The shooters pa-4

by W. E. B Griffin

  Holy Christ!

  Calm down!

  How could Richardson's kid possibly be mine?

  Castillo suddenly felt a chill down his spine. He had goose bumps.

  Dumb fucking question!

  "Well, he's a nice kid. I wish he was mine. But he's not, obviously," Castillo said, and put the photographs back in the envelope. "Thanks, Jamie."

  "Happy to do it, Colonel," Jamie Neidermeyer said, and walked back to his seat.

  Castillo picked up his laptop from the seat, sat down, tucked the envelope of photographs under the laptop, and then opened the computer.

  He clicked on a file titled CHKLIST.

  A screen full of gibberish appeared.

  Why did I bother to encrypt this? No one could make sense out of it if it was on a billboard.

  He held down the CTRL key, typed "DEC," and the file decrypted.

  The gibberish was replaced by a screen more or less in English. (1)

  RRAC???

  AV???????

  WHEN????

  WHERE???

  ETA U??

  OR???

  (2)

  OO??

  C5'S???

  C-141S??

  HOW MANY??

  WHERE LAND??

  (3)

  PEVSNER??

  WHERE??

  DRUG CONNECTION??

  WHERE HIS BELL???

  The list of numbered entries-Castillo's system of keeping Things To Do notes numbered according to what he considered was their priority at the moment-ran off the computer screen.

  He scrolled slowly down the list, reading each one. There were twenty-three.

  He scrolled back up the list to (1). He would deal with that first.

  The translation of (1) was:

  What about the aircraft carrier USS Ronald Reagan?

  Is it going to be available?

  When is it going to be available?

  Where will it be when/if it is made available?

  What will its Estimated Time of Arrival off of Uruguay-or someplace else-be?

  He made the necessary corrections based on his current knowledge.

  General McNab had sent Colonel Kingston to Tampa International Airport, where they had taken on fuel and gone through the customs and immigration formalities.

  Kingston had told him the USS Ronald Reagan had been ordered through Navy channels to be prepared to receive four (possibly as many as six) UH-1H helicopters that were engaged in a clandestine operation classified Top Secret. The Task Group Commander and the captain of the Ronald Reagan would be advised when and where the helicopters were to be brought aboard. The senior officer of the flight detachment would advise the Task Group Commander and the captain when and where the helicopters were to be launched from the Reagan.

  The cover story for the operation was that the helicopters were being ferried to an unspecified Latin American country as part of a military assistance program. In this connection, the Ronald Reagan was to be prepared to strip the helicopters of their existing U.S. Army paint scheme and identification numbers and repaint them in a paint scheme and numbers to be furnished by the senior officer of the flight detachment.

  Castillo deleted the question marks after RRAC??? as there was no longer any question that the USS Ronald Reagan would be the means by which the helicopters would go to South America, and he deleted AV??? because he now knew that the ship would be available.

  He left the question marks after When??? and Where??? and ETA U??? as he and Colonel Kingston had agreed there was no sense in guessing when the choppers would go aboard the Reagan, or where, or when the Reagan would be off the coast of Uruguay. The choppers would be flown as soon as possible from Rucker to SOCOM at MacDill, and from MacDill to the Reagan. They would have a communicator with them. He would be in touch with both Castillo and McNab-and Kingston and everybody else with one of the AFC radios-and his information would be up to date.

  Castillo deleted Or??? because that entry asked at what other location the choppers could be flown off the Ronald Reagan if they found for whatever reason that they could not do it off the coast of Uruguay. That was settled. Off the coast of Uruguay was the only place it could be done.

  Castillo turned to (2), the translation of which was:

  Other Options?

  Maybe C-5

  Maybe C-141s

  How many 141s would be necessary?

  Where could they land?

  Now that the Ronald Reagan was going to ferry the choppers, it was no longer necessary to give consideration to using a C-5 Galaxy or two-or more-of its little brothers, the C-141 Starlifter transport aircraft, to get them to South America. That would have posed all kinds of problems-including coming up with a cover story to hide where a C-5, one of the largest aircraft in the world, was headed and why.

  Castillo deleted all of (2) and turned to (3), the translation of which was:

  What about Aleksandr Pevsner?

  Where is he?

  Does he have any connection with these drug people?

  Where's his Bell Ranger helicopter?

  He renumbered (3) to (2), then shook his head and sighed audibly.

  Then he held down the CTRL key, typed "ENC," and thus encrypted the file. He saved the file, then closed the top of the laptop.

