"I told you, Mark. I need some help in putting a jigsaw puzzle together. This is very important to me, so if this is inconvenient for you I'm sorry. But I want this man to be in Ambassador Montvale's office by nine tomorrow morning. He'll be working for him for an indefinite period-until the puzzle is assembled. And Montvale is going to tell him that he is not to share with anyone-anyone-anything about the puzzle. I think it would be a good idea if you told him about that before you send him to the ambassador."
"That sounds as if I'm being kept in the dark about whatever your problem is, Mr. President."
"It's a question of Need to Know, Mark. And right now…"
"I understand, Mr. President."
"Thanks, Mark. We'll be talking."
The President reached forward and punched a button, breaking the connection.
"When Inspector Doherty shows up at your office, Charles," the President said, "you tell him about the Finding and then send him over to Castillo."
"Mr. President, I can't do that," Montvale replied.
The President was known for not liking to have his orders questioned.
"Why not?" he asked, sharply.
"Sir, only you and Colonel Castillo are authorized to grant security clearances vis-a-vis the Finding."
The President stared at him a moment, then said, "You're right. I'd forgotten that. Okay. So when Inspector Whatshisname shows up tomorrow, you relay to him my personal order that he is not to relate to Director Schmidt or anyone else in the FBI anything he learns while working for Castillo. Then send him to Castillo, who can tell him about the Finding."
"Very well, sir, if that's the way you wish for me to handle it."
"That's the way," the President said.
Well, Castillo thought, suppressing a smirk, that ends your hope of being able to clear people for the Finding, doesn't it, Mr. Ambassador?
Wait. What the hell are you being so smug about, hotshot?
Montvale just saved your ass.
"Come to think about it," the President said, thoughtfully, making Castillo wonder if he was about to change his mind, "that's a good way to handle the whole expert question. If Castillo decides he needs an expert from somewhere else-the NSA, for example, or State, or Homeland Security-we'll run them past you or the appropriate secretary, who will relay my order to them that nothing goes back where they came from, and then run them over to Castillo. He may be able to get what he wants out of them without having to tell them why and thus about the Finding. And he's the only one who can make that decision."
"That'll work," Matt Hall said. It was the first time he had said anything.
"I'll handle the intelligence community personally, Mr. President," Montvale said.
The President looked at him and nodded but didn't respond directly.
"Anyone else got anything?" the President asked.
There was a chorus of "No, sir"s.
"Get some rest, Charley," the President said, finally. "Get to bed early. I can't afford to have you burn out. And I think you're going to have a busy day tomorrow."
"Yes, sir."
The President thought he saw something on Castillo's face and asked, smiling naughtily, "What makes me think you have other plans for the evening, Don Juan?"
"Sir…"
"What's her name?"
"Actually, sir, I thought I would go by my office, pick up Major Miller, and go to the Army-Navy Club to…" At the last moment, Castillo had enough presence of mind to change the next words from drink our supper to "have our supper."
"Yeah," the President said, unconvinced. "Good hunting, Colonel."
The President got up and walked out of the Oval Office through the doorway leading to his private working office. He was gone before any of the others could rise to their feet.
Sure, she has a name. Elizabeth Schneider.
And I still haven't called her. Or, worse, even thought of calling her.
What the hell is the matter with me? [TWO] Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo and Major H. Richard Miller, Jr., did not go to the Army-Navy Club as Castillo had announced to the President of the United States that they would do.
Instead-with Colonel Jacob Torine, USAF, and Special Agent Jack Britton in tow-they went right around the corner from the White House, to 15th Street NW. There, at the Old Ebbitt Grill (est. 1856), they sat at the massive dark mahogany bar and dined on hot roast beef sandwiches au jus with steak fries (Miller and Torine) and linguini with white clam sauce (Castillo) and red clam sauce (Britton), washing it all down with Heineken beer from the tap.
By ten o'clock, all four were in beds-alone and asleep-in Herr Karl Gossinger's suite in the Motel Monica Lewinsky, the management having obligingly made up one of the couches in the sitting room into a bed for Special AgentBritton.
Although the thought that he should telephone Miss Elizabeth Schneider had occurred to Charley Castillo, he had not made an attempt to do so, having reasoned that it was too late-particularly for him. He was about to crash, and crash hard, and thus in absolutely no condition to participate in a long apologetic and explanatory conversation.
I'll call tomorrow, he had thought, then buried his head in his pillow.
If I don't get distracted and forget again.
He had then groped in the dark for his cellular on the bedside table, found it, dialed its own number, and after the mechanized female voice answered that he was being transferred into voice mail he left the message, "Call Betty, you heartless bastard."
Then he pushed the END button, returned the phone to the table, and finally crashed. [THREE] Office of Organizational Analysis Department of Homeland Security Nebraska Avenue Complex Washington, D.C. 0825 11 August 2005 "Welcome home, Chief," Mr. Agnes Forbison, deputy chief for administration of the Office of Organizational Analysis, greeted Castillo as he led Torine, Miller, and Britton off of the elevator. "Or would you prefer that I now call you 'Colonel'?"
"I'd prefer that you call me Charley, Agnes."
She walked to him and kissed his cheek.
"We've been over that," she said, evenly. "You are now too important to be addressed by your nickname. So, which do you prefer?"
"I give up," Castillo said. "You choose."
"'Chief' has a nicer ring to it," she said. "This town is too full of colonels. No offense, Colonel Torine."
"None taken," Torine said.
She looked at Britton. "I like your jacket, Jack."
"Thank you," Britton said. "It's all I've got to wear. I hadn't planned to come to Washington."
"What's first, Agnes?" Castillo asked.
"Well, there's already someone in my office waiting to see you," she said as she led the way to the door of Castillo's office-marked PRIVATE NO ADMITTANCE-slid what looked like an all-white credit card through the reader mounted by the lock, then pushed the door open and handed the card to Castillo.
They all followed her through the open door.
"First is getting me back to Pennsylvania," Britton said.
"First is credit cards," Agnes corrected him. "You wouldn't want to leave home without your American Express card, would you, Jack?"
"I've got an American Express card," Britton said.
"Not one of these, you don't," Agnes said. "They came in yesterday."
She went to Castillo's desk, opened a drawer, and collected what looked like half a dozen Platinum American Express cards. She handed one card to Britton and others to Castillo and Torine and put the rest back in the drawer.
"Miller's already got one and so do I," she said.
Britton examined his.
"What the hell is Gossinger Consultants, Inc.?" he asked.
"Well, I needed a name of a nongovernmental organization to spend Lorimer's money," she said. "And that seemed reasonably appropriate. The cards are coded so no questions will be asked in case somebody wants to buy a lot of airplane gas."
"That's aviation fuel, Agnes," Castillo said, smiling. "You're amazing."
"I told you I was going to be useful," she said. "And the Riggs Bank is going to get us checks on the Gossinger Consultants account as soon as they can. Which may mean today but probably means in three or four days. You all have to sign signature cards and I have to get them back to the bank before you can write checks."