“Uncle Remus, I’m with the President and some very important people—”
“Oh, God! I have a sick feeling that you’re not pulling my chain.”
“Do you think the colonel has come up with anything the President should hear?”
“Yes, sir. He has.”
“Can you get him on here, please?”
“Hold on.”
“What colonel is that?” Montvale asked.
“Colonel J. Porter Hamilton of the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute at Fort Dietrich,” Castillo said. “Ring a bell?”
“Not with me it doesn’t,” the President said. “Who is he?”
“The preeminent expert on biological and chemical warfare,” the DCI said.
“And you sent him into the Congo?” Montvale said. “You really are crazy, Castillo.”
“Charles, go get yourself a cup of coffee,” the President said.
“Excuse me, Mr. President?”
“Come back in ten minutes—if you have your mouth under control by then.”
Montvale didn’t know what to do. He hesitated, and then decided he’d wait when he heard the speakerphone come alive with a new voice.
“Colonel Castillo?” Colonel Hamilton asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“If this, your being with the President, is one more manifestation of that odd sense of humor of yours . . .”
“This is POTUS speaking, Colonel. I have just been told that you are our preeminent expert regarding biological and chemical warfare.” It was a statement but sounded more like a question.
“Good day, Mr. President. Yes, sir. There are some who have said that, sir.”
“Colonel, have you come across anything that suggests there is a laboratory or factory—”
“Mr. President,” Hamilton interrupted, his officious voice hitting a deadly serious tone, “it indeed is a far more dangerous situation than even Colonel Berezovsky suggested.”
“Colonel Berz—you don’t mean the Russian?”
“Yes, sir. What I have found here is far worse than Colonel Berezovsky suggested, Mr. President. I am not a religious man, but what I have seen here in the most elementary of investigations is an abomination before God.”
“You have proof of this, Colonel?” the President asked softly.
“Yes, sir. The first samples will be sent out via Tanzania just as soon as the natives finish construction of the parrot cages.”
“Excuse me?”
“We—I should say Mr. Leverette, sir, who is known as Uncle Remus and who is a genius of ingenuity—are covering our incursion by posing as dealers in African grey parrots. He feels sure, and I have every confidence he’s right, that when we truck out the first fifty parrots later today no one will look in their cages as they cross the border.”
“And what will happen to them in Tanzania?”
“Well, Mr. President, I was going to suggest to Colonel Castillo, who is running the tactical end of Operation Fish Farm for me, to see if he can’t have another aircraft sent into Kilimanjaro to pick them up, either an Air Force fighter or perhaps something from an aircraft carrier. That way, the samples could get to Fort Dietrich much more quickly than they could aboard our aircraft, and doing so would leave our aircraft there. I am trying to think of some way to get some of the human bodies to Fort Dietrich so that thorough autopsies can be performed. The first problem there is to get them to Tanzania without them contaminating human and plant life along the way. And, of course, we can’t hide them in the parrot cages.”
The President flashed a concerned look at everyone in the room, particularly the DCI and DNI. When no one had anything to offer, Castillo thought that the look changed to a simmering anger.
“Colonel, please think your answer over before replying. In your judgment, should the laboratory—this factory, fish farm, whatever you want to call it—should it be destroyed?”
Colonel Hamilton did not think his answer over long.
“Mr. President, what we have here is a fairly large and well-supplied laboratory and an even bigger manufacturing plant. I would recommend the immediate destruction of both—I repeat, both—sir. I am amazed that the processes involved have not already gotten out of control. If that happens, Mr. President, it will be a hundred times, perhaps a thousand times, more of a disaster than Chernobyl. Living organisms are far more dangerous than radiation.”
“Colonel, I’ll be talking to you soon. Thank you very much.”
“Mr. President, it has been an honor to speak with you.”
“Uncle Remus,” Castillo said, “get the colonel’s samples in Jake’s hands as quickly as you can.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Castillo out.”
“Colonel Castillo,” the President said. “From your . . . I guess ‘tone of command, ’ one would suppose that you consider yourself still in charge of this . . . what did Hamilton call it? ‘Operation Fish Farm’?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sadly, that is not to be the case. You’re just too dangerous a man to have around. Too many people have their knives out for you, and some of them have involved the press. I can’t involve the press in this. You understand me, Colonel?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are relieved as chief, Office of Organizational Analysis. You will go someplace where no one can find you, and you will not surface until your retirement parade. Understood?”
Loud and clear, sir.
And so the other shoe finally fucking drops. . . .
It took Castillo a moment to find his voice. “Yes, sir.”
“After your retirement, I hope that you will fall off the face of the earth and no one will ever see you or hear from you again. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been thinking of learning how to play polo. Or golf.”
“The same applies to everyone in the Office of Organizational Analysis. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t know how much of that sixty million dollars you had is left, but it should be enough to provide reasonably adequate severance pay to everyone. If it isn’t, get word to me and we’ll work something out.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Since we understand each other, Colonel, before you disappear, I think you have the right to hear this.”
“Hear what, sir?”
“Mr. Secretary of Defense, you are ordered to take whatever steps are necessary to get Colonel Hamilton’s samples from where Colonel Castillo will tell you they are to the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute at Fort Dietrich as quickly as possible.”
“Mr. President,” Cohen interjected, “you can’t just fly warplanes—”
“I’ll get to you in a moment, Madame Secretary. Right now I’m giving orders, not seeking advice.”
She started to say something but didn’t.
“I think we are in this mess because I’ve listened to too much well-meaning advice,” the President went on. “In addition, Mr. Secretary of Defense, you will immediately prepare plans to utterly destroy this hellhole in the jungle.”
“Sir, Colonel Torine has prepared some proposed op orders,” Castillo said.
“Give them to the secretary, please,” the President said. “I’m sure he will find them valuable in preparing the plan, or plans, I want presented to me yesterday.”
Cohen again tried to reason: “Mr. President, you’re not thinking of actually—”
“And what you are going to do, Madame Secretary,” the President interrupted her, “is return to Washington, where you will summon the ambassador of the Democratic Republic of the Congo to your office. You will tell him (a) that you are sorry to have to tell him that without the knowledge or permission of his government this—what did Hamilton call it?”
“ ‘An abomination before God,’ sir,” Castillo offered, earning him dirty looks from the others.