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  Castillo took the blue steel garrote from his pocket and extended it to Naylor.

  "By who? Where?" Naylor blurted and then hurriedly added, as he pointed to Yung and Bradley: "Are these gentlemen privy to what happened? Or anything else?"

  "They are aware of the Presidential Finding, sir. And they participated in the operation in which Kranz lost his life."

  "And what was the operation?"

  "We located Mr. Lorimer, sir. We staged an operation to repatriate him. We were in the middle of it when we were bushwhacked."

  "By who?"

  "I don't know, sir. Mr. Lorimer was killed during the attack as well as Sergeant Kranz."

  "And the bushwhackers?"

  "They were killed, sir."

  "Where did this happen?"

  "In Uruguay, sir."

  "Uruguay?" Naylor asked, incredulously, and then verbalized what he was thinking. "The last thing I heard, you were in Europe. Hungary."

  "We were, sir. But we tracked down Lorimer in Uruguay."

  "And are the Uruguayan authorities already looking for you? Or will that come a little later?"

  "So far as that aspect of the operation is concerned, sir, we came out clean."

  "You came out with two bodies? And you call that clean?"

  "We left Mr. Lorimer's body in Uruguay, sir," Castillo said. "What I meant to say is that I don't think we left anything behind that could tie the operation to us."

  "And why did you come here? Why did you bring the sergeant's body here?"

  "It was either here or Fort Bragg, sir-Washington was obviously out of the question-and we didn't have enough fuel to make Pope Air Force Base. And you were here, sir."

  Naylor looked at him and thought, Good ol' Uncle Allan will fix things, right?

  "Sir," Castillo added, "you are personally aware of my orders from the President. General McNab is not."

  What's he doing, reading my mind?

  And, dammit, he's right. Bringing the sergeant's body here was the right thing to do.

  "When do you plan to go to Washington?"

  "Just as soon as possible, sir. I'd be grateful if you would call Secretary Hall and tell him we're en route."

  General Naylor looked for a long moment into Major Castillo's eyes. Then he walked to the door.

  "Colonel," he called, "will you come in here, please?"

  His aide-de-camp came quickly into the airplane.

  "Colonel, you are advised that, from this moment, what you may see or hear is classified Top Secret Presidential."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Under that black plastic is the body of a sergeant…"

  "Sergeant First Class Seymour Kranz," Castillo interrupted.

  "…who was killed," Naylor went on, "during the execution of a covert and clandestine operation authorized by a Presidential Finding. The officer in charge of this covert and clandestine operation has brought the sergeant's remains here for us to deal with. I confess I have no idea how to proceed with that."

  "Sir, what is the sergeant's parent unit?" the lieutenant colonel asked Castillo.

  Just in time, General Naylor stopped himself from saying the lieutenant colonel did not have to call Major Castillo "sir."

  "Kranz was Gray Fox, out of Delta Force," Castillo answered.

  "Sir, what about calling General McNab at Bragg? I suspect he has experience with a situation like this."

  Oh, I bet Scotty McNab has! I'll bet this sort of thing is almost routine for good ol' Scotty!

  "The first thing to do is cordon off this area," General Naylor said. "Then get an ambulance over here. Have the sergeant's remains taken to the hospital. Get a flag…No, have the ambulance crew bring a flag with them. Cover the remains with the national colors before they are moved. Arrange for the sergeant's remains to have a suitable escort from this moment. Understood?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Is that satisfactory to you, Major Castillo?"

  "Yes, sir. Thank you very much."

  "Is there anything else you require?"

  "No, sir."

  "Then I will attempt to get General McNab on a secure line," Naylor said.

  He walked to the door, then turned.

  "If this needs to be said, I am sure that all of you did your duty as you understood it. And I don't think I have to tell you how pleased I am that there was only the one casualty."

  He was out the door before anyone could reply.

  II

  [ONE] The Oval Office The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW Washington, D.C. 1825 1 August 2005 The President of the United States was behind his desk. Across the room, Ambassador Charles W. Montvale, the director of National Intelligence, was sitting next to Secretary of State Natalie Cohen on one of two facing couches. Secretary of Homeland Security Matthew Hall was on the other couch.

