Sparkman snorted.
“. . . to stay at Schwechat and get the plane fueled, etcetera, and listen to the radio.”
“That came in about an hour ago, Colonel,” Sparkman said. “Major Miller said he had to call Ambassador Montvale to have him personally call the DCI.”
“Montvale was supposed to have told Langley to give us whatever we ask for,” Castillo said.
“That was my impression, too, Ace, but that’s what Miller told Sparkman,” Delchamps said.
Sparkman nodded and went on: “Major Miller said that some guy he didn’t know said something about not wanting to interfere in any way with an ongoing operation of the highest importance. He wouldn’t say what that operation was. Miller said the guy shit a brick when the DCI said, ‘Give him the dossiers.’
“And Miller said that’s when, reluctantly, they gave him the female’s dossier. What he said was that, when the DCI was in the file room, he said you wanted everything, and the DCI said, ‘Give them everything.’ That’s one good-looking woman; who is she, Colonel?”
“Berezovsky’s sister,” Castillo said, then asked, “Edgar, how’d things go with the local spook?”
“Bad karma, Ace. Your reputation has preceded you.”
“Explain that,” Castillo ordered.
“Well, the spook is a her. Miss Eleanor Dillworth, ostensibly the counselor for consular affairs. She’s a friend of Alex Darby’s—or so she said; I’d like to check that with Alex—and I’ve never heard anything bad about her. But she was not what you could call the spirit of enthusiastic cooperation when I asked her what she could tell me about the Kuhls. And that was before your name came up.”
“How did my name come up?”
“She asked what I was doing in Washington, and I told her I worked for you.” He paused. “Ace, to respond to that pissed off look on your face, OOA is no longer a secret within the intelligence community.”
“Shit. I guess I’ve got to get used to that. Okay, so how did she respond when my name came up?”
“She said, and this is almost verbatim, ‘I know all about that sonofabitch and I want nothing to do with him.’ I naturally inquired of the lady what she meant, and she said that, first, you ruined the soaring career of a Langley pal of hers and, second, you actually got said pal fired.”
“Is that so?” Castillo said, his tone somewhat sarcastic. He looked at Delchamps. “She give you a name?”
“No. Is this none of my business?”
“The lady in question is Mrs. Patricia Davies Wilson. She was some kind of an analyst at Langley, and when she fucked up doing what she should have done with that stolen airliner, she tried to put the blame on the local spook. She said that not only was the local spook incompetent but a drunk, the proof of that being that while in his cups, he made improper advances to her, knowing full well she was a married woman. She probably would have gotten away with it had she not been, at the time Dick Miller was supposedly trying to rape her—”
“Our Dick Miller?” Delchamps interrupted.
Castillo nodded. “—Had she not been fucking me at the time. She lied that Miller was working his wicked way on her. That got her transferred. Then she went to C. Harry Whelan, Jr., the infamous journalist, and tried to blow the whistle on me. Whelan then went to Montvale with the dirt that he had on me, which was what Mrs. Wilson had leaked to him.
“Montvale—and I owe him big-time for this, as I frequently have to remind myself—not only turned Whelan off but taped their conversation, in which Whelan referred, several times, to Mrs. Wilson as ‘his own private mole in Langley.’ ”
“Jesus Christ,” Delchamps said disgustedly.
“Then Montvale played the tape for the DCI. And that’s what got her fired.”
“Women in this business are dangerous,” Delchamps said.
“I was saying exactly the same thing to Charley earlier today,” Davidson said innocently.
Castillo slid the laptop to him.
“Take a quick look at this, Jack, and tell me what you think.”
Delchamps said: “I don’t think the truth would impress Miss Dillworth very much, Charley. You’re an unmitigated sonofabitch. What I think I should do is get on the horn to Alex Darby and get his take on the lady. Then I think I can deal with her. I’ll start out by telling her what a sonofabitch I know you to be.”
Castillo held his hand up as a signal for Delchamps to wait. He was looking at Davidson.
Finally, Davidson raised his eyes from the computer screen.
“It looks like the Big Bad Wolf and Little Red Under Britches are who they say they are, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, it sure does,” Castillo said. “Jake, how soon can we go wheels-up?”
“I told you before: thirty minutes after we get to the airport. Where are we going?”
“Edgar, you can discuss Miss Moneypenny with Alex personally,” Castillo said.
“Why are we going to Buenos Aires, Charley?” Delchamps asked warily.
“Because when Colonel Berezovsky and Lieutenant Colonel Alekseeva, the spies who want to come in from the cold, do come in from the cold, that’s where they want to go.”
“He’s already been in touch? Christ, you just got here.”
“I work fast,” Castillo said. “Can we get out of here tonight, Jake?”
Torine nodded, and repeated, “Thirty minutes after we get to the airport.”
Castillo looked at his watch. “It’s seven-forty. Let’s shoot for a ten o’clock takeoff. Sparkman, get out there and file a flight plan to Prestwick, Scotland. Then we file a new en-route flight plan to Morocco or someplace else that’s our best and safest route to Buenos Aires. That’ll work, Jake, right?”
Torine nodded. “Let me get this straight. We’re taking this Berezovsky character with us?”
“And his wife and daughter. And, of course, Little Red Under Britches.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Delchamps asked. “Why are you calling the sister that?”
Castillo exchanged glances with Davidson and grinned. “That’s undercover spy talk, Edgar. You wouldn’t understand.”
“And if we told you, we’d have to kill you,” Davidson added.
“Until this moment, Jake, I thought we were having our chain pulled,” Delchamps said. “Now I don’t know.” He looked at Castillo. “You’ve actually got the SVR’s Berlin rezident in the bag?”
“Plus the Copenhagen SVR rezident.”
“I’ll believe this when I see it,” Delchamps said.
“Oh, ye of little faith!” Castillo said.
“If you think they hate you at Langley now, Ace,” Delchamps said, “wait until they hear about this.”
VI
[ONE]
General Aviation Apron West
Schwechat Airport
Vienna, Austria
2145 28 December 2005
“Work the radios, First Officer,” Colonel Jake Torine said.
Castillo checked the commo panel, saw that the radio was set to the correct frequency, and pressed the TRANSMIT button on the yoke.
“Vienna Delivery, Gulfstream 379,” Castillo announced.
“Gulfstream 379,” the traffic controller replied in English, “this is Vienna Delivery. Go ahead.”
“Gulfstream 379 at Block Alfa Six-Zero. We are a Gulfstream Three with ATIS information Bravo. Request clearance to Prestwick, Scotland, please.”
“Gulfstream 379, Vienna Delivery. Your clearance is ready. Advise when ready to copy.”
“Gulfstream 379 ready to copy.”
“Roger, Gulfstream 379. You are cleared to Prestwick, Scotland, via the Lanux One Alpha Departure, then flight-planned route. Expect flight level three-four-zero ten minutes after departure. Squawk code 3476.”