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  Montvale paused, and then went on. "I have to go off at a tangent here, Mr. President. At this time, our CIA station chief in Vienna, Miss Eleanor Dillworth, a highly respected longtime Clandestine Service officer, and her staff had for some time, and at considerable effort and expense, been working on the defection of Lieutenant Colonel Alekseeva and Colonel Berezovsky. These arrangements had gone so far as the preparation of a safe house in Maryland to house them while they were being debriefed."

  "So why did they contact Castillo?"

  "According to Castillo, they didn't trust Miss Dillworth. Castillo said when they came to him, they offered to defect to him in exchange for two million dollars and immediate transportation to Argentina on his plane. This whole transaction apparently took place on a train headed for Vienna. So he made the deal."

  "Shouldn't he have gone to the nearest CIA officer, either this Miss Dillworth or some other CIA officer? Was he authorized to make a deal like that?"

  "No, sir, he wasn't, and yes, sir, he should have immediately contacted either me or someone in the CIA."

  "Incredible!"

  "Yes, sir, it is," Montvale agreed. "When this came to my attention-Miss Dillworth reported to CIA Director Powell that the defection of Colonel Berezovsky and Lieutenant Colonel Alekseeva had blown up in her face and that she suspected the presence in Vienna of Castillo had something to do with it-"

  "She knew about Castillo? Who he was?"

  "By then, Mr. President, the existence of the OOA and the identity of its chief was not much of a secret within the intelligence community."

  President Clendennen nodded and motioned for Montvale to go on.

  "DCI Powell reported the situation to me. I immediately realized that something had to be done."

  "So you went to the President?"

  "At that stage, Mr. President, Colonel Castillo was the President's fair-haired boy. I decided the best thing to do was go to General Naylor."

  "Naylor is a very good man," the President said. "Please don't tell me Naylor was involved with the OOA."

  "Only in the sense that Castillo was a serving Army officer, and that General Naylor had recommended Castillo to the secretary of Homeland Security. There was a legality involved, too, Mr. President. So far as the Army was concerned, Castillo was on temporary duty with the OOA from his regular assignment to the Special Operations Command. The Special Operations Command is under General Naylor's Central Command."

  The President's face showed that he could easily have done without the clarification.

  "And?" he said impatiently.

  "Well, General Naylor, on being apprised of the situation, agreed with me that the situation had to be brought under control."

  "By 'the situation,' you mean Castillo?"

  "Yes, sir. And General Naylor and I were agreed that our first priority was to spare the President any embarrassment that Castillo's actions might cause. And the second priority was to get the two Russians into the hands of the CIA.

  "After some thought, it was decided that the best thing to do with Castillo-and incidentally, the best thing for Castillo personally-was to have him retired honorably from the service. A board of officers was quickly convened at Walter Reed. After an examination of his record, it was decided that he was suffering as a result of his extensive combat service-his chest is covered with medals for valor in action-with post-traumatic stress disorder that has rendered him permanently psychologically unfit for continued active service and therefore he should be medically retired. The board awarded him a disability pension of twenty-five percent of his base pay.

  "General Naylor appointed an officer, a full colonel, to present Lieutenant Colonel Castillo with the findings of the board. Taking him with me, I went to Argentina in a Gulfstream with the intention of bringing Castillo home and to place the defected Russians into the hands of the CIA. I took with me two members of my protection detail to guard the Russians, and, frankly, in case Castillo proved obstreperous."

  "And did he prove to be 'obstreperous'?"

  "Oh, yes, Mr. President. 'Obstreperous' doesn't half cover it. Our ambassador, Juan Manuel Silvio, told me that he hadn't heard Castillo was in Argentina, and that he had heard nothing about Colonel Berezovsky or Lieutenant Colonel Alekseeva.

  "The words were no sooner out of his mouth-we were having lunch in a restaurant around the corner from the embassy-when Castillo walked in.

