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When everyone had answered in the negative, she said, “Thank you,” again, and added, “I am left with no choice but to take whatever action, or actions, I feel are necessary to keep this situation from getting any further out of control. I will accept full responsibility for so doing. The flip side of that coin is that I am not going to ask permission, either individually or as a result of a vote, for what I will do. If this is unsatisfactory to any of you, I will return to Washington and place my resignation on President Clendennen’s desk today. If I hear no objections, I will assume I have your permission to proceed.”

Although several of the men around the picnic table seemed on the verge of objecting, none did.

Director of National Intelligence Ellsworth, however, asked, “May I ask what you plan to do, Madam Secretary?”

She chuckled.

“I’m going to do what President Clendennen said he was going to do. Put the problem before someone who thinks out of the box and see what he has to say.”

“I don’t think I follow you, Madam Secretary,” Ellsworth said.

She didn’t reply, instead taking her CaseyBerry from her attaché case and punching autodial and the loudspeaker button.

“Yes, ma’am, Madam Secretary,” Castillo’s voice came over the line. “And how are you?”

“Colonel, I need you here,” she said.

“Is she talking to Castillo?” FBI Director Schmidt asked incredulously.

“No, ma’am,” Castillo said. “Sorry. The deal I made was I stall You Know Who for as long as it takes, meanwhile staying out of sight, and more importantly out of reach of any claws You Know Who might want to extend toward me.”

“Colonel, I realize that I have no authority to order you to do anything. But if I had that authority, I would.”

“I knew this call would be a disaster when you called me ‘Colonel,’ Castillo said. “What’s happened?”

“If you’re not coming, there’s no point in telling you.”

There was a ten-second — which seemed much longer — pause.

“I’m floating down the Rhine….”

“So the CaseyBerry tells me.”

“It’ll take me three hours, maybe a little more, to get to the airplane. Andrews?”

“Fort Bragg would be better.”

“Does General McNab know I’m—”

“We’re,” a sultry voice injected.

“… know we’re coming?”

“General McNab is with me now. So is Frank.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have answered the damn phone,” Castillo said, and the green LEDs on Secretary Cohen’s phone died.

“And who was the woman who chimed in?” FBI Director Schmidt asked.

“She’s the colonel’s fiancée, Mark,” Lammelle said. “Stunning redhead. In a previous life, she was an SVR lieutenant colonel.”

“You look very thoughtful, General,” Cohen said to McNab. “Is there something you want to say?”

“I was thinking, Madam Secretary, that you and Charley’s abuela are the only people in the world who could get him to come to the States.”

“No, I’m sure he would come if you asked,” she said.

“Not for me?” Lammelle asked.

“Not for you or anyone else,” she said.

She immediately regretted the comment when she saw General Naylor’s face, but it was too late to take the words back, or even try to lamely include Naylor.

And I’m supposed to be a diplomat.

PART IX

[ONE]

Office of the Secretary of State
The Harry S Truman Building
2201 C Street, N.W.
Washington, D.C.
1425 17 June 2007

When her CaseyBerry vibrated and she looked at it and saw that Charley Castillo was calling, Secretary Cohen’s first reactions were relief and pleasure.

He’s calling to tell me he’s on his way to Fort Bragg.

But even as she pushed the TALK button and put the cellular to her ear, she had second, worrisome thoughts.

If there is one absolutely predictable facet of dealing with Lieutenant Colonel Castillo it is that he is absolutely unpredictable.

“Hello, Charley. I gather you got off all right?”

“Goddamn it, Max! Give Sweaty her shoe back!”

“And that Miss Alekseeva and your adorable dog are with you,” Secretary Cohen added.

“Technically, that’s Mrs. Alekseeva, Madam Secretary. Or the Widow Alekseeva.”

“Yes, of course. Where are you, Charley?”

“According to the Garmin GPS monitor on the wall, thirty-five thousand feet over Aberdeen, Scotland, making nearly seven hundred and fifty knots.”

“And when do you think you’ll be at Fort Bragg?”

“That’s what I called to talk to you about, ma’am.”

I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.

“What’s on your mind, Charley?”

“Well, in the car on the way to Hersfeld, I called General McNab…”

I should have known he would do that.

“… and he told me about You Know Who’s Commandos, and the kilts and so on. And he also said that since You Know Who’s visit is now known all over Bragg and Pope, my going there is not likely to pass unnoticed. If we land the Gulfstream at Pope, the Air Force band there will be ready to play ‘Hail to the Chief’ as I come down the door stairs.”

Why do I know this is going to get worse?

“So where do you think you should go?”

“Sweaty also picked up on what you said to Frank and the others about you doing what You Know Who wants to do himself.”

“What was that, Charley?”

“Getting somebody else who will be thinking out of the box to evaluate the problem.”

“And who would that be, Charley?”

“And, no offense, Madam Secretary, but Sweaty also picked up on what you said about you having no authority to order me to do anything.”

I am not surprised.

“All of which means what, Charley?”

“I’m not going to Fort Bragg—”

We’re not going to Fort Bragg,” the Widow Alekseeva’s voice came over the connection.

“Sweaty had some thoughts about that, too, Madam Secretary. She said, and I think we have to agree with her, that if you don’t know where we’ll be, you won’t have to lie to You Know Who if he asks where we are.”

“So you’re not going to tell me where you’re going or what you’re going to do when you get there?”

“That about sums it up, Madam Secretary. As soon as I have anything, I will of course let you know.”

Presuming, of course, that your beloved red-haired beauty thinks that’s the thing to do. You’re putty in her hands, Charley.

Probably not as much as Mortimer is in mine, but putty nonetheless.

Why couldn’t you, Widow Alekseeva, be ugly with stainless steel teeth?

“In that case, there’s not much point in further conversation, is there?”

“I suppose not. Wait! Sweaty wants to know if you saw Shawn Ohio glued to the CIA’s door. We saw it on Wolf World Wide News. Sweaty said it was the funniest thing she’s seen since Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin took off his shirt and showed the world his biceps.”