“I was afraid you’d ask. Las Vegas. But it’s business. Believe me.
“Of course I’ll have time to give you a kiss. We should be there in a little over two hours.
“I love you, Abuela,” he said, and turned to Munz.
“Great lady,” Castillo said. “She believed me. Didn’t give me any static at all.”
“So my wife says,” Munz said. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
Castillo pushed another autodial button, then the LOUDSPEAKER key.
“I want you to listen to this one. You should know about Aloysius Francis Casey.”
“What?” a thin, somewhat belligerent voice demanded over the phone’s loudspeaker a moment later.
“This is Charley Castillo, Dr. Casey.”
“Ah, the boy colonel. How many goddamn times do I have to tell you to call me Frank?”
“Another couple hundred times might do it.”
“I hear you’re headed out here. When?”
“We’re leaving in a couple of minutes—we’re in Chicago—and we have to make a stop in Midland, Texas. Say two hours to Midland, and another hour and forty-five minutes to get from Midland to Vegas. We should be on the ground about twenty-thirty or thereabouts.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Jake, of course, and a young Green Beanie who took a pretty bad hit in Afghanistan. And Tom McGuire—”
“He gets a pass because he’s a Boston Irishman. Who else?”
“How about a pass for a Chicago cop named Mullroney? He’s Irish, too.”
“Who the hell is he?”
“I’ll tell you when I’m there. Could you get us rooms near McCarren?”
“You’ll stay with me.”
“There’s five of us!”
“There’s room. Tell me about the Green Beanie who took the hit.”
“Rocket-propelled grenade. One of his legs is titanium from the knee down.”
“He need anything special?”
“No.”
“He’s working with you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been working on stuff to set off those goddamn IEDs before they can cause anybody any harm, but those goddamn RPGs…”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Okay, I’ll see you when you get here.”
[FIVE]
Double-Bar-C Ranch
Near Midland, Texas
1845 2 September 2005
As the Gulfstream taxied back toward the hangar, Castillo saw four women standing by a silver Jaguar XJ8. Fifty yards away, near an enormous, slowly bobbing horse-head oil pump, several horses and maybe a dozen Santa Gertrudis steers stood watching.
There had been horses and Santa Gertrudis cattle grazing on the Double-Bar-C long before the first automobile had bounced over the West Texas prairie, and long before the first well had tapped the Permian Oil Basin beneath it.
The first time Castillo had been shown the ranch—he was twelve at the time—his newly discovered grandfather, Don Fernando Castillo, had told him, “We were comfortable, Carlos, before they put the first hole down. I often think we were happier—life was certainly simpler—before they found the oil.”
And seeing the pump now, he had the same reaction to it he’d had to the first pump he’d ever seen:
Every time that thing goes up and down, it’s fifty cents in his pocket.
And there’re a lot of those pumps.
The only difference between then and now is that today West Texas sweet crude brings fifty bucks a barrel.
That, and Abuela left the Double-Bar-C to me.
The women waiting for the Gulfstream were Castillo’s grandmother—his abuela—and Colonel Alfredo Munz’s wife and two daughters.
The warmth of his memory of Don Fernando turned to cold anger with the sight of the Munzes…and the reason they were at the ranch.
Goddamn the miserable bastards who go after a man’s family.
Munz’s family had come to the Double-Bar-C because of a very real threat to their lives in Argentina.
“Wake up, First Officer,” Jake Torine said. “We are, no thanks to you, safely on the ground.”
Castillo unfastened his shoulder harness and went into the cabin.
Alfredo Munz was already out of his seat, waiting for the stair door to be opened. Castillo worked it, and then waved Munz off the plane first.
Castillo saw that Munz had not taken his suitcase with him. He picked it up and went down the stairs with it. He saw the younger girl running toward her father, followed by the older girl, and then, moving more slowly, Señora Munz. In a moment, Munz had his arms around all of them.
