Black Ops

“How? Why?”

Well, if nothing else, I have his attention.

Let’s see how he reacts to this:

“I work for the President of the United States, Liam, dealing with matters like these. Surely, you must have suspected?”

“When you had those helicopters flown off your aircraft carrier . . .”

“The USS Ronald Reagan,” Castillo furnished.

“. . . I suspected you were more than a simple lieutenant colonel.”

“Well, until now, Liam, I was not in a position to explain more.”

“I understand, Carlos,” Duffy said.

“Just about as soon as I got down here,” Castillo went on, “ ‘the cleaners’ tricked Jack Masterson into going to the riverside in downtown Buenos Aires, where they killed him in cold blood before his wife to make the point that unless she told them where her brother was they were perfectly capable of killing her children, too.

“The problem was that Mrs. Masterson had no idea where her brother was. Fortunately, I had a pretty good suspicion. My people and I got to the estancia in Uruguay—”

“How did you find him, Carlos?”

Castillo looked at Duffy without speaking.

The cold truth is, Liam, it was dumb luck.

God takes care of fools and drunks—and I qualify on both counts.

But I can’t tell you that, because we are trying to dazzle you into believing I am a combination of 007 and Bruce Willis with a shave.

“If I could tell you, Liam, I would,” he said finally. “You understand?”

Duffy held up both hands.

“Carlos!” he said emotionally. “I understand your position. Forgive me for asking.”

Castillo went on: “We got to Lorimer’s estancia about ten minutes before ‘the cleaners’ did. There were six of them, probably ex-Stasi—East German Secret Police—commanded by Major Alejandro Vincenzo of the Cuban Direccion General de Inteligencia.”

“I know that name,” Duffy said, and then really remembered, adding excitedly: “He was Fidel Castro’s chief of security when Castro was here. You remember, Alfredo?”

Munz nodded.

“We of course were prepared for them,” Castillo continued, “and it was unfortunately necessary to terminate Major Vincenzo and his people. In the fire-fight, Dr. Lorimer lost his life.”

What actually happened, Liam, is that we didn’t have a clue that anyone else was around, much less pros working for the fucking Russians.

The first we knew anything was when the bastards put their first round into Lorimer’s head. Their second round would have gone into my head if not for Lester taking the bastard out with a head shot.

And because of my incompetence and stupidity, Seymour Krantz is now pushing up daisies in Arlington National Cemetery.

We didn’t have a clue as to who the guys who had damned near killed us were. Or even, then, why they had whacked Lorimer.

But that’s not the picture of Charley Castillo that Munz said we have to paint for you.

And you seem to be swallowing everything whole.

So let’s see how this goes down:

“The trail has led us many places since then, Liam,” Castillo said. “And frankly, it took us a long time to put it all together. We couldn’t have done that without Colonel Ber—Mr. Barlow and his sister. They confirmed what we had only suspected.”

“What?”

“That there’s a monstrous plan to bring down—if not outright kill, then to terrorize—millions of Americans by poisoning the water supplies of major U.S. cities.”

Now, why did that sound phony?

It’s the only thing I’ve told him that’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Because it’s so monstrous—and that’s the only word that fits—that the mind simply does not accept it.

Cannot accept it any more than we can accept a bearded character in a bathrobe telling us he wants to kill every last infidel—Christian, Jew, Buddhist, whatever—and is perfectly willing to blow himself up if that’s what it takes to do it.

“In a remote area of the Democratic Republic of the Congo . . .” Berezovsky began, then stopped when he saw by Duffy’s expression that he had little or no knowledge of what that was.

“They keeping changing the name,” Berezovsky explained. “It was once the Belgian Congo, and then Zaire —”

“I understand,” Duffy interrupted.

Berezovsky nodded. “Between Stanleyville—now called Kisangani—and the borders of Sudan and Uganda, there is a chemical laboratory—a very good one—dedicated to developing water-poisoning materials that will either get through any known filtering systems or overwhelm them, then remain chemically active for a very long time and, to the extent possible, resist any chemical attempt to neutralize them. Once this has been accomplished, the factory will produce these materials in whatever quantities are required to attack the water systems of all major American cities.”

Duffy considered that, then said: “Colonel, forgive me, but that”—the door opened and Svetlana walked in —“is incredible.”

As she walked toward Castillo, all eyes on her, he thought: I should have known that she was not going to be a good little girl and stay in the bar.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” she said, sitting on the arm of Castillo’s chair. “What’s incredible?”

Duffy was visibly surprised but quickly recovered.

“You must be Lieutenant Colonel Alekseeva,” he said, then asked in heavy macho- laden sarcasm, “Are there many female officers of your rank in the Russian secret police?”

“My name is Susan Barlow, Comandante. I’m Tom’s sister. I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Screw it, Castillo thought. I can play, too.

“Now I’m curious, Liam,” Castillo said. “How many senior female officers are there in the gendarmeria? I didn’t know you had any.”

“Carlos,” Duffy said. “You’re not going to deny that this woman is the Russian defector?”

“Carlos?” Svetlana asked. “Why did you call Colonel Castillo ‘Carlos,’ Comandante?”

He looked at her incredulously, then sarcastically snapped: “Because that’s his name, Colonel.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said in what was almost a purr. “Carlos is much nicer than Charley. Hello, there, Carlos!”

Castillo could not resist smiling at Svet. This visibly confused Duffy and visibly annoyed Munz.

“Please go on, Alfredo,” Svetlana said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. You were saying something was incredible. No. The comandante was saying that.”

Yes, you did mean to interrupt, baby.

You decided to confuse Duffy.

Knock him off balance, knock some of that self-righteous confidence out of him, make the point that he’s not as important as he would like to think he is.

“If everyone is through being clever,” Munz said, quietly furious, “may I get on with this?”

“Susan,” Castillo said, “Comandante Duffy finds incredible the notion of a chemical laboratory in the Congo and the whole idea of poisoning the water supplies of major American cities.”

“Yes, I do,” Duffy said firmly.