W. E. B. Griffin - Presidential Agent 07 (42 page)

“And C. Castillo and his girlfriend,” Lammelle said. “We’ll just have to wait and see. Speaking of Pevsner, where is he?”

“So far as I know, hunkering down on the shores of beautiful Lake Nahuel Huapi.”

“That doesn’t sound like him,” Lammelle said.

“Well, the one thing you can safely say about Aleksandr Pevsner is that you never know what he’s up to.”

“That brings us back to ‘we’ll just have to wait and see,’ doesn’t it? I’ll be in touch, Charley,” Lammelle said, and broke the connection.

Castillo looked at Svetlana.

“Frank’s right, my darling,” she said. “Doing nothing is not how Aleksandr operates.”

“But he promised to do nothing without asking me first,” Castillo said.

“What he promised was to do nothing without
telling
you,” she countered. “There’s a big difference.”

Castillo raised an eyebrow. “Well, baby, at the risk of repeating the phrase, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

 

 

“General Naylor called while you were gone, Mr. President,” Clemens McCarthy said as the President led Colonel Arthur Kingsolving and Secret Service Supervisory Special Agent Mulligan into his study.

The President held up his hand to silence him as he walked to the window, pushed the drape aside, and watched as the MH-60K Black Hawk lifted off from the White House lawn.

“You seem perfectly comfortable in turning your ‘Night Stalker bird’ over to your co-pilot, Colonel,” the President said.

Kingsolving recognized the statement as a question.

“Every 160th pilot is fully qualified as an MH-60 pilot-in-command, sir,” Kingsolving said.

General O’Toole put in: “Having said that, Mr. President, Major Humphreys will now crash that one into the Washington Monument on his way to Andrews.”

The President considered that for a moment, and then laughed.

“You people are really something,” he said. “I guess it comes with the territory. Well, let me tell you: I’m really impressed with that helicopter, and I thank you for the ride.”

“It was my privilege, sir,” Kingsolving said.

“The only thing I didn’t like about it is that it made me realize the secretary of State talked me into giving a half dozen of them to the goddamn Mexicans,” the President said.

“Sir,” Kingsolving said, “the Mexicans didn’t get that one, the MH-60K. That’s a special configuration for the 160th.”

“How specially configured?” the President asked.

“Among other things—state-of-the-art avionics, for example—it has an in-flight refueling probe,” Kingsolving began.

The President held up his hand to silence him and turned to McCarthy.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Sir?”

“You said General Naylor called while we were gone.”

“Yes, sir, he did.”

“And did he call just to say ‘howdy’ or did he have more on his mind than that?”

“General Naylor said that he has established contact with D’Alessandro; explained the situation to him; that the helicopter from Fort Campbell was expected momentarily and that as soon as we tell him where D’Alessandro is supposed to go, he’ll send him on his way.”

“Where is D’Alessandro and the helicopter that’s expected momentarily?”

“In El Paso, sir.”

“What’s the status of that?” the President asked.

“The status of what, sir?”

“Finding out where my friend Martinez wants D’Alessandro to meet the Mexican cop?”

“I don’t know, sir. We haven’t heard from Secretary Cohen about that.”

“Well, Clemens, how about getting her on the phone and asking her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“On second thought, Douglas, you call her,” the President ordered. “Clemens here seems to be having trouble keeping up with all this.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If she hasn’t heard from my friend Martinez, tell her to call the sonofabitch.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Special Agent Douglas said.

“I want to get this show on the road, and I don’t want any surprises,” the President said. “And I’ve got a couple of questions, which occurred to me as we were flying over the Pentagon. Has it ever occurred to anyone else that the more you’re told, the more you learn, the more questions come up?”

“I’ve had that experience, Mr. President,” General O’Toole said.

“Okay. Now, Colonel Kingsolving told me that while the Night Stalker birds can make it from El Paso to this prison, they don’t have the range to make it back without being refueled. Okay. Tell me how that’s going to happen.”