Castillo looked at Doña Alicia and saw that she had a handkerchief to her eyes.
And mine aren’t exactly dry, either.
He went to his grandmother. She put her arms around him.
“Hey, Abuela, how’s my favorite girl?”
“Very annoyed with you, as usual,” she said, and kissed him.
She looked at the Munzes.
“How long is he going to stay?” she asked.
“Until I need him, and that will probably be soon. A couple days.”
“And when will it be safe for his family to go back to Argentina?”
“Not for a while yet.”
“And when are you going to come and stay longer than ten minutes?”
Divulgence of any detail of any operation conducted under the authority of a Presidential Finding to persons not holding the specific Top Secret Presidential security clearance is a felonious violation of the United States Code, punishable by fine and imprisonment.
“A drug enforcement agent in Paraguay has been kidnapped by drug dealers,” Castillo said. “The President wants us to try to get him back, and I have no idea how to do that.”
She looked at him but did not reply.
“I don’t have to tell you to keep that to yourself, do I?”
She shook her head to show the admonition was entirely unnecessary.
“I don’t know whether I’m very proud of you, my darling, or very sad for you,” she said. “I guess both.”
Five minutes later, the Gulfstream III broke ground.
[SIX]
McCarren International Airport
Las Vegas, Nevada
2055 2 September 2005
A tug stood waiting outside the AFC hangar, and as a ground handler signaled for Castillo’s Gulfstream III to shut down its engines, the doors of the hangar began to slide open.
Inside the hangar, Castillo saw that a glistening new Gulfstream V, three older Lears, a Beechcraft King Air and an old but nicely refurbished Cessna 150 had been moved to one side to make room for his G-III.
And then he saw there was a Cadillac Escalade in the hangar. Dr. Aloysius Francis Casey, chairman of the board and chief executive officer of AFC, Inc., was sitting sideward in the driver’s seat, the driver’s door open. He was wearing his usual baggy black suit.
The tug hooked up to the nose gear of the G-III and dragged the aircraft into the hangar. Two men in white coveralls with the AFC logotype on the chest hooked up an auxiliary power cable.
Castillo opened the stair door and went down it, with Torine following.
Casey pushed himself off the seat of the Escalade and walked to them.
“How are you, Charley?” he asked, shaking his hand, then Torine’s.
“Always good to see you, Colonel,” Casey said.
“Always good to see you, too, Dr. Casey,” Torine said. “And we really appreci—”
“Goddamn it! I keep telling you and the Boy Colonel here that it’s Frank,” Casey said. “I’m starting to get pissed off about that!”
“Sorry, Frank,” Torine said.
Casey looked toward the men in coveralls and raised his voice: “Get the luggage off of that, and put it in my truck.”
The men hurried to do his bidding.
Tom McGuire, Ed Lorimer, and, bringing up the rear, Charley Mullroney came down the stairs and so
mewhat hesitantly walked to them.
Casey put out his hand to Lorimer and said, “Any Special Forces guy is always welcome. My name is Frank Casey. Call me Frank. I did some time as a commo sergeant on an A-Team in ’Nam. Mostly over the fence in Laos and Cambodia.”
“Yes, sir,” Lorimer said.
“You call me sir one more time, and you can sleep on your airplane. Clear?”
“Yes, s—Frank.”
“You’re learning,” Casey said, then pointed his right index finger at Castillo and Torine. “Which is more than I can say for these two.”
He turned to McGuire and Mullroney and said, “Usually I have as little as possible to do with cops, but since you two are Irish and with these guys you get a pass.”
He shook their hands, then said: “Come on and get in the truck. We’ll go out to the house and hoist a couple and burn some meat.”
They had turned off U. S. Highway 93 a few minutes before, and were driving down a macadam two-lane road toward the mountains. Castillo, sitting beside Casey in the front seat of the Escalade, was wondering what electronics were behind the dashboard to power the two telephone handsets and a large liquid crystal display screen—now displaying the AFC logo and STANDBY—mounted on the dash.