  Major C. G. Castillo, who was in civilian clothing, was nonetheless standing before the President's desk at a position close to a tease.

  Or, Secretary Hall thought, like a kid standing in front of the headmaster's desk, waiting for the ax to fall.

  For the past ten minutes, Castillo had been delivering his report of what had happened since he had last seen the President-aboard Air Force One in Biloxi, Mississippi-when the President had issued the Presidential Finding that had sent him first to Europe and ultimately to Estancia Shangri-La.

  "And so we landed at MacDill, Mr. President," Castillo concluded, "where we turned over Sergeant Kranz's remains to Central Command, and then we came here. I took everyone involved to my apartment and told them nothing was to be said to anyone about anything until I had made my report, and that they were to remain there until I got back to them."

  "Colonel Torine, too?" the President of the United States asked. "And your cousin, too? How did they respond to your placing them in what amounts to house arrest?"

  "Colonel Torine knows how things are done, sir. I didn't order him…And Fernando, my cousin, understands the situation, sir."

  "And that's about it, Castillo?" the President asked.

  "Except for one thing, sir."

  "Which is?"

  "Howard Kennedy was at Jorge Newbery when I landed there from the estancia. Mr. Yung saw him."

  "The FBI agent?"

  "Who was there?" Ambassador Montvale asked.

  "Howard Kennedy…" Castillo began.

  "Who, it is alleged, is in the employ of Aleksandr Pevsner," the President said, drily.

  "The Russian mobster?" Montvale asked, incredulously.

  Both Castillo and the President nodded.

  "I'm missing something here," Montvale said.

  The President made a fill him in gesture with his hand to Castillo.

  Secretaries Cohen and Hall, who knew the story, exchanged glances and quick smiles. Montvale wasn't going to like this.

  "Sir, we have sort of reached an accommodation with Mr. Pevsner," Castillo began.

  "'We'?" Montvale interrupted. "Who's 'we'? You and who else? 'Accommodation'? What kind of 'accommodation'?"

  "'We' is Major Castillo and your President, Charles. Let Charley finish, please," the President said.

  "He was very helpful in locating the stolen 727, Mr. Ambassador," Castillo said. An American-owned Boeing 727 had disappeared from Luanda, Angola, on 23 May 2005, and when what the President described as "our enormous and enormously expensive intelligence community" was unable to determine who had stolen it, or why, or where It was, the president had come close to losing his temper.

  He had dispatched Castillo, who was then an executive assistant to the secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, to Angola, his orders being simply to find out what the CIA and the FBI and the DIA and the State Department-and all the other members of the intelligence community-had come to know about the stolen airplane, and when they had come to know it, and to report back personally to him.

  Castillo had instead gone far beyond the scope of his orders. He not only learned who had stolen the aircraft-an obscure group of Somal
ian terrorists-and what they planned to do with it-crash it into the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia-but he also had located the 727 in Costa Rica, where it was about to take off for Philadelphia. Castillo had-with the aid of a Delta Force team from Fort Bragg-stolen the aircraft back from the terrorists and, with Colonel Jake Torine in the pilot's seat, delivered it to MacDill Air Force Base.

  This had endeared Castillo to the president but not to the CIA, the FBI, and the rest of the intelligence community, whose annoyance with him was directly proportional to the amount of egg the various directors felt they had on their faces. "That's the first time I heard that," Montvale said.

  "What part of 'Let Charley finish' didn't you understand, Charles?"

  "I beg your pardon, Mr. President," Montvale said.

  "Let me take it, Charley," the President said. "Perhaps there will be fewer interruptions that way. In a nutshell, Charles, there is no legal action of any kind against this fellow underway in an American court. He made contact with Charley shortly after I gave Charley the job of finding out why no one else in our intelligence community could find it. He was very helpful. He wanted something in return."

  "I'll bet," Montvale said.