“There are several options, Mr. President—” O’Toole began to answer for Kingsolving.

“I was asking Colonel Kingsolving,” the President cut him off.

“Sorry, sir.”

“The first option, sir, is the simple one,” Kingsolving said. “They will refuel at Xoxocotlán airfield, which is the closest airfield to the Oaxaca Prison.”

“I was just starting to be awed by your all-around knowledge,” the President said. “That answer just blew that. I can see a number of problems with that, starting with how do we know there would be enough fuel at Xoxocotlán airfield to fuel four Black Hawks, even if they were willing to do so?”

“That is a problem, sir, obviously. We don’t.”

“Other options?”

“In-flight refueling, sir. Have one or more KC-130J tankers rendezvous with the Black Hawks shortly before they reach Oaxaca-Xoxocotlán. The Black Hawks then would have full tanks on landing, and be prepared to fly back to the States.”

“That strikes me as almost as stupid as Option One,” the President said. “What do you think the goddamn Mexicans are going to think when they see one or more . . . what’s the nomenclature of that tanker?”

“KC-130J, sir.”

“That’s that great big airplane with propellers, right? Not jet engines?”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“What do you think the goddamn Mexicans are going to think when they see four Black Hawks—instead of the one they expect—flying over their country with a couple of great big aerial gas stations? Jesus, I’m glad I brought this up!”

“Another option, Mr. President,” O’Toole said, “if I may?”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Another option would be to refuel the Black Hawks, before or after the exchange, using a Navy assault vessel, such as the USS
Bataan
, in international waters—say fifty miles out—off the coast. This is what Castillo did when he made the assault on La Orchila Island . . .”

General O’Toole’s face flushed as he heard what he had just said.

The President looked at him coldly.

“That’s what Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, Retired, did before he almost got us in a war with Venezuela?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’d like to know who authorized the use of that vessel,” the President said. “Was that you, General O’Toole?”

“No, sir. But under the circumstances, it was, in my judgment, the right thing to do.”

“Fortunately you are not in a position to make decisions like that. If it wasn’t you, who was it? That mustachioed idiot McNab?”

“I don’t believe General McNab was involved, Mr. President. And certainly not able to give orders to the captain of a Navy vessel.”

“Well, that narrows it down somewhat, doesn’t it? McCarthy, make a note for me to discuss this with General Naylor at the earliest opportunity.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And with Secretary Beiderman. And incidentally, where the hell is he?”

“He’s at the Pentagon, sir,” Mulligan said.

“Get him on the phone and get him over here,” the President said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, since we will not be using a U.S. Navy vessel operating fifty miles off the Mexican coast to fuel the Black Hawks, does that mean we’re out of options? Jesus H. Christ! Talk about going off half cocked!”

“There is one more option, sir,” O’Toole said. “A submarine. It would rendezvous with the Black Hawks off the Mexican coast . . .”

“A
submarine
?” the President parroted incredulously.

“Yes, sir. We have been experimenting with the technique. In our tests a Black Hawk can be refueled on the high seas in about ten minutes, sir.”

The President did not reply.

O’Toole said, “One problem with using a sub—”

“Go on, O’Toole, drop the other shoe. What’s the problem with this option?”

“I’m not sure a submarine could be equipped with the necessary equipment in time for this operation.”

“I’ll tell you this, General,” the President said. “A submarine will be equipped in time for this operation, or we’ll have a new secretary of Defense, a new secretary of the Navy, and a new chief of naval operations.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

 

“With all possible respect, Señor Diputado Procurador General,” Juan Carlos Pena said, with a smile in his voice, “you don’t really want to know what I’m going to do tonight. I’ll meet you in the Diamante at nine, and I promise not to ask what you did tonight.”

He laughed at the deputy attorney general’s response, and then hung up.

“What’s the Diamante?” Castillo asked.

“Will he trace the call here?” Svetlana asked.

