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“You tell him, Colonel Naylor,” Castillo said. “If I tell him, I’d have to shoot him, and I really would hate to do that. Every time he gets shot, he sounds like Madonna having a baby.”

  Colonel Naylor explained what they were doing at Estancia Shangri-La.

  “Even with your brain in neutral, Damon, you can see why Charley is recruiting those of African heritage, right?” Uncle Remus asked. “That he and Colonel Naylor would have just a little bit of trouble in Mogadishu trying to pass themselves off as native Somalians?”

  “I don’t know why,” Damon said, “I know Charley speaks Af-Soomaali and Arabic… Oh!”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, count me in, Uncle Remus,” Damon said.

  “Count you in where?”

  “If Charley’s going to Mogadishu, I’m going.”

  “You weren’t listening, Greg,” Castillo said. “I’m not going to Mogadishu. Uncle Remus is going to Mogadishu with Dick and Master Sergeant Phineas DeWitt, Retired — and now gainfully employed by Sparkling Water Due Diligence, Inc. — and Jack Britton.”

  “Who?”

  “He used to be an undercover cop in Philadelphia, specializing in infiltrating would-be rag-head terrorist groups,” Castillo clarified. “He is also now associated with Sparkling Water.”

  “And what we are going to do in picturesque Mogadishu,” Dick Miller said, “is take photographs of each other standing in front of easily recognizable landmarks—”

  “Which I will send to POTUS as visual proof that we are carrying out his orders,” Castillo said, finishing the sentence for him.

  “Which are, specifically?” Damon asked.

  “To assess the situation and make recommendations vis-à-vis the solution of the problems known as the Mexican drug cartels and Somalian pirates.”

  “What are you going to suggest?” Damon asked.

  “Ambassador Lorimer suggests that following the motto of Special Forces—‘Kill Them All and Let God Sort It Out’—would be one solution, but I don’t think the President would go along with it. He doesn’t stand a chance of reelection without the Somali-American vote.”

  “Charley,” Ambassador Lorimer said, laughing, “that’s not what I said and you know it. What I said was that President Clendennen is going to have a harder problem with the pirates than President Thomas Jefferson did. The law then — I said the law then, Charley — permitted Jefferson to hang pirates from the nearest yardarm. Now they have to be tried in a court of law.”

  “Well, maybe President Clendennen doesn’t know that,” Castillo said, “or I’ll have to think of some other suggestion to make.”

  “And what are you going to be doing, Charley, while Uncle Remus is in picturesque Mogadishu, besides thinking of another suggestion to make to the President?” Damon asked.

  “Hoping he has another nutty idea that will make him forget this one.”

  “And where are you going to do that?”

  “We were discussing that when you drove up in that car with the ‘I can park anywhere, I’m a diplomat’ license plates. There were two possibilities for a location for my command post. One was the Danubius Hotel Gellért in Budapest. The advantages of that would be that I could talk to my Uncle Billy Kocian…” He stopped, said, “I have now stopped pulling your chain, Greg,” and then went on, “about the pirates. He has amazing contacts. And also it has a foreign-intrigue sound to it that I suspect will appeal to the President. The other option was the Grand Cozumel Beach and Golf Resort in Mexico. That would probably make the President think that we’re all sunning ourselves on a beach while sucking on bottles of Dos Equis instead of investigating the bad guys. But I have a friend, a lifelong friend, a Mexican cop — an honest Mexican cop — who knows all about the cartels and will have some practical ideas about how to deal with them the President should hear.”

  “So, what did you decide?” Damon asked.

  “My fiancée just told me we’re going to Mexico first, and then Budapest.”

  “Your fiancée? You’re back to pulling my leg?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You have a fiancée?”

  “Indeed, I do. You’ll meet Sweaty on our way to Cozumel.”

  “On our way to Cozumel?”

  “Sweaty said the smart way to do this is to go to Mexico, get organized there, see my cop friend Juan Carlos Pena, then go to Budapest, and then sneak you tourists into Mogadishu on Air Bulgaria. So that’s what we’re going to do.”

  “I’m going to have to come up with some story to tell the ambassador. I can’t just disappear, Charley.”

  “When you get back to Montevideo,” Uncle Remus said, “the ambassador will tell you he’s just had a call from the secretary of State ordering you to Washington immediately for an indefinite period to assist her in some unspecified task.”