  "I asked him where the Russians were. He said at the moment he didn't know, but if he did, he wouldn't tell me, because they had changed their minds about defecting.

  "Letting that ride for the moment, I explained his position to him, and the colonel handed him the document he was to sign which would see him retired."

  Montvale drained his coffee cup, put it beside the silver pot, then went on: "Castillo said, 'I will sign that when the President tells me to. And only then.'

  "I told him that that was not an option, and pointed to the Secret Service agents, who were sitting at a nearby table. I informed him that I was prepared to arrest him, and hoped that wouldn't be necessary.

  "He pointed to some men sitting at a table across the restaurant and said they were officers of the Gendarmeria Nacional. He added that, at his signal, they would approach anyone coming near him, and demand their identification. They would not permit his arrest, he announced, and if the people approaching him happened to be armed, Ambassador Silvio would have to start thinking about how to get them out of jail, since the Secret Service has no authority in Argentina and is not permitted to go about armed.

  "Castillo then said a restaurant was no place to discuss highly classified matters, and suggested we move to the embassy-presuming Ambassador Silvio would give his word that he would not be detained in the embassy."

  "And what did the ambassador do?"

  "He offered us the use of his office, and gave Castillo his word that he would not be detained if he entered the embassy. So we went to the embassy, where Castillo almost immediately told us what the Russians had told him about a chemical warfare laboratory-slash-factory in the Congo. And that he and everybody in OOA believed the Russians.

  "I told him that the CIA had investigated those rumors and found them baseless. He then said, 'Well, the CIA is wrong again.'

  "We then called DCI Powell at Langley, and raised the question to him about a germ warfare laboratory-slash-factory in the Congo. DCI Powell repeated what I had told Castillo. The rumors were baseless-what was there was a fish farm.

  "To which Castillo replied that the CIA was wrong again, and that there was obviously no point in continuing the conversation.

  "I gave him one more chance to turn the Russians over to me and to get on the Gulfstream. When he laughed at me, I turned to the ambassador and said that it was obvious Colonel Castillo was mentally unstable, and therefore, the ambassador could not be held to his word that Castillo could leave the embassy.

  "The ambassador replied that the last orders he had had from the President vis-a-vis Colonel Castillo were that he was to provide whatever assistance Colonel Castillo asked for, and he didn't think that meant taking Castillo into custody.

  "The ambassador then pushed the secure telephone to me, and said words to the effect that I was welcome to call the President to see if he could be persuaded to change his orders, but that if I made the call he would insist on telling the President that he could detect no sign of mental instability in Castillo-quite the opposite-and that in his personal opinion, I and the CIA were trying to throw Castillo under the bus because they had somehow botched the defection of the Russians and were trying to make Castillo the fall guy for their own incompetence."

  "My God!" the President said.

  "As I could think of nothing else to say," Montvale said, "I then returned to Washington."

  "Let's call a spade a spade, Charles," the President said. "'As I could think of nothing else to say, and I didn't want the President to know I had gone behind his back, at least until I had time to come up with a cred
ible reason, I then returned to Washington.'"

  Montvale flushed, and realizing he had flushed, was furious, which made him flush even more deeply.

  "The CIA does have a certain reputation for throwing people under the bus, doesn't it, Charles? Especially those people who have embarrassed it?"

  Montvale decided to wait until he was sure he had his emotions under control before going on.

  "Silvio was right, Charles, and you were wrong," the President said. "The President gave him an order, and he was obeying it. Disobeying it, getting around it, would have been damned near treason. And you were wrong to ask him."

  "Mr. President, I was trying to protect the President," Montvale said.

  "What you should have done was go to the President," Clendennen said. "It's as simple as that. You're the director of National Intelligence, Charles, not Benjamin Disraeli!"

  "I realize now that I was wrong, Mr. President," Montvale said.

  The President made another impatient gesture for Montvale to continue.