  He took the manila envelope containing the photographs from beneath the computer. He pulled the image of Randolph Richardson IV and himself from the envelope.

  He looked at it.

  Problems don't go away by ignoring them.

  And, oh boy, do I have a doozie of a problem here.

  Perhaps unconsciously, perhaps by habit, he raised the lid of the laptop and began to deal with this problem as he did with most others with many facets. That was to say, as a Staff Study.

  But no clever little abbreviations this time.

  I can't afford to fuck this up.

  He pushed the NEW key and started to type.

  FACTS BEARING ON THE PROBLEM: THE MALE CHILD KNOWN AS RANDOLPH RICHARDSON IV IS IN FACT THE BIOLOGICAL CHILD OF MRS. BETHANY RICHARDSON AND C. G. CASTILLO, HAVING BEEN CONCEIVED OUT OF WEDLOCK SHORTLY BEFORE THE THEN-MISS WILSON MARRIED RANDOLPH RICHARDSON III, WHOSE NAME PRESUMABLY APPEARS ON THE BIRTH CERTIFICATE.

  DISCUSSION: CONSIDERING THE RAMIFICATIONS OF THE ABOVE, AND INASMUCH AS THE HUMAN ANIMAL IS CAPABLE OF UNLIMITED SELF-DECEPTION, THE FOLLOWING MUST BE TAKEN INTO CONSIDERATION: (1) BWR PROBABLY HAS CONSIDERED THE STRONG POSSIBILITY THAT HER FIRST CHILD WAS CONCEIVED IN THE DALEVILLE INN WITH CGC RATHER THAN WHEREVER THE HELL SHE WAS ON HER HONEYMOON AND BY RRIII. SHE HAS DECIDED THAT:

  A. HER LIAISON WITH CGC DID NOT OCCUR DURING HER FERTILITY VULNERABILITY AND HER HONEYMOON WITH RIGHTEOUS DID, AND THAT THEREFORE, RRIII IS THE FATHER OF RRIV. OR, B. MORE LIKELY, THAT LITTLE WOULD BE GAINED, AND THERE WOULD BE A GREAT DEAL TO BE LOST, BY FESSING UP.

  C. WHY DIDN'T SHE TELL ME?

  I. BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE FESSING UP

  II. BECAUSE SHE KNEW THERE WAS A GOOD CHANCE I WOULDN'T GIVE A DAMN (WOULD I HAVE?) III. BECAUSE I MIGHT HAVE RUSHED IN AND ANNOUNCED I WANTED TO DO THE "RIGHT THING," WHICH MEANS EVERYBODY WOULD HAVE KNOWN WHAT HAPPENED; THAT, FOR ONE, THERE WAS A CERTAIN HYPOCRISY IN HER VIRGINAL WHITE BRIDAL GOWN

  IV. AND HER PARENTS WOULD HAVE KNOWN OF HER LITTLE INDISCRETION

  (2) WHO ELSE KNOWS OR SUSPECTS?

  A. RRIII WOULD HAVE NO REASON TO SUSPECT ANYTHING AND PROBABLY WAS PROUD AS HELL WHEN PEOPLE THOUGHT THAT HE MADE HIS BRIDE PREGNANT ON THE HONEYMOON.

  I. IF HE SUSPECTED LATER (CHILD DOESN'T LOOK LIKE EITHER OF THEM) IT WOULD BE HARD FOR HIM TO ACCEPT.

  II. IF HE SOMEHOW FOUND OUT (INCLUDING IF BWR WAS OVERWHELMED WITH GUILT; OR GOT PLASTERED AND LET IT OUT IN A FIGHT; ETCETERA) HE WOULD EITHER HAVE TO KEEP HIS MOUTH SHUT OR BE FACED WITH THE HUMILIATION OF HAVING IT WHISPERED UP AND DOWN THE LONG GRAY LINE THAT CGC HAD IMPREGNATED HIS VIRGIN BRIDE. SINCE THAT WOULD AFFECT HIS CAREER, HE WOULD KEEP HIS MOUTH SHUT.

  III. OR, EQUALLY POSSIBLE, BWR TOLD HIM,
AND THEY DECIDED BETWEEN THEM THAT THE BEST WAY TO DEAL WITH THE PROBLEM WOULD BE TO PRETEND IT HAD NEVER HAPPENED. (BUT IS IT POSSIBLE FOR ANYONE TO SIT ON SOMETHING SO EMOTIONALLY CHARGED FOR THAT LONG-13 YEARS, MORE OR LESS, DEPENDING ON WHEN SHE TOLD HIM?????) B. GEN amp; MRS. WILSON-UNLIKELY. NEITHER OF THEM WOULD SUSPECT THAT THEIR PRECIOUS LITTLE GIRL COULD POSSIBLY DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS.

