“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]
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.