Casey suddenly said, “Before we get to the house, I think I should tell you the wife passed….”
“I hadn’t heard that, Frank,” Castillo said. “I’m very sorry.”
“Yeah, well, we all have to go sometime, and, thank God, Mary Alice went good. She took a little nap by the pool and never woke up.”
“I’m sorry, Frank,” Castillo repeated.
“Me, too, Frank,” Jake Torine said.
“Anyway, I got a couple taking care of me at the house. Good people, but you probably want to be careful what you say when they’re around.”
“Thanks,” Castillo said, and then, as much to change the subject as anything else, asked, “What’s this stuff?”
Casey looked and saw where Castillo was pointing.
“Oh, that stuff,” he said, as if he welcomed the chance to change the subject. “The left handset is an encrypted tie to my communications. The right one, and the display, is pretty much what they’re putting in your airplane.”
“Is it working?” Castillo said.
“It damned well better be.”
“I could get my office on that? The White House switchboard?”
“You can get anybody on your net but the White House,” Casey said. “I didn’t think I’d better put a link in there. When the new stuff is in the airplane, you’d be linked to the White House, just like your truck. But your office can patch you through to the White House.”
I don’t want to talk to the White House.
I want to talk to Nuestra Pequeña Casa. I really have to start things moving down there.
But is the radio still up? Or did Sergeant Kensington shut down when we left?
There’s only one way to find out.
“Can I try it?”
“Help yourself.”
“How does it work?”
“Pick it up, say your name, give it a couple of seconds for the voice identification to work, and then say who you want to talk to.”
“There’s an operator?”
“There’s a little black box.”
“And it’s encrypted?”
“Not even NSA will know what you’re saying.”
Castillo picked up the handset. The AFC logo on the display screen disappeared, and then STANDBY went away. ACTIVATING appeared, and then ENCRYPTION ACTIVE, and then VOICE IDENTIFICATION ACTIVE and finally ALL FUNCTIONS OPERATIONAL.
“No more little green and red LEDs,” Casey said.
“Clever,” Castillo said.
“No recognition,” a metallic voice came over the handset speaker.
“Jesus!”
“No recognition,” the metallic voice repeated.
“Castillo.”
“Go ahead, Colonel Castillo.”
“Nuestra Pequeña Casa.”
“No recognition.”
“Argentina.”
“No recognition.”
“Safe House.”
There was a moment’s delay, then Sergeant Robert Kensington’s voice came cheerfully over the speaker in the handset: “How’s things in Vegas, Dr. Casey?”
“Colonel Castillo, Bob. How’s things where you are? And where are you?”
“In the quincho, sir.”
“I was afraid that all might be shut down.”
“Mr. Darby decided it would make more waves if everybody suddenly vanished, so we’re still here.”
“Who’s we?”
“The Sienos, Ricardo Solez, and me.”
“Darby’s at the embassy?”
“No, sir. He went to Asunción. He said if you called to tell you he and Tony Santini were going to make sure the cork was back in the bottle.”
“We don’t have a secure link to Asunción, do we?”
“No, sir. And Mr. Santini said not to send any messages unless we had to.”
“What about Ricardo. Is he there?”
“He went grocery shopping in Pilar. I can get him on his cellular, if you want.”
“No. Here’s what I want you to do. Get through to Darby or Santini, and tell them the situation has changed. They are to stay there until Solez can get there to explain, and then to act accordingly. And then get Solez back from the supermarket, tell him we have been tasked to get back that DEA agent who got himself kidnapped, and to get on the next plane to Asunción to tell Darby and Santini. Nobody in the embassy there—nobody—is to be told about this.”
“Yes, sir. Well, that’s good news, Colonel. That DEA guy is a pretty good guy, according to Solez.”
“It is the opposite of good news, Bob. I haven’t a clue about how to get him back.”