  "Pevsner told Charley he thought the agency-which had quietly contracted for his services over the years-was trying to arrange his arrest by one of the countries that hold warrants for his arrest so that he could be locked up and his CIA contracts would not come to light. He went so far as to say he thought the agency would like to terminate him with extreme prejudice. Now, I know we don't do that anymore, but the man was worried.

  "As a small gesture of my appreciation, I authorized Charley to tell him that I had ordered the DCI and the director of the FBI-this is before you became director of National Intelligence-to cease all investigations they might have underway and to institute no new investigations without my specific permission. What Pevsner thought was happening was that the CIA was looking for him abroad and the FBI inside the United States. If they located him, they would either arrest him here on an Interpol warrant or furnish his location to one of the governments looking for him.

  "Such stay-out-of-jail status to continue so long as Pevsner does not violate any law of the United States and with the unspoken understanding that he would continue to be helpful."

  "And has this chap continued to be helpful?" Montvale asked.

  "He got me access to the helicopter I used to fly to Estancia Shangri-La," Castillo said.

  "He's in Argentina?"

  "I don't know where Pevsner is at this moment," Castillo said. "I ran into Howard Kennedy in Buenos Aires and he arranged for the helicopter."

  That's not an outright lie. I just twisted the truth. For all I know, Alek might be in Puente del Este, Uruguay, not in Argentina.

  "And Kennedy is?"

  "A former FBI agent who now works for Pevsner," the President said.

  "And what was he doing in Argentina?"

  "He accompanied a 767 loaded with objets d'art sent by the Saudi royal family from Riyadh for the King Fahd Islamic Cultural Center in Buenos Aires and took back to Riyadh a load of polo ponies and saddles and other polo accoutrements for the royal family," Castillo said.

  "The airplane no doubt owned by Pevsner?" Montvale asked.

  "Probably, sir. I didn't ask."

  "And this Kennedy fellow just turned over a helicopter to you because you asked him? Is that what you're saying, Major Castillo?"

  "I would bet that he did so with Mr. Pevsner's permission, sir, but I didn't ask about that, either."

  "I must say, Mr. President, that I find this whole situation amazing."

  "What is it they say, Charles, about politics making strange bedfellows?"

  "I don't understand why this Kennedy fellow was concerned that the FBI agent saw him," Montvale said.

  "Kennedy is obviously paranoid," the President said. "He thinks the FBI is still looking for him, despite my specific orders that the search be called off, and that if they find him they will terminate him."

  "That's absurd!"

  "Oh, I agree. For one thing, terminating him would be illegal," the President said.

  "Why would they want to?"

  "Well," Castillo said, "Kennedy thinks-he was a senior agent in the Ethical Standards Division of the FBI before he left-it's because he knows where all the FBI's skeletons are buried."

  "Charley," the President said, "correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't the secrecy provisions of the Finding extend to anything connected with what you were doing down there? I mean, even to who any of your people saw anywhere?"

  "I made that point to Mr. Yung, sir."

  "Well, that should do it," the President said. "But since the subject came up, Charles, why don't you check with the CIA and the FBI to make sure they haven't forgotten my specific orders? If they have, I'd really like to hear about it."

  "I can't believe they would ignore any presidential order, Mr. President."

  "Check, Charles, please," the President said.

  "Yes, Mr. President."

  "Charley, I didn't hear you say whether you found anything useful at this fellow's estancia."

  "Sir, we found an address book, a coded address book. Agent Yung said it looks to him like a fairly simple code and that it should be breakable."

  "That's underway?"

  "No, sir. I came right here from the hotel, sir. And…"

  "And what?"

  "And frankly, sir, I thought it would be better to see if I still have a job, before going over to Fort Meade to-"

  The President cut him off with a raised hand. "All you found at the estancia was this address book?"

  "No, sir. We found written confirmation of what Agent Yung believed was the money Mr. Lorimer had in Uruguayan banks."

  "A good deal of money? More than he could reasonably have socked away for a rainy day?"

  "Fifteen-point-seven million dollars, Mr. President."