“Oh, she is a professional, isn’t she?” Pena observed. “He might, Sweaty, and I will handle that by walking into the restaurant tomorrow morning with a case of Hacienda Santa Maria’s finest grapefruit for him. He will then conclude that I was here checking your security, which means to pick up the envelope.”

“What envelope?” Svetlana asked.

“The envelope containing the small token of Don Armando’s appreciation for my keeping the bad guys away from Hacienda Santa Maria,” Pena said.

Don Armando Medina, the general manager of Hacienda Santa Maria, chuckled.

“Don Armando, you’re actually paying protection money to the Federales?” Castillo demanded.

“Jesus Christ, Carlos!” Pena replied. “I can’t believe you actually asked that.”

“Does that mean we’re paying you or not?” Castillo pursued.

“It means, my naïve old buddy, that it’s important that people such as Manuel José Guzmán, Diputado Procurador General de la República, think you’re paying me. Otherwise, Manuel José might suspect that I’m honest, and we certainly couldn’t have that, could we?”

“Sorry,” Castillo said.

“Carlos, I knew Doña Alicia, called her Tia Alicia, long before I met you.”

“I said I was sorry,” Castillo said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“That’s a problem for you, isn’t it?”

“Juan Carlos,” Svetlana said. “He said he was sorry. What did this man have to say?”

“Unless I’m wrong—and I very seldom am, that’s why I’m still alive—at nine tomorrow morning in the restaurant of the Diamante—full title Camino Real Acapulco Diamante, one of the better hotels in Acapulco—he will explain to me when and how Félix Abrego will manage to escape from the Oaxaca State Prison. And then, because he knows how ashamed I will be because of Señor Abrego’s escape from my custody, he will give me an envelope to assuage my pain.”

“The deputy attorney general is working for the cartels?” Castillo asked, surprised.

“
With
, I would say, not
for
. Abrego has many friends, Carlos, and most of them have lots of money.”

“If nobody has anything more to say,” Castillo said, “I think I will have a little grape before we have dinner. It’s been a busy day, and it’s long past my normal wine time.”

As if on cue, someone had something to say.

Castillo’s Brick buzzed.

“Hand me the sonofabitch, please, Lester,” Castillo said. “And we’ll see who is trying to keep me off the sauce.”

Bradley handed him the handset. Castillo looked at it.

“It’s your Cousin Aleksandr, Sweaty,” Charley said, then put the handset to his ear. Sweaty stood up and leaned over the Brick and pushed the LOUDSPEAKER button.

“And how are things on the shores of picturesque Lake Nahuel Huapi, Aleksandr?” Castillo asked in Russian.

“Speak English,” Sweaty ordered.

“Yes, ma’am,” Castillo said, glancing at her.

“Are you alone?” Pevsner asked.

“Clearly no. And Svetlana wants you to speak English.”

“What’s that all about?” Pevsner asked, in English.

“I can only guess that she wants her new buddy to hear what you have to say, and he doesn’t speak Russian.”

“Who’s her new friend?”

“Juan Carlos Pena, chief of the Policía Federal for Oaxaca State.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“Not yet. But make whatever this is quick, will you please? I’m about to start.”

“I gave you my word that I wouldn’t take any of several actions until I first told you.”

“Without my permission is the way I remember that.”

“I’m not in the habit, as you are well aware, of asking anyone for permission to do anything.”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on down there on the shores of Lake Nahuel Huapi?”

“I’m in Cozumel. How soon can you get here?”

“If you can convince me this is important and nothing happens between now and, say, nine tomorrow morning, I can be there in time for lunch.”

“I mean tonight.”

“Tonight’s out of the question. I can’t take off from here without letting the local airport—and this means the Policía Federal—know my airfield is capable of night operation. And I don’t want to throw away that tactical advantage.”

“I thought that you were friends with the local police?”

“Stand by a moment, Aleksandr,” Svetlana said. She motioned for Castillo to give her the handset, and when he had, she held it against her breast to muffle the microphone.