“Sir?”
“He just came up with something very colorful. He said, ‘As far as out-of-control loose-cannons rolling around are concerned, Castillo by comparison makes Oliver North look like the Rock of Gibraltar.’ ”
The President let that sink in.
“Of course, that may be because he is just a little humiliated that the FBI can’t find you or those two Russians you stole from the CIA.”
Castillo didn’t reply.
“Why did you steal those defectors from the CIA, Charley?”
“Sir, the CIA never had them.”
“Then there is another side to this horror story I have just heard?”
“Yes, sir, there is.”
“Did you tell the DCI that you refused to turn over the stolen Russians to him?”
“Sir, they were not stolen. I told him that the Russians did not wish to turn themselves over to the CIA.”
“And also that the CIA was nothing more than a very few very good people, or words to that effect, trying to stay afloat in a sea of left-wing bureaucrats?”
“Yes, sir. I’m afraid I did.”
“What are you doing in Las Vegas?”
“Sir, I’m not in Las Vegas.”
“Charles Montvale says you are.”
“Ambassador Montvale has been wrong before, too, sir.”
“Right now, Charley, you are not in a position where you can afford sarcasm.”
“Yes, sir. No offense intended. I actually meant it as a statement of fact. Sorry, sir.”
The President sighed. “Charley, I have to ask this: Did you personally assassinate or did you set up the assassination of a Russian in Vienna in circumstances designed to make it appear the CIA station chief was the villain?”
“I learned of that, sir, only after it happened.”
“Frankly, I didn’t believe that one.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, Charley, here it is. You’ve earned the right to tell me your side of the incredible things I have been hearing that you have been doing. The question is how to do that? Where are you?”
“In Texas, sir.”
“In about an hour, I’m going to Philadelphia. Two speeches, one tonight and one tomorrow at lunch. If you can give me a more precise location than ‘Texas,’ I’ll send a plane to pick you up. I can give you half an hour tomorrow morning. Say, at nine. The Four Seasons Hotel.”
“Sir, I’m in Midland, Texas. On my ranch.”
“Is that where you’ll go after you retire?”
“Possibly, sir. Sir, you don’t have to send a plane. I have one.”
“I have to ask this, too: You’re not thinking of getting on your plane and flying off to, say, Argentina, are you?”
“No, Mr. President, I’m not. I’ll see you in Philadelphia tomorrow morning.”
“And once more, probably proving that there is such a thing as too much loyalty downward, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”
There was a click.
Castillo, in deep thought, stared wordlessly at the handset.
“Colonel?” Sexy Susan said. “Colonel . . . ?”
“Disaster time,” Castillo announced five minutes later. “I just promised the President I would report to him at nine tomorrow morning in Philadelphia. I also told him where I am.
“Priority one is keeping Sweaty and Dmitri out of the hands of the CIA.”
He looked at Casey. “I need a really big favor, Aloysius.”
“I’ll take care of them, Charley.”
“I’ll need you to fly them to Cozumel . . .”
“I’ll take care of them, Charley,” Casey repeated.
“ . . . as soon as possible.”
Casey turned to the AFC. “Casey. Ellwood Doudt.”
“Good afternoon, sir,” Doudt answered almost immediately.
“Pick me up an hour ago.”
“Roger that. On our way, sir.”
“Casey out.” He looked at Castillo. “Soon enough, Charley?”
“Thank you.”
“Why don’t I go with you, Carlos?” Dmitri Berezovsky asked.
“I am going with you,” Svetlana announced.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Castillo said. “For one thing, they wouldn’t let either of you get near the President. For another, even if I could get you in to see him, you’d be Russian embezzlers facing Montvale and the DCI, and they both are convinced you’re liars.
“Jack will go with you,” Castillo went on. “Les, I’d like you to go with me, if you’re willing. And you, too, Two-Gun. Les to work the radios, Two-Gun to explain the money trail in his report if I can get the President to listen.”
“Sure,” Yung said.
“Yes, sir,” Bradley said.
“Jack, as soon as you can,” Castillo went on, “get on the horn to the Pilar safe house. Have someone there get in touch with Aleksandr, give him a heads-up that Dmitri and Svetlana are headed back to his Cozumel resort. He’ll have an idea or two on how best to get them from there back to Argentina quietly and safely.”
“Done,” Davidson said. “When are you going to leave?”
“Just as soon as I can wind it up, I’ve got to stop at Midland for fuel and to file a flight plan. Keep an eye on my pal Max, okay?”
Dmitri repeated his offer to go with them as they shook hands at the house, and Castillo repeated his reasons why that wouldn’t make any sense.
Svetlana and Doña Alicia went as far as the plane. Bradley and Two-Gun boarded the Lear, and Doña Alicia waited in the Yukon while Castillo and Svetlana said their good-byes.
“I have this terrible feeling I will never see you again, my Carlos,” Svetlana said.
“Don’t be silly. The worst that can happen to me is that they’ll have somebody sit on me until I go through that retirement charade. As soon as that’s over, I’ll get on a plane and fly to Gaucho Land, where you’ll have my golf clubs all waiting for me.”
“I wish I was with child. At least I would have that.”
“I already have one of those, and from what I have seen, one is enough.”
“It is all right, my Carlos. We had what we had, and we both know the rules of the game we’re in. I will pray for you.”
If I thought it’d work, I’d pray myself.
“I have to go, sweetheart.”
They kissed.
The kiss was unlike any he could remember. That frightened him.
The last thing he saw as the Lear broke ground was Doña Alicia and Svetlana standing in front of the Yukon. Doña Alicia had a comforting arm around Svetlana, who was weeping.
Castillo caught himself thinking that it looked funny.
Sweaty’s so much taller and larger than Abuela.
Jesus Christ, that’s tremendously touching, not funny.
I really am a callous bastard!
[ELEVEN]
Atlantic Aviation Services, Inc.
Philadelphia International Airport
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
0810 14 January 2006
Getting to Philadelphia should have been as simple as Castillo had hoped: fuel the Lear, file the flight plan, get in the bird, and three and a half hours later give or take, land in the City of Brotherly Love.
It wasn’t. There was really bad weather all up and down the eastern seaboard—which he learned when he tried to file his flight plan—and it was not much better most of the way between Midland and the eastern seaboard.
Arriving in Philadelphia at 1800 for a long conversation with Jack Britton over a nice lobster dinner somewhere and then getting a good night’s rest before facing the President the next morning at 0900 proved impossible.
He hadn’t been able to get off the ground at Midland until almost eight at night, and then only because he was going to fly first south-southeast from Midland to Houston, then due east to pass over Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama, then north-northeast over Georgia and on to Norfolk, Virginia, the closest airport to Philadelphia that was not experiencing weather-interrupted operations.