  "The next time I saw Castillo was in Philadelphia. The President was giving a speech. I didn't know Castillo was coming. The last word I'd had on him was that he was in Las Vegas."

  "In Las Vegas? Doing what?"

  "I have no idea, Mr. President. I'm not even sure he was in Las Vegas. Anyway, Castillo showed up at the Four Seasons Hotel. The President gave him the opportunity to explain his incredible chemical warfare factory scenario. The President obviously didn't believe it any more than anyone else did, but Castillo still had enough remaining clout with him for the President to turn to DCI Powell and direct him to send somebody to the Congo.

  "Castillo said, 'I've already got some people in the Congo, Mr. President.'

  "The President said, 'Jesus Christ! Who?'

  "And Castillo told him Colonel J. Porter Hamilton, and the President asked 'Who the hell is Colonel Hamilton?' and Powell, who was really surprised, blurted that Colonel Hamilton of the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute at Fort Detrick was the CIA's-for that matter, the nation's-preeminent expert on biological and chemical warfare."

  "Are you telling me that Castillo, on his own authority-or no authority-actually sent an expert on biological warfare into the Congo?"

  "Yes, sir, and not only that, he put him on the phone-actually a secure radio-telephone link-with the President right there in the Four Seasons."

  "How the hell did he manage to do that?"

  Montvale said: "I really have no idea, sir."

  Montvale thought: But I'll bet my last dime that Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab of the Special Operations Command was in that operation up to that ridiculous mustache of his.

  Still, I'm not positive, and certainly can't prove it, so I'm not going to tell you.

  I have been painfully cut off at the knees already today by you, Clendennen, and once a day is more than enough.

  "And what did this expert say?"

  "The phrase he used to describe what he found in the Congo, Mr. President, was 'an abomination before God.' He said that if it got out of control, it would be perhaps a thousand times more of a disaster than was Chernobyl, and urged the President to destroy the entire complex as soon as he could."

  President Clendennen didn't reply.

  "The mission was launched almost immediately, Mr. President, as you know."

  "And we were at the brink of a nuclear exchange," President Clendennen said pointedly.

  "That didn't happen, sir."

  "I noticed," the President said, thickly sarcastic. "So, what happened to Castillo for rubbing the nose of the CIA in chemical-biological waste?"

  "Right after the President ordered the secretary of Defense to immediately have an operation laid on to take out the Fish Farm, he told Castillo that OOA was dead, had never existed, and that what Castillo was to do was make himself scarce until his retirement parade, and after that to disappear from the face of the earth."

  "And?"

  "Castillo and the military personnel who had been assigned to OOA were retired at Fort Rucker, Alabama, with appropriate panoply on January thirty-first. There was a parade. Everyone was decorated. Castillo and a Delta Force warrant officer named Leverette, who took Colonel Hamilton into the Congo and then got him out, got their third Distinguished Service Medals.

  "And then, in compliance with their orders, they got into the Gulfstream and disappeared from the face of the earth."

  "You mean you don't know where any of these people are? You don't even know where Castillo is?"

  "I know they went from Fort Rucker to Louis Armstrong International Airport in New Orleans, and from there to Cancun."

  "And from Cancun?"

  "I simply do not know, Mr. President."

  "Find out. The next time I ask, be prepared to answer."

  "Yes, Mr. President."

  "And where are the Russians?"

  "I don't know, Mr. President. I do know that the President told the DCI that the attempt to cause them to defect was to be called off, and that he was not even to look for them."

  "Why the hell did he do that?"

  "I would suggest, Mr. President, that it was because the information they provided about the Congo was true."

  The President considered that, snorted, and then said, "Well, Charles, that seems to be it, doesn't it?"

  "Yes, sir, it would seem so."

  "Thank you for coming to see me. We'll be in touch."

  [THREE]

  Old Ebbitt Grill 675 15th Street, N.W. Washington, D.C. 1530 2 February 2007 No one is ever really surprised when a first- or second-tier member of the Washington press corps walks into the Old Ebbitt looking for someone.

