ten he’s already into self-flagellation. Get him out of my sight, Janos.”
Janos, Castillo noticed, did not look this time to Pevsner for permission to carry out the order.
Janos went to where Murov was seated, pulled him to his feet, and started marching him out of the room.
“Hand me the wine, my dear, and spare me your comments,” Castillo ordered.
Svetlana complied docilely.
“Colonel Castillo,” Murov called.
Castillo looked. Murov and Janos were at the door. Janos had his arms wrapped around the struggling naked man.
Castillo made the sign of the cross.
“Bless you, my son,” he called. “Go in peace, and sin no more. Amen.”
“Carlos!” Svetlana said, in almost a whine.
“It’s Clemens McCarthy, Colonel Castillo,” Murov said. “And a Secret Service agent named Douglas.”
THREE
The President’s Study The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W. Washington, D.C. 0805 21 April 2007
Secret Service Special Agent Mark Douglas pushed the door open and announced, “Mr. President, the secretary of State.”
“Well, show her in,” President Clendennen ordered.
“Good morning, Mr. President,” Secretary Cohen said.
“Dare I hope, Madam Secretary, that you have heard from that miserable sonofabitch Martinez?” Clendennen asked.
“Actually, Mr. President, I’ve just spoken with Ambassador McCann,” she replied. “President Martinez called him with the information we’ve been waiting for. I took the call from the ambassador just now in my car.”
“And?”
“Mr. D’Alessandro is to meet with a Mexican deputy attorney general, a man named Manuel Jose Guzman, at one o’clock this afternoon in the Camino Real Acapulco Diamante in Acapulco. Senor Guzman will have the police chief, Pena, with him.”
“The where?”
“The Camino Real Acapulco Diamante, Mr. President. The literal translation is ‘Royal Road Acapulco Diamond.’ What it is is one of the better hotels in Acapulco.”
“Does this man D’Alessandro know how to find it? Where is he? How’s he going to get from where he is to Acapulco?”
Secretary Cohen said: “I understand that Mr. D’Alessandro is with General Naylor in the El Paso Marriott.”
“You heard that, Douglas,” the President ordered. “Get this man or General Naylor on the phone.”
“D’Alessandro may be registered as Jose Gomez, Mr. Douglas,” the secretary of State said.
“What the hell is that all about?” the President demanded.
“I don’t know, sir,” she said.
“Well, goddammit, don’t you think you should?”
“General Naylor told me that, sir,” she said. “I have no idea why Mr. D’Alessandro might be registered under another name. I was just trying to be helpful to Mr. Douglas.”
“I have General Naylor for you, Mr. President,” Douglas said, extending the handset of the red presidential circuit telephone to him.
“We finally heard from the goddamn Mexicans, General,” the President began the conversation. “Are you in contact with this man D’Alessandro?”
The telephone was not set on loudspeaker; only the Washington end of the conversation could be heard by others in the presidential study.
“Put him on, please.”
“This is the President, Mr. D’Alessandro,” Clendennen said. “Let me make this clear from the beginning. If you fuck this up, you’re not going back to Fort Bragg. If I can’t figure out some way to fire you, you’re going to find yourself counting envelopes in the Nome, Alaska, post office. You clear on that, Mr. D’Alessandro?”
“Okay. We’ve heard from the goddamn Mexicans. You’re to meet a deputy attorney general. . what’s his name, Madam Secretary?”
Secretary Cohen furnished the information.
“By the name of Manuel Jose Guzman,” the President went on. “In the Diamond hotel in Acapulco at one this afternoon-
“Yes, the
“Okay. By the time you get there, these people will have figured out that they didn’t make a fool of me at the Juarez airport this morning. So let them know I’m mad. Tell them we’re not going to produce this Mexican bandito Abrego until we have proof we’re about to get Ferris in exchange for him. Like that photograph they wanted of Abrego standing outside somewhere recognizable in El Paso. Tell them to take a picture of Ferris standing outside the Oaxaca State Prison holding a copy of that day’s newspaper-
“How the hell am I supposed to know what newspaper? Find out what it is, and tell them to use that. And tell them to give the photo to somebody from the embassy. Hold one.”
The President turned to Secretary Cohen.
“How do we do what I just said?” he asked.
“I suppose I could ask Ambassador McCann to send an embassy officer to Deputy Attorney General Guzman’s office,” she said, after a moment’s thought.
“Ask him, hell,” the President said. “
“And as soon as you do this, you get back to El Paso and stand by. Got it?
“Don’t fuck this up, D’Alessandro,” the President said, and handed the handset to Agent Douglas.
“Give it to the secretary, Douglas,” the President ordered. “She’s going to call Ambassador McCann.”
FOUR
Camino Real Acapulco Diamante Carretera Escenica Km 14 Acapulco, Mexico 1315 21 April 2007
Vic D’Alessandro walked out of the lobby with Juan Carlos Pena and two of Pena’s bodyguards following.
Immediately, two Policia Federal Suburbans pulled up under the portico to where they were standing.
“Why don’t you get in the back, Mr. D’Alessandro?” Pena suggested.
“You don’t have to do this, chief,” D’Alessandro said. “I can take a taxi.”
“You never heard of Mexican hospitality?” Pena asked. “Get in.”
One of the Policia Federal officers opened the right doors.
“Slide over to the middle, Mr. D’Alessandro,” Pena ordered, “so my men can get in on each side of you.”
D’Alessandro obeyed. He found himself sitting between two large Policia Federal officers.
The Suburbans moved out from under the portico.
D’Alessandro felt something hard and cold against the base of his neck, and had just decided whatever this was, they weren’t going to kill him, at least not here and now, when a voice inquired, “Hey, gringo, you wanna fook
