Black Ops

“Jesus Christ! And you believe that?”

“I do, and so does Edgar Delchamps.”

“The guy who stuck a needle in the traitor’s neck in the Langley parking lot?”

“That has been alleged, sir. He and Alex Darby, the station chief here, both believe what the Russians have told us.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but what I’m hearing here is that a brand-new lieutenant colonel with a well- deserved reputation for being a world-class loose cannon, an agency dinosaur who takes out people he doesn’t like in the CIA’s parking lot, and another agency type who got himself banished to Gaucho Land because he still thinks the Russians are a threat all have decided, based upon what a couple of Russian defectors—who the Russians say took off because they stole three million dollars, not because they’re born-again Christians—told them that there is a bona fide terrorist threat that the agency, having looked into it, says is nonsense. Does that sum it up fairly accurately, Colonel Castillo?”

“Yes, sir. That’s about it.”

“And what do these three lunatics plan to do about it?”

“This lunatic, sir, is going to go over there and find out for himself what’s going on.”

“And then?”

“Either take it out myself or lay proof on the President’s desk of what’s going on.”

“All by yourself, John Wayne?” McNab asked, bitterly sarcastic.

There was a moment’s pause before Castillo responded.

“Well, sir, now that you’ve brought it up, I was hoping I could borrow Uncle Remus for a couple of weeks. He has the right complexion and he speaks Swahili.”

“If you are referring, Colonel Castillo, to Chief Warrant Officer Five Colin Leverette of this command, he not only speaks Swahili, but Lingala and Tshiluba as well. And not only is Mr. Leverette far too valuable to be put at risk in a dangerous—not to mention unsanctioned—operation such as you propose, but he is far too wise and experienced to even momentarily consider volunteering for anything like it.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a very long pause.

“Lieutenant generals, as you should know, Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, do not bargain with lieutenant colonels.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But if I should suddenly lose my mind and discuss this situation with Mr. Leverette and he similarly suffers a temporary loss of his good judgment and agrees to talk with you about it, it will be with the understanding that if I do not approve—personally, here in the States—every detail of your proposed operation to snoop around this chemical factory in the Congolese jungle, you will not undertake it. Agreed?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“When and where do you want Uncle Remus, Charley?”

“Here, as soon as possible, sir.”

“I can’t get him on a plane today.”

“Sir, Major Miller will probably be coming down here in a Presidential Gulfstream. It could stop at Bragg . . .”

“And you don’t think Montvale will hear about that?”

“Montvale knows about it, sir. I made a deal with him, too.”

There was a pause.

“What kind of a deal, Charley?”

“No matter what happens in Africa, sir, I will retire at the end of this month.”

“Even if you’re right and everybody else is wrong?”

“Yes, sir. That was the deal I made.”

There was another long pause.

“I’ll get back to you—or Vic D’Allessando will—with the details of Mr. Leverette’s travel,” McNab said finally. “And now I’m going to have a word with General Naylor.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that, sir.”

“Why not?”

“General Naylor decided that he was doing the right thing when Montvale went to him with this. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for him. He saw it as his duty.”

Another long pause.

“That’s the problem a good officer has to face every once in a while, isn’t it, Charley? Knowing just what doing your duty really calls for?”

Castillo didn’t reply, and a moment later one of the green LEDs went dark, signaling the call had been broken.

Castillo shook his head, then looked around at the others.

“Who was that, my Charley?” Svetlana asked.

“The man who heads our version of Spetsnaz,” Castillo said softly. “Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab. Who just decided to help me deal with the chemical factory, even though he’s fully aware that may very likely see him standing beside me in the Thank You for Your Service and Don’t Let the Door-knob Hit You in the Ass on Your Way Out retirement parade.”

“I do not understand,” she said.

“I’m getting kicked out of the Army,” Castillo said, and stopped. “Correction: For what I like to think is ‘for the good of the service,’ I will go along with being medically retired as psychologically unfit for active service.”

She looked at him thoughtfully but didn’t say anything.

“Not to worry, Svetlana. I will receive a pension of twenty-five percent of my base pay. You may have to flip burgers in McDonald’s to help out with our bills, but we can probably get by.”

She ignored the comment.

“You work for this man? You are American Spetsnaz?”

“Not anymore. I used to be. I used to work for General McNab.”

“And now who do you work for? This Ambassador Montvale?”

“You and your brother were right to be worried about the CIA station chief in Vienna,” Castillo said, ignoring the question. “She probably would have left you swinging in the breeze, since she probably knew the SVR was onto you. What happened is that when she figured out that I had gotten you out of Vienna safely, instead of saying ‘thank you’ or keeping her mouth shut, which also would have been nice, she told the director of Central Intelligence—and also told a friend of hers who she knew would promptly tell an important journalist—that I had swooped in out of nowhere and snatched you and the colonel and family away just as she was about to put you in the bag and send you to Washington.”

“So you are in trouble because of what you did for us? I will kill this woman!”

“Hold that thought, Svetlana,” Delchamps said.

Castillo looked between them and thought: The truth is both of them are more than likely dead serious.

“Both of you drop that thought,” Castillo said.

“And this Ambassador Montvale, who you do work for, believed this woman?” Svetlana asked.

“I don’t work for Montvale. But yeah, sure, he believed her. Right now his priority, which is one I agree with, is to protect the man I work for.”

“Who is? And this man you work for will believe this bitch in Vienna?”

“Two profound thoughts, Ace,” Delchamps said. “ ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman protecting her man.’ ”

Davidson and Castillo chuckled.

“You said two,” Castillo said.

“ ‘The cow is already out of the barn,’ ” Delchamps said. “If you won’t tell her, Ace, I will. Svetlana, Charley works for the President.”

If she was surprised by this announcement, it didn’t show on her face.

“And your President will take the word of the bitch in Vienna over yours?”

“That’s not the point,” Castillo explained. “But no, I think he’d accept whatever I told him as the truth. The