  C. HER FRIENDS-UNLIKELY. THERE ARE SECRETS AND THERE ARE SECRETS-AND THIS IS NOT THE KIND TO BE SHARED WITH GIRLISH GIGGLES.

  D. ABUELA-OH, GOD!!!

  I. IF ABUELA COULD TAKE A TEN-SECOND LOOK AT A BLACK-AND-WHITE PHOTOGRAPH OF A TWELVE-YEAR-OLD SHE HAD NEVER SEEN IN HER LIFE AND FIRMLY DECLARE, "THAT'S MY GRANDSON. HE HAS JORGE'S EYES," OR WORDS TO THAT EFFECT, THEN…

  THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO CHANCE IN HELL THAT ABUELA DOESN'T KNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  SO WHY HASN'T SHE SAID ANYTHING?

  BECAUSE SHE FIGURES THE KID WOULD BE BETTER OFF WHERE HE IS???

  OR MAYBE SHE HAS SAID SOMETHING-INDIRECTLY-WITH ALL THAT TALK ABOUT ME NOT HAVING A FAMILY??? AND GETTING A DOG??? BUT A DOG IS NOT THE KID…

  "THE KID"???? HE'S YOUR SON, YOU ASSHOLE!!!! YOUR BLOOD, THE FRUIT OF YOUR LOINS, THE WHOLE GODDAMN NINE YARDS!!!!

  AND WHAT ABOUT THE BOY??

  WHAT'S BETTER FOR HIM??

  Castillo stopped typing, looked at what he had written, ran the cursor over everything to highlight it, and then put his finger on the DELETE key.

  This is not going to go away by sending it into cyberspace!

  Then he held down the CTRL key, then typed "ENC." He saved the now encrypted file as FATHERHOOD and turned off the laptop.

  IX

  [ONE] Aeropuerto Internacional Ministro Pistarini, Ezeiza Buenos Aires, Argentina 0525 9 September 2005 Colonel Jacob Torine, USAF, turned from the left seat in the cockpit of Gulfstream III N379LT toward Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo, USA, who was standing in the doorway, and pointed his index finger toward the passenger compartment.

  Torine ordered, "Sit."

  Colonel Castillo complied with the order.

  Captain Richard M. Sparkman, USAF, suppressing a smile, then retarded the throttles a tad, waited two seconds more, then greased the aircraft onto the runway.

  "Nice," Colonel Torine said to Captain Sparkman over the privacy of the intercom. "Your other option, of course, was coming in hard and/or short or long and having Charley remind you of it for the rest of your natural life."

  "What kind of a pilot is he?"

  "If you quote me, I will deny it, but he's one of the naturals. Get him to take you for a chopper ride sometime. You'll feel like one of those soaring swallows that fly from Capistrano to Plaza de Mayo here in B. A."

  "Stupid question, I guess," Sparkman said. "I saw all those DFCs."

  "Three of them," Torine said. "Each for doing something with a helicopter that the manufacturer will tell you is aerodynamically impossible."

  Ezeiza ground control directed them to the far left of the terminal building, where ground handlers parked them between two McDonnell Douglas MD-11 cargo aircraft, one belonging to FedEx and the other to Lufthansa, which made the Gulfstream look very small indeed.

  "Passengers may now feel free to move about the aircraft," Torine called over the cabin speakers. "Please remember to take your personal items with you. That includes ravenous bears masquerading as lapdogs."

  Castillo reappeared in the cockpit doorway.

  "How do you want to handle this, Charley?" Torine asked. "Use the valet parking? Or have us stick with it and catch up to you later?"

  "There's nothing on here of interest, except the AFC radios, and we'll take them with us. Let's stick together."

  "And the weapons?" Torine argued.

  "No problem, right, until we try to take them off the airplane? Just leave them."

  "I will now go deal with the authorities," Torine said. "When do I tell them we'll need it?"

  "On an hour's notice," Castillo said.

  "Remember, we're here to fish," Torine said.

  Castillo knew that that had come from Darby when Torine had radioed him their arrival time at Ezeiza. Darby had said, "The purpose of your visit is sport-fishing on the Pilcomayo River."