  For one thing, the Old Ebbitt is just about equidistant between the White House-a block away at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue-and the National Press Club-a block away at 529 14th Street, N.W. It's right down the street from the Hotel Washington, and maybe a three-minute walk from the Willard Hotel, whose lobby added the term "lobbyist" to the political/journalistic lexicon.

  Furthermore, the Old Ebbitt's service, menu, ambiance, and stock of intoxicants was superb. The one thing on which all observers of the press corps agreed was that nothing appeals more to the gentlemen and ladies of the Fourth Estate than, say, a shrimp cocktail and a nice New York strip steak, plus a stiff drink, served promptly onto a table covered with crisp linen in a charming environment.

  This is especially true if the journalist can reasonably expect that someone else-one of those trolling for a favorable relationship with the press lobbyists from the Willard, for example-would happily reach for the check.

  Roscoe J. Danton-a tall, starting to get a little plump, thirty-eight-year-old who was employed by The Washington Times-Post-was, depending on to whom one might talk, either near the bottom of the list of first-tier journalists, or at the very top of the second tier.

  Roscoe walked into the Old Ebbitt, nodded at the ever affable Tony the Maitre d' at his stand, and walked on to the bar along the wall behind Tony. He continued slowly down it-toward the rear-and had gone perhaps halfway when he spotted the people he had agreed to meet.

  They were two women, and they were sitting at a banquette. The one he had talked to said that he would have no trouble spotting them: "Look for two thirtyish blondes at one of the banquettes at the end of the bar."

  The description, Roscoe decided, was not entirely accurate. While both were bleached blonde, one of them was far closer to fiftyish than thirtyish, and the younger one was on the cusp of fortyish.

  But there being no other banquette holding two blondes, Roscoe walked to their table.

  Roscoe began, "Excuse me-"

  "Sit down, Mr. Danton," the older of the two immediately said.

  The younger one patted the red leather next to her.

  Roscoe Danton sat down.

  "Whatever this is, I don't have much time," he announced. "There's a press conference at four-fifteen."

  "This won't take long," the older one said. "And I really thin
k it will be worth your time."

  A waiter appeared.

  The older woman signaled the waiter to bring what she and her companion were drinking, and then asked, "Mr. Danton?"

  "What is that you're having?"

  "A Bombay martini, no vegetables," she said.

  "That should give me courage to face the mob," he said, smiled at the waiter, and told him, "The same for me, please."

  The older woman waited until the waiter had left and then reached to the fluffy lace collar at her neck. She unbuttoned two buttons, put her hand inside, and withdrew a plastic card. It was attached with an alligator clip to what looked like a dog-tag chain. She pressed the clip, removed the card, more or less concealed it in her hand, and laid it flat on the tablecloth.

  "Make sure the waiter doesn't see that, please," she said as she withdrew her hand.

  Danton held his hand to at least partially conceal the card and took a good look at it.

  The card bore the woman's photograph, the seal of the Central Intelligence Agency, a number, some stripes of various colors, and her name, Eleanor Dillworth.

  It clearly was an employee identification card. Danton had enough experience at the CIA complex just across the Potomac River in Langley, Virginia, to know that while it was not one of the very coveted Any Area/Any Time cards worn by very senior CIA officers with as much elan as a four-star general wears his stars in the Pentagon, this one identified someone fairly high up in the hierarchy.

  He met Miss Dillworth's eyes, and slid the card back across the table.

  The younger blonde took a nearly identical card from her purse and laid it before Danton. It said her name was Patricia Davies Wilson.

  "I told them I had lost that when I was fired," Mrs. Wilson said. "And kept it as a souvenir."

  Danton met her eyes, too, but said nothing.

  She took the card back, and put it in her purse.

  "What's this all about?" he finally asked when his silence didn't elicit the response it was supposed to.

  Miss Dillworth held up her finger as a signal to wait.