  “You can do that?”

  “It’s already done.”

  PART VI

  [ONE]

  The Oval Office

  The White House

  1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W.

  Washington, D.C.

  0905 10 June 2007

  Supervisory Secret Service Agent Robert J. Mulligan held open the door to the Oval Office and Truman C. Ellsworth, the director of National Intelligence, and CIA Director A. Franklin Lammelle came through it.

  “Good morning, Mr. President,” Ellsworth said. He took from his briefcase a brown manila envelope and handed it to him.

  “We have heard from Colonel Castillo, Mr. President,” Ellsworth said.

  President Joshua Ezekiel Clendennen quickly glanced at what it contained:

  TOP SECRET

  URGENT

  DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN

  TO: POTUS

  SUBJECT: REPORT

  VIA SECRETARY OF STATE

  MAKE AVAILABLE (EYES ONLY) TO:

  DIRECTOR, CIA

  SECRETARY OF DEFENSE

  DIRECTOR OF NATIONAL INTELLIGENCE

  C IN C CENTRAL COMMAND

  OOR SITREP #1

  US EMBASSY BUENOS AIRES 2020 ZULU 9 JUNE 2007

  1- WITHIN TWENTY-FOUR (24) HOURS AFTER ARRIVAL IN ARGENTINA OF MR. ROSCOE J. DANTON, OPERATION OBSERVE AND REPORT (OOR) WILL PROCEED TO AS YET UNDETERMINED LOCATION IN MEXICO FOR FOLLOWING PURPOSES:

  A. ASSEMBLE OOR OPERATIONAL TEAM

  B. WHEN A. ABOVE ACCOMPLISHED DETERMINING BEST METHOD OF MEETING REQUIREMENTS OOR AS ORDERED BY POTUS.

  C. INITIAL CONTACT WITH MEXICAN POLICE AUTHORITIES.

  2-TRAVEL WILL BE BY AIRCRAFT LEASED FROM PANAMANIAN EXECUTIVE AIRCRAFT AND BILLED TO CIA.

  3-ROSTER OF PERSONNEL INVOLVED FOR DURATION OF POTUS MISSION:

  A. CASTILLO, LTC C.G. RETD.

  B. NAYLOR, LTC ALLAN B. USA

  C. D’ALESSANDRO, MR. VICTOR DA CIV GS-15

  D. CIVILIAN CONTRACT PERSONNEL OF PANAMANIAN EXECUTIVE AIRCRAFT:

  (1) TORINE, JACOB (PILOT)

  (2) MILLER, H. RICHARD, JR (CO-PILOT)

  E. THE FOLLOWING PERSONNEL HAVE BEEN EMPLOYED ON A CONTRACT BASIS FROM SPARKLING WATER DUE DILIGENCE, INC., AND BILLED TO THE CIA. UNLESS ADVISED TO THE CONTRARY, POTUS MAY ASSUME THEY HAVE JOINED OOR AT THE TO-BE-DETERMINED LOCATION IN MEXICO. IT SHOULD BE NOTED THAT OTHER PERSONNEL, IN ADDITION TO THOSE LISTED HEREIN, MAY BE REQUIRED TO ACCOMPLISH THE MISSION OF OOR AS SPECIFIED BY POTUS.

  (1) LEVERETTE, COLIN (TEAM CHIEF)

  (2) BRADLEY, LESTER (SECURITY TECHNICIAN)

  (3) LORIMER, EDMUND (COMMUNICATIONS TECHNICIAN)

  (4) BRITTON, JOHN (SECURITY TECHNICIAN)

  (5) BRITTON, DR. SANDRA (LINGUIST)

  (6) SIENO, PAUL (INTELLIGENCE ANALYST)

  (7) SIENO, SUSANA (INTELLIGENCE ANALYST)

  (8) DAMON, C. GREGORY (DIPLOMATIC ANALYST)

  RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED.

  CASTILLO, LTC RETD

  TOP SECRET

  The President handed the report to presidential spokesperson Robin Hoboken and then demanded, “Where’s Cohen? Isn’t she supposed to deliver this?”


  “I have no idea where the secretary of State is, Mr. President,” Hoboken said. “But I’m sure the Secret Service could find her for you.”