  Max took one look at the customs officials at the foot of the stair door and decided he didn't like them. He was, however, now on a leash-Castillo had bought in Quito a hefty woven leather souvenir lariat for that purpose-and thus didn't pose a real problem. Still, the customs officials, smiling nervously, gave Max a wide berth as he towed Castillo to the nose gear.

  Inside the terminal, when Castillo's group tried to pass through customs and immigration, there was another problem with Max. They were told that the official charged with ensuring that live animals entering the country had the proper documentation-in Max's case, a certificate from a doctor of veterinary medicine stating he had the proper rabies and other inoculations-had not yet come to work. They would have to wait until he showed up.

  Castillo then saw, at about the same time Delchamps did, the two burly men in civilian clothing leaning against the wall across the baggage carousel from them, trying not to conceal their interest in the newly arrived American sportfishermen.

  They might as well have had COP tattooed on their foreheads.

  When Castillo locked eyes with Delchamps, it was obvious they were both wondering if the official-who-had-not-yet-come-to-work was really late, or whether this was some kind of stall.

  Max was not concerned. He had for some reason changed his mind and decided he liked the customs officers who wouldn't let him into the country, and had offered them his paw. They had responded by offering him a thick rope to tug on, and he now was dragging two of them across the baggage room.

  Castillo was somewhat concerned that when it came to inspecting their luggage there might be special interest in the AFC satellite telephones in the suitcases carried by Lester Bradley and Jamie Neidermeyer.

  There was a cover story ready, of course-that they were ordinary satellite telephones necessary to keep Senor Castillo in touch with the world headquarters of the Lorimer Charitable amp; Benevolent Fund in Washington, D.C.-but that sounded fishy to even Senor Castillo, and there might be problems later if the customs officers decided they had best make a record of the entry of the radios into Argentina so that they would leave the country when Senor Castillo did, and not be sold in Argentina without the appropriate taxes being paid.

  The problem did not come up. By the time the official charged with making sure Max was healthy showed up a half hour later, Max had so charmed the customs officials-mostly by being stronger than the two of them tugging on the rope-that as soon as the official had stamped his vaccination certificate they waved them past the luggage X-ray machines and through the doors to the lobby for arriving passengers.

  There were no familiar faces waiting for them. But Torine nudged Castillo and nodded toward a man waving a sign with "Herr Gossinger" written on it.

  Castillo discreetly signaled the others to wait, then walked over to the man.

  Before Castillo could open his mouth, the man with the sign greeted him, in German: "Herr Munz welcomes you to Argentina, Herr Gossinger. He awaits you and your party at the estancia."

  "Danke schoen," Castillo replied, and motioned for the others to follow him.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the two cops who had been in baggage claim were now in the terminal, and obviously about to follow him and the others wherever they went.

  The man with the sign led them out of the terminal to a small yellow Mercedes bus with ARGENTOURS painted on its doors. As the driver, eyeing Max warily, stuffed their luggage into it and the two cops watched the process, Torine discreetly nudged Castillo again, this time indicating a BMW with ordinary Argentine license plates.

  Castillo saw Alfredo Munz behind the wheel. Alex Darby, the "commercial attache" of the United States embassy, was sitting next to him. Neither Darby nor Munz gave any sign of recognition.

  There were two
people in the backseat of the BMW whom Castillo couldn't identify.

  Not surprising. I can barely see Darby and Munz through those darkened windows.

  But what the hell is this all about?

  When the yellow Mercedes bus pulled away from the terminal, Munz's BMW followed it, and when they had left the airport property and were on the highway headed toward downtown Buenos Aires, Munz passed the bus and pulled in front.

  That wasn't surprising either, but a minute or so later, Corporal Lester Bradley made his way with some difficulty through the crowded bus to kneel in the aisle beside Castillo.

  "Colonel, I may be wrong, but I thought I should bring to your attention the possibility that we're being followed."

  Yung heard him. He said, "It's those two cop types who were eyeing us in the terminal."

  Castillo looked out over the luggage stacked in the back of the bus. There behind them were four men in a blue Peugeot sedan.

  "And two of their friends," Castillo said.

  "What's going on, Colonel?" Yung asked.

  "I think they're friendlies, bringing up our rear. Munz and Darby are in that BMW in front of us. As to what's going on, I haven't a clue."

  Ten minutes later, perhaps five seconds after Castillo had decided they were en route to the safe house in Pilar-they were on the sort of parkway that connects the downtown Buenos Aires-Ezeiza autopista with the Acceso Norte, which turns into Ruta 8-the BMW ahead of them suddenly turned onto an exit road and the bus, tires squealing, followed them.