“You’ll think of something, Colonel,” Kensington said. “You always do.”
Well, there’s a vote of confidence.
The trouble is it’s completely unjustified.
“And tell Solez to ask Darby and Santini, both, to get on a secure line to me as soon as they can.”
“You’re with Dr. Casey?”
“Right.”
“Can I ask what you’re doing, sir?”
“Drinking, gambling, and chasing naked women,” Castillo said. “What else does one do in Las Vegas? Get right on this, please, Bob.”
“I already have Solez on his cellular.”
“Okay. Breaking down,” Castillo said. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand and turned to Casey. “How do I do that?”
“Say ‘Finished’ or ‘Break it down.’”
“Break it down,” Castillo said.
“Disconnecting,” the metallic voice said in his ear.
V
[ONE]
Valley View Ranch
North Las Vegas, Nevada
2345 2 September 2005
“Yeah, I know it’s almost two in the morning back there,” Sergeant Charley Mullroney said into his cellular phone. “I got a watch. This is the first chance I had to call.”
He was standing on a small patio carved out of the mountain about fifty feet below and fifty yards from his room in the house. Small dim lights lined the path leading to the house and were mounted on a low stone wall at the edge of the patio.
He had peered over the edge of the wall. The lights didn’t illuminate much, but there was enough light to see it was almost a sheer drop from the patio wall for at least fifty feet, and probably more.
“Not in Vegas, Byron. Maybe twenty-five miles outside of Vegas. On the side of a mountain—
“You want to keep interrupting me, or do you want me to tell you what happened?
“Okay. First we landed in the middle of nowhere where that German or Argentine or whateverthefuck he is colonel got off.
“No. There was no sign anywhere. This was a private field. I think Castillo’s got something to do with it. He got off the airplane and
kissed some old lady.
“Then we come to Vegas. They parked the airplane in a hangar and some little guy named Casey drove us out here in a Cadillac Suburban or whateverthefuck they call them.
“Did I learn anything on the airplane? No. McGuire, the Secret Service guy, did a pretty good job of pumping me to find out what I do on the job. But when I asked him, like, ‘Where are we going?’, or when we landed in the middle of nowhere, ‘Where was that? What was that?’, he turned into a clam. And when I asked him what he did for Castillo, he said, ‘This and that.’
“Okay, so we got here and this Casey character brings us out here in his white Escalade—that’s what they call those Cadillac Suburbans, Escalades—
“Great big fucking house on the side of a mountain. Great big fucking swimming pool. The room they gave me is about as big as my whole downstairs. Jacuzzi and a shower that’s so big it don’t even need a door. But the cellular says ‘no signal,’ so I couldn’t call, so I figured I’d wait until later.
“So this guy Casey’s got a barbecue set up. With a cook, and great big steaks. And enough booze to take a bath in. So Castillo cooks the steaks and they start in on the booze and I figure maybe now I’ll learn something.
“Didn’t happen. All they did was talk about the Army. The Special Forces. I don’t know how much is bullshit, but this Casey guy, to hear him tell it, practically won the Vietnam War by himself.
“I don’t know if they believed it or not, Byron. I think so, but nobody’s going to call a guy a bullshitter in his own house. Especially since he’s putting free radios in your airplane.
“Because Castillo told him he’s got a bunch of money in something called the Lorimer Charitable & Benevolent Fund and can pay for them. Casey said, ‘You know your money’s no good here, Charley.’
“I don’t know what Casey’s angle is, and if there’s any connection with this Lorimer Charitable Whatever and Junior’s buddy Lorimer, I don’t know what it is.
“Okay, so finally I said I had a long day and was going to turn in. So I went to my room and then out onto a little patio, whatever, outside it. You can see just about all there is to see in Vegas from there. And, for the hell of it, I tried the cellular again. I got maybe a bar and a half, so I see another patio down the mountain, about fifty yards from the house, walked to it, and the fucker works here. So I called you.
The Shooters Page 19