  The President looked as if he was going to reply to Hoboken, but didn’t, instead shaking his head.

  “The protocol, Mr. President,” DCI Lammelle said, “provides that when the secretary is not available, the message goes to the next person on the list, in this case the DCI, me. When I got it, I immediately went to see Mr. Ellsworth and we came here together.”

  “That answers the second part of my question,” the President said. “But not the first.”

  “To the best of my knowledge, sir, Secretary Cohen is in New York at the UN,” Ellsworth said.

  “Doing what?”

  “As I understand the matter, sir, the French are experiencing beach erosion problems in Normandy.”

  “What the hell can that possibly have to do with us?”

  “The French position, Mr. President,” Lammelle said, “as I understand it, is the problem began in the spring of 1944, when we landed our invasion force there and tore them up — the beaches, I mean — in so doing. And that therefore we should pay for restoring their beaches to their pre — June sixth, 1944, condition.”

  “Well, I can understand that,” Hoboken said.

  “And how much is that going to cost the American taxpayer?” Truman Ellsworth asked innocently.

  “I don’t know,” Lammelle said. “I understand the secretary is trying to get the French to charge the cost of restoring their beaches in Normandy against their debt to us. So far, they have been unwilling to do so.”

  “That’s going to have to go on the back burner,” the President said. “Tell Secretary Cohen not to give the Frogs a dime until she clears it with me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “First things first, I always say.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So explain this to me,” the President said, waving Castillo’s report.

  “What is it you don’t understand, Mr. President?”

  “Practically none of it,” the President admitted. “But let’s start with all these Rent-a-Spooks he’s hired from Sparkling Water Due Diligence, Inc. What the hell? Who exactly are these people and what are they going to do for me?”

  “Several years ago, Mr. President, several companies were formed to furnish certain services to the intelligence community on a contract basis,” Ellsworth answered. “What happened, Mr. President, is that the FBI, the DIA, and others realized that some of the best people, particularly those in the Clandestine Service—”

  “Spooks.”

  “Yes, sir. Many of them had reached retirement age, or length of service — one can retire from the Clandestine Service after twenty years — and were not interested in continuing to serve beyond their twenty years because they could make a great deal more money working for industry and Wall Street.

  “Eventually sort of an employment agency, which called itself ‘Blackwater,’ came into being to match the needs of Wall Street and industry with available personnel. That quickly evolved into Blackwater providing Wall Street and industry — who didn’t want it to get out that they had spies on their payrolls — with the appropriate personnel on a contract basis.

  “When the Agency began to miss the Clandestine Service personnel who had retired — they really needed them — it occurred to the Agency that if Wall Street could hire these ex-spies, so could they. And that’s how it began, Mr. President. And I must say it’s worked out well.”

  “You are using ex-spies from this Blackwater thing to do the CIA’s spying — is that what you’re telling me?”

  “Since I took over as DCI, Mr. President, I have been moving more toward Sparkling Water and away from Blackwater.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Blackwater kept raising its prices, Mr. President. Not only did Sparkling Water come to me and offer the same quality ex-spies for less money, but also the services of ex — Delta Force Special Operators and retired Secret Service personnel. The Delta Force people were unhappy performing services for Wall Street. So the Agency has just about moved to placing all its contract business with Sparkling Water.”

  “So you know who the people on here are?” the President asked, waving Castillo’s report.

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “And you’re going to tell me about them, right?”

  “Yes, sir. May I have a look at Colonel Castillo’s report, sir?”

  “Why don’t you have your own copy?”

  “Because it says ‘Duplication Forbidden,’ sir. Right at the top.”

  “Okay. Who are they?”

  “Leverette and Gregory, Mr. President, are both Afro-Americans and retired from Delta Force,” Lammelle began.

  “What’s Afro-American got to do with anything? Why did you have to bring that up? You know full well my administration is color blind.”

  “I think it probably has something to do with their being able to move inconspicuously around Somalia, Mr. President,” Ellsworth said. “Most of the people in Somalia are Afro-Amer… African… of the Negro race.”

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to say that either,” the President said.

  “Mr. and Dr. Britton are also African-Americans,” Lammelle said.

  “Why does Castillo think he needs a doctor in Somalia?”

  “She’s a Ph.D., Mr. President, a philologist, not a physician.”

