck," Torine said. "Agnes called me and said you were headed out here and probably to Gaucholand. She didn't tell me why."

  "We found out who sent the money to the AALs in Pennsylvania to buy their bomb shelter," Castillo said. "It turns out he went to Texas A amp;M with Fernando."

  "Interesting," Torine said. "I guess that explains why Fernando-and the three Secret Service guys in the Avion building-are here. What happens next?"

  "I spent most of the trip out here thinking about that," Castillo said. "I have an idea. It's probably not a very good idea, but it's all I could come up with."

  "And are you going to share this not very good idea with me?"

  Castillo finished unstrapping himself and stood up. He met Torine's eyes. "Yeah. And after-to use fighter jock terminology-I'm shot down in flames, you can tell me where I went wrong."

  "I don't know," Torine replied. "Your flying skills leave something to be desired, but every once in a good while you have a reasonably good idea."

  Castillo motioned that they go into the fuselage.

  Miller was sitting on the edge of one of the left forward-facing leather seats near the door. Doherty was sitting across the aisle from him. Delchamps and Yung were sprawled on the couches. They made room for Torine and Castillo.

  "It's getting a little toasty in here, Ace," Delchamps said.

  "An ai
r conditioner is on the way," Castillo said, then added: "You don't know Jake, do you?"

  "No," Delchamps replied, "but I know he's all right. When Two-Gun Yung here saw him coming, he raised his eyes to heaven and said, 'Thank you, God!'"

  Miller and Torine laughed.

  "I'm about to get the others in here," Castillo said. "But before I do, Inspector Doherty, I want you to understand that what I'm going to propose is probably-hell, certainly-illegal. I don't expect you to go along with it. But I do expect you to keep your mouth shut. When I want your opinion, I'll ask. Clear?"

  Doherty, tight-lipped, nodded.

  Castillo nodded back, then went to the door.

  A ground crew was installing both an auxiliary power unit and an air-conditioning hose.

  Castillo raised his voice to be heard over the tug pulling the unit. "Make sure that's working," he ordered. "We're going to have a meeting in here that may take sometime."

  Then he looked at the Avion building and waved his arm. He couldn't see Lopez or the Secret Service agents, but a moment later his cousin pushed through the door, followed by three men in gray suits, and all started walking toward the Gulfstream.

  When everyone was aboard, Castillo closed the stair door.

  "I know it's a little crowded in here," he said, "but I'm pretty sure it's not bugged."

  This earned him a dutiful laugh.

  "I wish I could stand up all the way up in here," he said, earning a second polite laugh.

  After a moment to collect his thoughts, he went on: "Okay, what follows is classified Top Secret Presidential, by authority of a Presidential Finding. You will never disclose anything you hear or learn in this cabin to anyone at any time without my personal permission. Everybody understand that?"

  He looked at each man in turn until he got a nod of acknowledgment.

  "Some of you are aware that American Muslims in the Aari-Teg mosque in Philadelphia-a group with known ties to terrorists-have purchased a farm near Philadelphia where they will seek shelter when a suitcase nuclear device, called a SADM, is detonated…" "…And," Castillo wound up his opening comments, "now that you know the manner in which I intend to deal with Mr. Kenyon would drive just about any civil libertarian up the wall, I'm going to give you ninety seconds to make up your mind whether you're in or out.

  "Those who decide, for any reason, that they can't participate in this operation are free to go. No hard feelings. But with that caveat that they are not to reveal anything they have just heard or attempt to interfere in any manner with what I'm going to do.