"Well, that's the Air Force for you," Castillo said. "Unless they're being fed a steak by some long-legged blond stewardess with a dazzling smile, they think they're suffering."
"The Air Force teaches that an officer should never be rude to an officer junior to them in rank," Torine said. "In your case, I'm going to make an exception: Fuck you, Colonel. I want more for breakfast than a goddamned hamburger."
Castillo laughed.
"You're right, Jake," he said. "So do I. And since Montvale is sending a taxi for us, we'd better have that shave and a shower."
"My sole remaining clean shirt and fresh undies are on the airplane," Torine said.
"We can change on the way to Baltimore," Castillo said.
"If you have to talk to your guy, Yung, in New Orleans," Swanson said, "and we're sitting on him there, then once we get to the hotel I can get the number of a pay phone to our guys and Yung can call you on it. It won't be a secure line, but that's how the bad guys communicate and it works for them."
"You're a good man, Mr. Swanson."
"So they tell me," Swanson said. [THREE] Baltimore/Washington International Thurgood Marshall Airport Baltimore, Maryland 1350 10 August 2005 There was a Secret Service Yukon XL waiting for them at the Signature Flight Support building.
True to the traditions of the Secret Service, there was no change of expression on the agent's face when he came onto the Gulfstream and saw Castillo on his knees in the passenger compartment removing an Uzi, a Micro Uzi, and a suppressed Ruger.22 caliber pistol from the compartment under one of the couches and then carefully handing them one at a time to Torine and Britton.
When Castillo climbed into the front seat of the truck, beside the agent, he was just about to ask "Where are we headed?" when the Secret Service agent spoke into his lapel microphone.
"Leaving Thurgood for the OEOB," he said, "with Don Juan, Lindbergh, and English aboard. Advise Big Eye ETA 1515."
"Charley," Torine said, "why do I think there is something derisive in your code name but that English really fits Britton and Lindbergh is absolutely appropriate for me?"
"Because you are modesty-impaired, Jake. I understand that's fairly common in the Air Force."
"What do you want me to do when you and Jack are with Montvale?"
"Pay close attention, you might learn something."
"I have to be there?"
"You have to be there," Castillo said. [FOUR] The Office of the Director of National Intelligence The Old Executive Office Building Washington, D.C. 1515 10 August 2005 Ambassador Charles W. Montvale's office in the OEOB was not very impressive for the very powerful man the press had dubbed the "New Intelligence Czar." It consisted of two small, sparsely furnished rooms and the first thing Castillo thought when he saw it was that it was even smaller than the OEOB offices of Secretary of Homeland Security Matthew Hall.
There was a reason for this. Both Montvale and Hall had far larger and more ornately furnished offices elsewhere. The primary purpose of their OEOB offices was to provide them with a place to wait and take calls until time was found for them in the President's schedule.
Cabinet members such as himself, Secretary Hall had once only half jokingly told Castillo, could not afford to be seen sitting twiddling their thumbs on chairs outside the Oval Office, like schoolboys having been sent to the principal's office for disciplining. It was bad for their public image.
Castillo was surprised when Montvale didn't keep them waiting. His secretary-or executive assistant, whatever she was-went directly to Montvale's door and opened it the moment she saw them walking into the outer office.
"Colonel Castillo and two other gentlemen are here," the secretary said.
Castillo didn't hear a reply, but a moment later, the secretary said, "Go right in, please, gentlemen."
Castillo went in first, aware that a Pavlovian reflex had kicked in, trying-and almost succeeding-to make him march in, salute, stand at attention, and bark: "Lieutenant Colonel Castillo reporting as ordered, sir!"
"Good afternoon, Mr. Ambassador," Castillo said.
"Hello, Charley," Montvale said.
He acknowledged Torine by saying, "Colonel," then looked at Britton.
"I like that," Montvale announced with a smile. "Pink and yellow and blue go well together. But you don't bring up what usually comes to mind when someone says, 'Secret Service.'"
"I try to put the emphasis on the 'secret' in Secret Service, Mr. Ambassador," Britton said.
"On a scale of one to ten, Britton," Montvale said, his tone suddenly serious, "what's your take on the chances of a nuclear weapon being detonated in Philadelphia anytime soon?"
"Point-zero-zero-one, Mr. Ambassador," Britton responded immediately.
"That answer sounded rehearsed."
"Your question was expected, Mr. Ambassador."
"Colonel Castillo told you to expect it?"
"No. But I didn't think you were calling me down here to discuss my wardrobe."
"Now I know why Colonel Castillo likes you," Montvale said. "You're about as much of a self-confident wiseass as he is. Now you and Colonel Torine please step out for a moment-actually, it's probably going to be a bit longer than that-while I have a private word with the colonel. Tell Jo-Anne no calls except from the President personally, and to get you some coffee."
"Yes, sir," Britton said. "Thank you."
"Thank you, Mr. Ambassador," Torine said and turned and followed Britton out.
Montvale waited until the door had closed.
"You understand, I hope, Charley, how much rides on Britton's-and thus your-assessment of the threat that there is a SADM somewhere around Philadelphia?"
"I've talked to some other people, sir. It-"
Montvale shut him off by raising his hand like a traffic cop.
"Hold that until the briefing," he said.
"I thought this was the briefing," Castillo said. It was more of a question.
"Right now we have to talk about your eleven-hundred-dollar-a-day love nest in the Mayflower Hotel," Montvale said.
"Sir?"
"That's how Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter C. Harry Whelan, Jr., of The Washington Post described it. No. What Harry actually said when he called Secretary Hall and told him he intended to make certain allegations in a story and wanted, in fairness, to get his version before it was published, he was in 'Motel Monica Lewinsky.'" He paused, then added with a thin smile, "He has a flair for colorful phrases."
"What sort of allegations?"
"That an Army officer by the name of Castillo who is an agent of the Defense Intelligence Agency is whooping it up on the taxpayer's dollar in the Mayflower and elsewhere all over the world."
Oh, shit!
"Where'd that come from? I never was assigned to the DIA."
"Think about it a moment," Montvale ordered, "and tell me the first name that comes to mind."
Three seconds later, Castillo said, "Mr. Patricia Davies Wilson."
Montvale nodded.
"Goddamn her!"
"Hell hath no fury like the female scorned, I understand. You might want to write that down to think about the next time you experience the sinful lusts of the flesh and are about to throw caution to the winds and, with it, your career, the mission you've been given by the President, and the many-all unpleasant to contemplate-manifestations of that."
"The next time? What next time? I'm blown. The problem now is how to keep the Finding operation from being blown with me. I'm blown, that's it. The most I can hope for is that I will be allowed to resign for the good of the service and go hide somewhere before this reporter can find me. Once I'm out of the service, I don't have to even talk to this guy -if he could find me-and I don't think he'll be able to do that. All the Army has to do is say they're way ahead of the reporter, and the guy with the love nest has already been allowed to resign and they have no idea where former Lieutenant Colonel Castillo is. And, by the way, he was never assigned to the DIA." He paused. "Does General Naylor know about this?"