  “She’s a stamp collector?” the President asked incredulously.

  “Stamp collectors are philatelists, Mr. President. Philologists are language experts.”

  “Okay, so she speaks whatever gibberish they speak in Somalia. Why not say that, that she’s an interpreter? I’m beginning to wonder if Castillo is purposely trying to confuse me.”

  “I don’t know if Dr. Britton speaks Af-Soomaali or not, Mr. President,” Ellsworth said.

  “Speaks what?”

  “Af-Soomaali, Mr. President, the language spoken in Somalia.”

  “Of course she does,” the President said impatiently. “If she doesn’t speak Af-soo… whatever you said… why would Castillo be taking her there? But find out for sure. If she doesn’t, that would really sound fishy to me.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. President.” Ellsworth paused, then went on: “Mr. Britton is a former Secret Service agent, Mr. President. And before that he was an undercover detective in Philadelphia.”

  “Does he speak Af-soo whatever?”

  “I just don’t know, Mr. President,” Ellsworth confessed.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Sieno, Mr. President,” Lammelle said quickly, “are both retired from the Clandestine Service of the Agency.”

  “Both of them are retired CIA spies?”

  “We like to think of people like that as ‘field officers,’ Mr. President,” Ellsworth said.

  “Why can’t you people call a spade a spade?” the President said.

  “Many African-Americans find the term ‘spade’ offensive, Mr. President,” Robin Hoboken said. “I for one would never think of calling CIA field officers ‘spades.’”

  The President glared at his spokesman.

  “Actually, Mr. President, I’m not sure whether the Sienos are Italian-Americans or Latinos,” Lammelle said.

  “If you two are the best intelligence people we have,” the President said, “the country’s in deep trouble. Get the hell out of here!”

  [TWO]

  The Presidential Suite

  The Meliá Cohiba Hotel

  Verdado, Havana, Cuba

  1425 10 June 2007

  General Sergei Murov and his security detail had not gone to Havana openly. That would not be in the tradition of the Cheka and its successor organizations. Instead, their documents identified them all as members of the Greater Sverdlovsk Table Tennis Association and Mr. Murov as Grigori Slobozhanin, the chief coach thereof.

  His true identity was known of course to General Jesus Manuel Cosada, who had replaced Raúl Castro as head of
the Dirección General de Inteligencia, or DGI, when Señor Castro had replaced his brother, Fidel, as president of the Republic of Cuba.

  General Cosada therefore ordered that the visiting Ping-Pongers be housed in the five-star high-rise Meliá Cohiba Hotel on Avenida de Maceo, more commonly known as the Malecón, the broad esplanade that stretches for four miles along the coast of Havana.

  He did so for several reasons. He knew that General Murov and President Castro were close personal friends, for one thing, and for another that the Presidential Suite was equipped with state-of-the-art cameras and microphones — some of them literally as small as the head of a pin — with which the visit of General Murov could be recorded for posterity and other purposes.

  General Cosada’s expert in this type of equipment, Señor Kurt Hassburger, who had immigrated to Cuba from the former East Germany and really hated Russians, had also installed a microphone and transmitter in the lid of the cigar humidor Señor Castro would give — filled with Cohiba cigars — to General Murov as a little “Welcome Back to Cuba” memento.

  When General Cosada and President Castro entered the Presidential Suite carrying the humidor of cigars, they were wearing the customary attire of senior officials of the Cuban government.

  In the early days of the Cuban revolution, the Castro forces had raided a government warehouse and helped themselves to U.S. Army equipment the Yankee Imperialists had given to the Batista regime. This included U.S. Army “fatigue” uniforms and combat boots, which Fidel promptly adopted as the revolutionary uniform, primarily because they were far more suitable for waging revolution than the blue jeans, polo shirts, and tennis shoes he had been wearing.

  When the revolution had been won, Fidel and Raúl and their subordinates had continued to wear the fatigues because — depending on who you were listening to — they represented solidarity with the peasants and workers or because they were much more comfortable in the muggy heat of Cuba than a suit and shirt and necktie would have been.

  The fatigues President Castro and General Cosada were wearing today were of course not the ones liberated from Batista’s warehouse — there was a tailor on the presidential staff who made theirs to order — but they looked like U.S. Army fatigues.