“Ol’ Lethal Injection in the Neck Delchamps? You know what the agency thinks about him.”
“And Mr. Darby.”
“He who sees a Mad Russian bent on world domination behind every tree?”
“And Jack Davidson and Uncle Remus and P. B. DeWitt. They all have—”
“
“Yes, sir. He’s one of the China Post guys I hired to sit on Ambassador Lorimer.”
“I haven’t seen him since his wife’s funeral,” McNab thought aloud.
“They all have talked to the Russian defectors and believe them, sir. And so does Ambassador Lorimer. And the ambassador has prepared a background paper for the President, sir, outlining the history of the factory site, when the Germans—”
“And it is your intention to march all these people into the Oval Office—he’s not there, by the way, he’s in Saint Louis, giving a speech—and then what?”
“Try to convince him there is a chemical lab and factory, sir. And get his permission to take it out. There’s no way I can do that myself.”
“I recall suggesting something like that to you, Colonel,” McNab said sarcastically. “Now listen to me carefully, Colonel. This is what they call a direct order. You are not to get on the horn to the President. You are not going to see the President.”
Castillo did not reply.
“What you are going to do, Colonel, and again this is a direct order, you are tomorrow morning going to enter the United States as Karl Wilhelm von und zu Gossinger at Fort Lauderdale. You then are going to fly to Pensacola, Florida. When you have procured suitable accommodations in some luxury beachside hotel, you will then contact me on the AFC—I will most likely already be in Fort Rucker—and I will give you my ETA at Hurlburt, to which you will send Jack Davidson to pick me up. No. Make that P. B. I want to have a word with him.”
Castillo didn’t reply.
“I hope that silence I hear,” McNab said a long moment later, “is not one of the finest officers I have ever known contemplating willful disobedience of a lawful order.”
“Sir, I’ll get on the horn just as soon as we’re in the hotel in Pensacola.”
After another long moment, McNab said, “Get some rest, Charley. It’s a long flight from Gaucho Land and tomorrow’s probably going to be pretty busy. Out.”
“Break it down,” Castillo said, and turned to Svetlana.
She met his eyes for a long moment and then turned away to put the handset back in its holder. And then she got out of the co-pilot seat and went into the passenger compartment.
Castillo had the feeling she had wanted to say something but had changed her mind.
He looked out the cockpit window and saw that Mexican customs and immigration officials were examining passports and aircraft documents. Behind their truck were two white GMC Yukon XLs with the Grand Cozumel Beach & Golf Resort logotype on their doors.
Four gorillas—these looked Mexican—stood by the GMCs, waiting to make themselves useful.
[FOUR]
The Tahitian Suite
Grand Cozumel Beach & Golf Resort
Cozumel, Mexico
2125 5 January 2006
“So that’s it,” Castillo said. “For a number of reasons, instead of going to see the President tomorrow, we’re all going—except, of course, Svet and Dmitri, who will stay here and watch the waves go up and down—to see General McNab tomorrow. Maybe, after he hears what all of us have to say, he’ll say, ‘Okay, go see the President.’ And maybe not.”
“Well, I know McNab well enough to know he’s not doing this to cover his ass,” Leverette said. “So what’s he thinking?”
Castillo shrugged. “We’ll just have to wait and find out. Without him, we’re dead in the water. And I have had, since I had our little chat, another unpleasant thought. Even if I went to the President and he believed me, he would want a second opinion about staging an op to blow the place up, and the man he’d go to for that second opinion would be Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab.”
“May I speak, Colonel?” Berezovsky said.
“Of course,” Castillo said.
“And does that ‘what anyone knows, everyone knows’ rule of yours apply to me and Svetlana, or would you rather hear what I have to say in private?”
“Let’s hear it, Dmitri.”
“Does the name Colonel Pietr Sunev mean anything to you?”
“Ol’ Suitcase Nukes himself,” Delchamps said. “Talk about egg on the agency’s face!”
Castillo chuckled. “Yes, we have heard of him, Dmitri. Friend of yours?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Or he was.”
“I’m in the dark,” DeWitt said.
“Dmitri’s former associates,” Delchamps furnished, “let the agency find out that about a hundred briefcase- size nuclear weapons had been cleverly smuggled into the States, and were scattered all over the States waiting to be detonated at the appropriate moment—”
“And,” Darby picked up, “this was confirmed by a Russian KGB defector named Pietr Sunev—”
“Who then led the boys in Langley on a merry chase all over the country,” Delchamps resumed, “during which they found no bombs, because there were none.”
“But,” Darby interjected, smiling, “Colonel Sunev was such a nice guy and a convincing liar—and knew how to work a polygraph—that the agency believed him so much that—”
“They never used more efficient—if less pleasant—truth detectors on him,” Delchamps said.
“—believed him so much,” Darby went on, “that they gave him not only a very substantial tax-free payment for his services but also put him in the CIA’s version of the Witness Protection Program, which gave him a new identity—”
“As a professor of political science!” Delchamps interjected. “I always loved that little nuance.”
“At a prestigious left-wing college—”
“Grinnell. In Iowa,” Delchamps furnished.
“—from which one day the professor disappeared—with, of course, the money he had been paid. To turn up a week or so later in Moscow.”
“That’s the man,” Berezovsky said.
“You guys done good with that operation, Dmitri,” Delchamps said.
“That operation did go well,” Berezovsky said. “And I would rather suspect that General McNab is aware of it.”
“What you’re suggesting now is that he thinks you’re Sunev Two?” Castillo asked, now quite serious.
“The United States would be excoriated in world opinion,” Svetlana said, “if a team of your Spetsnaz was
