At 0720, he finally received clearance to fly ORF-PHL direct, which was fortunate inasmuch as a good deal of research had revealed there was no ground transportation that could carry them there from Norfolk rapidly—if at all—as the roads were covered with snow and ice.
En route, Corporal Bradley managed to contact Jack Britton, who said he would do his best to meet them on arrival, but the roads were icy and he would be personally surprised if the airport didn’t shut down again before they got there.
Britton was waiting for them when they landed.
The Lear had forty-five minutes’ remaining fuel.
Waiting with Britton was Chief Inspector F. W. Kramer, who commanded the Counterterrorism Bureau of the Philadelphia Police Department. Perhaps equally important, Kramer had done much of his military service with the Tenth Special Forces Group.
“How they hanging, Charley?” Kramer greeted Castillo. “Getting much? What can we do for you?”
“I need to be at the Four Seasons Hotel at five minutes to nine, and Corporal Bradley and Two-Gun Yung have to be there ten minutes before that.”
“I can get you there by then, but maybe not in. The President’s in town, and that’s where he stays.”
“I know,” Castillo said.
“Why don’t we send them in that?” Kramer said, pointing to a fully equipped patrol car. “And I’ll take you in mine.”
“Can they use your room to set up the AFC, Jack?”
“Hell, no,” Britton said. He tossed Bradley a door-opening plastic key. “Show that to the doorman if you get there before we do. He’s a retired cop.”
[TWELVE]
The Four Seasons Hotel
130 North 18th Street
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
0855 14 January 2006
There was no sign of the patrol car or of Bradley or Yung when Chief Inspector Kramer’s unmarked car pulled up before the door of the Four Seasons.
“I’ll put the arm out for them, Charley,” Kramer said. “You go on in. You don’t want to keep the President waiting.”
“Let him in,” the President of the United States said when the Secret Service man announced there was a Lieutenant Colonel Castillo seeking an audience.
“Good morning, Mr. President,” Castillo said. His eyes scanned the room, and he added, “Madame Secretary, Gentlemen,” to the secretary of State, the DCI, the secretary of Defense, and Ambassador Charles Montvale.
“And you didn’t think he would show, did you, Charles?” the President said, then looked at Castillo, and added, “I don’t think I’ve seen you needing a shave before, Charley.”
“I apologize for my appearance, Mr. President.”
“Don’t worry about it. Needing a shave pales to insignificance beside the manifold other sins Mr. Powell and the ambassador are alleging you have committed.” He paused, then turned to a steward. “Get the colonel a cup of coffee. He looks as if he desperately needs one.”
“Thank you, sir. I do.”
“Good morning, Charley,” Secretary of State Natalie Cohen said.
None of the others said a word.
“Okay, let’s get to it,” the President said once the steward had delivered Castillo’s coffee and left the room. “In as few words as possible, Charley, take it from the beginning. You have five minutes.”
It wasn’t hard for Castillo to start. He had expected the question and had spent all of his time in the air mentally rehearsing what he would say.
It took him longer than five minutes, however, and he wasn’t quite finished when the door opened and a Secret Service agent put his head in.
“Excuse me, Mr. President. There’s a kid being held at the elevator who says he’s Colonel Castillo’s bodyguard. He also says he’s a Marine corporal. He says he has something Colonel Castillo absolutely has to have.”
Montvale looked at the agent and blurted: “Jesus Christ! You actually came in here with something like that for me?”
“I think he was talking to me, Charles,” the President said, and looked at Castillo.
“Corporal Lester Bradley, sir,” Castillo confirmed.
“Get him in here. I can’t pass up the opportunity to see the colonel’s bodyguard.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
Bradley came into the room two minutes later. He carried Castillo’s laptop, Yung’s report, Torine’s Proposed Operational Orders, and the AFC handset.
He popped to attention and saluted the President, who crisply returned it.
“You’re Colonel Castillo’s bodyguard, are you, son?” the President asked.
“Sir, yes, Mr. President, I am, sir.”
“For God’s sake, he’s not old enough to vote,” Montvale said disgustedly.
“Sir, no sir, I’m not old enough to vote, but I am Colonel Castillo’s bodyguard, sir.”
“Who has twice saved my life, so lay off him, Montvale,” Castillo snapped, then heard himself. “I’m sorry, Mr. President.”
“If he’s your bodyguard, I would presume he already knows what we’re talking about here?”
“Yes, Mr. President, he does.”
“Stick around, son. I want a word or two with you when this is finished.”
“Aye-aye, Mr. President, sir.”
“Okay, Charley, wrap it up. We’re running out of time.”
It took Castillo another three minutes.
“That’s about it, sir.”
“It’s about time,” Ambassador Montvale said.
“Shut up, please, Charles. I’m thinking,” the President said.
That took a full twenty seconds.
“Bottom line, Charley,” the President said. “Even if I believed everything you have told me, there’s just not enough there for me to authorize a clandestine mission—or even an overflight, except by satellite—to look into it.”
“Mr. President, may I say how relieved I am to hear you say that?” Secretary Cohen said. “The ramifications of a black operation going wrong—”
“Right now,” the President interrupted, “the answer is no, Colonel Castillo. But I will give you one more chance to turn your Russians over to the agency. If they are able to convince the DCI there is even a remote chance that what they’re selling is true, I will authorize a mission to the Congo.”
“Mr. President, I have people in the Congo,” Castillo said.
“What the hell did you just say?” the DCI barked.
“I find that hard to believe, Charley,” the President said. “Why should I?”
Castillo turned on the AFC handset, and his speakerphone.
“C. G. Castillo. Colin Leverette. Encryption Level One.”
I know Colin’s twenty-four hours are far from up, but, please, Lord, let him answer.
“What is that thing?” the President asked. “Some kind of telephone?”
Sexy Susan’s voice said: “Colonel Castillo, I have Mr. Leverette. Encryption Level One.”
“Hey, Charley! You bastard—I haven’t been here an hour.”
“Where are you, Uncle Remus?”
“Kisangani. You want to buy a parrot?”
“What is that, some sort of a code?” the secretary of State muttered.
“What are you doing in Kisangani?” Castillo asked.
“Well, the colonel needed someplace to set up his laboratory, so we rented a house. He’s using the kitchen for his lab, and I’m buying parrots in the living room. I have fifty of them and have promised to buy another hundred.”