  "What sort of evidence?" Ambassador Montvale asked. "Bankbooks? Certificates of deposit? What?"

  The President flashed Montvale a very cold look, then looked at Castillo.

  "Sir, what Mr. Lorimer did was in effect loan the banks the money. What we took from the safe…I have them with me."

  "You have what with you?" Montvale asked.

  "Let me ask the questions, Charles, please," the President said and made a Give me whatever you have gesture to Castillo with both hands.

  Castillo some what awkwardly took a handful of colorfully printed documents from his briefcase and handed them to the President.

  The President glanced at them, then said, "You're the linguist, Charley. I have no idea what these say."

  "Sir, they're certificates signed by officers of the banks involved, essentially stating that a payment on demand loan has been made by Mr. Lorimer to their bank and that the bank will honor-pay-these things, like checks, once Mr. Lorimer has endorsed them. Sort of like bearer bonds, Mr. President, but not exactly."

  "And these are unsigned?"

  "Yes, sir. Right now they're as good as an unsigned check," Castillo said.

  "And we have no idea where-specifically, I mean-Lorimer got all that money, do we?" the secretary of state asked.

  "No, ma'am," Castillo said. "I think-hell, I know-it's oil-for-food proceeds, but I can't prove it. What I was hoping was that we could tie it somehow to one of the names in the address book-assuming we can get that decoded-or to one or more of the names I got from another source."

  "What other source?" Ambassador Montvale asked.

  "I'd rather not say, Mr. Ambassador," Castillo said.

  "I'm the director of National Intelligence," Montvale said, icily.

  "And I think Charley knows that," the President said. "If he'd rather not say, I'm sure he has his reasons." He paused. "Which are, Charley?"

  "Sir, I promised I would not reveal the identity of that source or share what he gave me without his permission."

  "That's absurd!" Montvale snapped.

>   "I was hoping to get his permission," Castillo said. "Before I fucked up in Uruguay."

  "You did say 'screwed up in Uruguay, ' didn't you?" the President asked.

  "I beg your pardon," Castillo said. "I'm very sorry, Madam Secretary."

  "I've heard the word before, Charley," Natalie Cohen said.

  "Is that about it, Charley?" the President asked.

  "Yes, sir. Except to say, Mr. President, how deeply I regret the loss of Sergeant Kranz and how deeply I regret having failed in the mission you assigned."

  The President did not immediately respond. He looked into Castillo's eyes a moment as he considered that statement, then said, "How do you figure that you have failed, Charley?"

  "Well, sir, the bottom line is that I am no closer to finding the people who murdered Mr. Masterson and Sergeant Markham and shot Agent Schneider than I was before I went looking for Mr. Lorimer. Mr. Lorimer is now dead and we'll never know what he might have told us if I hadn't botched his…"

  Castillo's voice trailed off as he tried to find the right word.

  "Repatriation?" the President offered.

  "Yes, sir. And now Sergeant Kranz is dead. I failed you, sir."

  "Charles," the President said, "what about the long-term damage resulting from Major Castillo's failure? Just off the top of your head?"

  "Mr. President, I don't see it as a failure," Secretary Hall spoke up.

  "The director of National Intelligence has the floor, Mr. Secretary. Pray let him continue," the President said, coldly.

  "Actually, Mr. President, neither do I," Montvale said. "Actually, when I have a moment to think about it, quite the opposite."

  "You heard him," the President pursued. "This man Lorimer is dead. We have no proof that Natalie can take to the UN that he was involved in the oil-for-food scandal or anything else. And Castillo himself admits that he's no closer to finding out who killed Masterson and the sergeant than he ever was. Isn't that failure?"

  "Mr. President, if I may," Montvale said, cautiously. "Let me point out what I think the major-and that small, valiant band of men he had with him-has accomplished."

  "What would that be?"

  "If we accept the premise that Mr. Lorimer was involved in something sor-did, and the proof of that, I submit, is that he sequestered some"-Montvale looked to Castillo for help-"how many million dollars?"