“Where the hell did you see that?”
“By Major C. G. Castillo, Chief Flight Examiner, 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment,” Koshkov finished. “I used it to teach the subject when I was at the Spetsnaz aviation school.”
“I will be damned.”
“When we land, you can tell me how I did,” Koshkov said. “Picking it up now.”
The Bell lifted gently off. Koshkov lowered the nose, and then made a running takeoff.
VII
ONE
Casa en el Bosque San Carlos de Bariloche Rio Negro Province, Argentina 2105 17 April 2007
At just about the moment the AFC GPS showed that they were over the estate, floodlights came on, illuminating the polo field, which was, Castillo judged, about 500 meters from the mansion.
As Koshkov brought the Super Ranger in for a smooth touchdown, with the second chopper following, Castillo saw there was a welcoming party.
Standing in front of the stable-which also served as a hangar-was a large welcoming party: Aleksandr Pevsner; his wife, Anna; and their three children, Elena, Sergei, and Aleksandr. Elena held one of Max’s pups in her arms.
Janos, Pevsner’s huge Hungarian bodyguard, stood where Castillo expected him to be, three feet behind Pevsner.
Standing three feet away was Berezovsky’s wife, Lora, and their daughter, Sof’ya, who was holding another fruit of Max’s loins in her arms. And to one side stood four women, three with small children in their arms, who had to be the wives of the pilots.
If it weren’t for those dozen or more guys, all armed with Kalashnikov rifles, standing behind everybody, trying to be as discreet as possible, this would be a touching scene. If this were December, it could be Home for Christmas.
“How’d I do?” Koshkov asked as he braked the rotors.
“Not bad for someone who obviously has no natural flying talent at all,” Castillo said.
Koshkov smiled and shook his head.
Max, seeing his pups, was first off the Super Ranger. With some trepidation, first Elena and then Sof’ya put their now-squirming pups on the ground. In attack mode, the dogs raced toward their father. Together, they weighed about half as much as Max.
Max instantly rolled on his back with his paws in the air, in surrender mode. The pups began to gnaw on his stomach and ears.
“I shudder to think,” Aleksandr Pevsner said, as he shook Castillo’s hand, “that the children’s animals will eventually reach his size.”
The kissing ritual began. Anna kissed Castillo. Sweaty kissed Pevsner, and then Anna. Castillo was not surprised when Anna kissed Lester Bradley-her husband was alive because Lester had put a.45 round in the forehead of Pevsner’s would-be assassin, and from then on he was considered a member of the family-but he was surprised when both Blatov and Koshkov got into the line of people waiting to swap kisses with the Laird of Karinhall and his lady.
“More relatives?” Castillo asked Sweaty.
She nodded.
“Kiril and Anatoly,” she replied, “are-let me see-second cousins, once removed. Aleksandr is Kiril’s godfather.”
“And that would make Kiril’s baby what?” Castillo said. “A third cousin twice removed? Or just a second cousin twice removed?”
Sweaty considered the question seriously for perhaps thirty seconds before realizing she was being teased.
“You will pay for that, my love,” she said.
“Which means they’re Oprichniks in good standing?” he pursued.
“I’m getting sorry I ever told you about the Oprichnina,” Sweaty said.
“Yes or no?”
“Of course,” Sweaty said. “They couldn’t have become Spetsnaz officers otherwise.”
“Every Spetsnaz officer is an Oprichnik?”
“I didn’t say that,” Sweaty said.
“Yes, you did,” Castillo said.
He sensed Aleksandr Pevsner’s eyes on him.
“Very impressive, Alek,” Castillo said, indicating the men with the Kalashnikovs. “But where’s the band?”
“The band?”
“I sort of expected a brass band to welcome us. Or at least somebody playing ‘The Volga Boatmen’ on a balalaika.”
Pevsner shook his head resignedly.
“Let’s go down to the house and have dinner,” he said. “Afterward, we have a lot to talk about.”
“Would you like to freshen up?” the Laird of Karinhall, the perfect host, asked, “or after a drink?”
“Give me ten minutes,” Sweaty said.
There was nothing in her reply, or tone of voice, that suggests she has anything more romantic-or carnal-on her mind than freshening up.
Damn!
Oh, I know. It’s because I mocked the family. And the Oprichnina.
“I’ll have a little of the emergency liquid, please,” Castillo said, smiling at Kiril Koshkov and indicating a bottle of vodka encased in a block of ice.
“Oh, that’s right, you heard about that, didn’t you?” Koshkov said with a smile.
“Kiril’s been telling me how undisciplined you Spetsnaz are,” Castillo replied.
Pevsner was also smiling broadly as he generously poured the literally ice-cold vodka into a chilled glass.
What the hell are you smiling about, Alek? You never were Spetsnaz, and I don’t think you even know what we’re talking about.
Epiphany time!
You’re smiling because you know that even one drink will make me one drink stupider when we have our little chat. With a little luck, I will be two-or more-drinks stupider when we have the chat.
The thing for me to remember about you, Alek, ol’ buddy, is that you were SVR, and while you can take the boy out of Russia, you can’t take the SVR out of the boy.
Not a problem. I will have two or more drinks-after that flight through the Andes, I’m entitled. And we will have our little chat in the morning, not tonight.
It was fifteen minutes-during which time Castillo had two substantial belts of vodka-before Sweaty rejoined the family, and then everyone went into the dining room. Not surprising Castillo at all were both another frosty glass of chilled vodka and a bottle of Saint Felicien Cabernet Sauvignon waiting for him at his place at the enormous table.
Sweaty was seated beside him.
“I waited for you,” Sweaty said quietly.
“Really? What did you want?”
She said, “It’s not important.” Her eyes told him carnal was off the table for tonight. And maybe for the next day, too.
What was on the table for tonight was a feast of Chilean seafood-absolutely marvelous oysters and enormous lobsters.
About half a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon later, Castillo was watching when former Gunnery Sergeant Lester Bradley, USMC, stopped cracking the claw of an enormous lobster, pushed his chair away from the table, picked something up from the floor, and discreetly put it on his lap.
Castillo knew what had happened: When Lester rose in the morning, he stuffed a theoretically invisible flesh-colored speaker into his ear canal. When a call came to his closed Brick and there was no answer, it spoke a number into the earpiece, identifying the person who was having trouble getting through.
Castillo naturally wondered who was calling. He learned who it was only after Lester pushed back from the table, took a handset from the Brick, walked over to Castillo, and handed it to him.
The illuminated LEDs on the handset told Castillo that the Brick was in Category I encryption status and showed him the number 6.
Castillo put the handset to his ear.
“Castillo,” he said.
There was a very brief period during which the system compared the digital interpretation of his voice with its database, found a 99.9 percent match, and illuminated the number 1 on the calling party’s handset, telling A. Franklin Lammelle, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, that he was now connected with Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo, U.S. Army, Retired.