Black Ops

mentally rehearsing what he would say.

It took him longer than five minutes, however, and he wasn’t quite finished when the door opened and a Secret Service agent put his head in.

“Excuse me, Mr. President. There’s a kid being held at the elevator who says he’s Colonel Castillo’s bodyguard. He also says he’s a Marine corporal. He says he has something Colonel Castillo absolutely has to have.”

Montvale looked at the agent and blurted: “Jesus Christ! You actually came in here with something like that for me?”

“I think he was talking to me, Charles,” the President said, and looked at Castillo.

“Corporal Lester Bradley, sir,” Castillo confirmed.

“Get him in here. I can’t pass up the opportunity to see the colonel’s bodyguard.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Bradley came into the room two minutes later. He carried Castillo’s laptop, Yung’s report, Torine’s Proposed Operational Orders, and the AFC handset.

He popped to attention and saluted the President, who crisply returned it.

“You’re Colonel Castillo’s bodyguard, are you, son?” the President asked.

“Sir, yes, Mr. President, I am, sir.”

“For God’s sake, he’s not old enough to vote,” Montvale said disgustedly.

“Sir, no sir, I’m not old enough to vote, but I am Colonel Castillo’s bodyguard, sir.”

“Who has twice saved my life, so lay off him, Montvale,” Castillo snapped, then heard himself. “I’m sorry, Mr. President.”

“If he’s your bodyguard, I would presume he already knows what we’re talking about here?”

“Yes, Mr. President, he does.”

“Stick around, son. I want a word or two with you when this is finished.”

“Aye-aye, Mr. President, sir.”

“Okay, Charley, wrap it up. We’re running out of time.”

It took Castillo another three minutes.

“That’s about it, sir.”

“It’s about time,” Ambassador Montvale said.

“Shut up, please, Charles. I’m thinking,” the President said.

That took a full twenty seconds.

“Bottom line, Charley,” the President said. “Even if I believed everything you have told me, there’s just not enough there for me to authorize a clandestine mission—or even an overflight, except by satellite—to look into it.”

“Mr. President, may I say how relieved I am to hear you say that?” Secretary Cohen said. “The ramifications of a black operation going wrong—”

“Right now,” the President interrupted, “the answer is no, Colonel Castillo. But I will give you one more chance to turn your Russians over to the agency. If they are able to convince the DCI there is even a remote chance that what they’re selling is true, I will authorize a mission to the Congo.”

“Mr. President, I have people in the Congo,” Castillo said.

“What the hell did you just say?” the DCI barked.

“I find that hard to believe, Charley,” the President said. “Why should I?”

Castillo turned on the AFC handset, and his speakerphone.

“C. G. Castillo. Colin Leverette. Encryption Level One.”

I know Colin’s twenty-four hours are far from up, but, please, Lord, let him answer.

“What is that thing?” the President asked. “Some kind of telephone?”

Sexy Susan’s voice said: “Colonel Castillo, I have Mr. Leverette. Encryption Level One.”

“Hey, Charley! You bastard—I haven’t been here an hour.”

“Where are you, Uncle Remus?”

“Kisangani. You want to buy a parrot?”

“What is that, some sort of a code?” the secretary of State muttered.

“What are you doing in Kisangani?” Castillo asked.

“Well, the colonel needed someplace to set up his laboratory, so we rented a house. He’s using the kitchen for his lab, and I’m buying parrots in the living room. I have fifty of them and have promised to buy another hundred.”

“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