Doherty nodded.
"I thought he would probably have to have told you-Edgar Delchamps told me what you're doing here. So I guess he also told you that you can't go back to the J. Edgar Hoover Building and tell them, 'Guess what? We were right all along about Yung. He can't be trusted any more than Howard Kennedy can. Wait till I tell you what he's been up to.'"
"Colonel Castillo has made it clear that your activities, Yung, are protected by the security classification of the Presidential Finding."
"I'm almost sorry they are. I wish I could tell the bastards in Professional Ethics that I'm not ashamed of anything I've done since I got involved in this and that I like being trusted by Castillo and the people around him. That's more than I can say for the bureau. They found me guilty by association-'We can't trust him anymore; send him to Uruguay or someplace'-with no more justification than a determination to cover their own asses."
Doherty paled and looked as if he was about to say something.
"Well," Delchamps said, breaking the silence, "now that the air is cleared and we're all pals united in a common cause, can we get back to work? I've got a lot of paleontological data for your blackboards, Jack."
"What kind of data?" Doherty asked.
"From dinosaurs," Delchamps said.
"And I have fifteen pages of mysterious numbers for you to decipher for us, Dave," Castillo said and gestured for him to sit down at the conference table. "What NSA has come up with, Charley," Yung said fifteen minutes later, "is pretty good. It's a goddamned pity we can't use it to put some of these bastards in jail."
"For what?"
"Income tax evasion, most of them. A lot of other charges. But none of this would be admissible in court."
"Careful, you're starting to sound like an FBI agent again," Castillo said without thinking, then heard what he had said and looked to see if Doherty had heard him. His face showed that he had.
Oh, fuck you! Yung was screwed by the FBI-probably by you personally, Doherty-and you know it!
"I don't give a damn about the IRS," Castillo went on. "What use is it to us?"
"Well, we know from which account the people in Philadelphia or Easton-wherever the hell it was-got their two million."
"Didn't we already know that?"
"What we didn't know-this is in Appendix 2-was that there was a deposit, the same exact amount, $1,950,000, into the same account at the Caledonian Bank and Trust Limited from which the $1,950,000 was wired to the Merchants National Bank of Easton. I think we can reasonably surmise this was done in anticipation of sending the money to Pennsylvania."
"Who put that money in that account?" Castillo asked.
"It came from another numbered account in the Caledonian Bank and Trust Limited. And what's very interesting about that is-this is also in Appendix 2-is that that's a very substantial account, with just over forty-six million dollars in it."
"In cash?" Castillo asked, incredulously.
"Five million in cash, the rest in instruments something like the ones Lorimer used in Uruguay-not the same thing, exactly, but something like it. You want me to explain that?"
"First tell me what's 'very interesting' about this second account."
"There have been no deposits made to it since March 23, 2003. The invasion of Iraq began on March 20, 2003."
"We know that date," Miller said. "When Castillo and I were simple, honest soldiers, we were there."
"Which suggests to you what?"
"The oil-for-food scam ended with the invasion," Yung said. "That final deposit, nine-point-five million, was probably in the pipeline, so to speak, for that three-day difference."
"Who owns the account with the forty-six million in it?"
"We don't know. NSA can't get data like that," Yung replied. "But Appendix 3 says that a lot of people are snooping around the Caledonian Bank and Trust Limited, including the FBI. One of them should know."
"You hear that, Inspector?" Castillo asked.
"I heard it," Doherty said. "Would you be surprised if my first reaction was to say fuck you?"
"No," Castillo said. "But?"
"And not just because I don't like you and this operation of yours, but because if NSA says the bureau is interested in this Caledonian Bank that means there is a legitimate, ongoing investigation which may very well be screwed up by you nosing around."
"But?" Castillo asked again.
"If I don't do this for you, you'll go back to Montvale, he'll go back to Director Schmidt and he'll either order me to get the information or tell somebody else to do it."
"Please give Inspector Doherty the numbers of the accounts we're interested in, Dave." Doherty hung up the phone fifteen minutes later and handed Castillo a sheet of notepaper on which was written: "Kenyon Oil Refining and Brokerage Company, Midland, Texas."
Castillo was momentarily surprised at hearing Midland, Texas, but then realized that it was because Munz's family was on the Double-Bar-C ranch there, not because the oil company was in Midland.
There's probably three or four hundred oil companies in Midland. And it's not surprising that I never heard of this one. Many of them are nothing more than a phone number and a post office box.
"That's the account with the forty-six million in it," Doherty reported. "The information the bureau has is that they're a small independent outfit, primarily involved in the business of buying and selling crude oil. They have a small refinery in Houston, but that's usually involved in refining other people's oil. There is an ongoing investigation that has so far not turned up anything they're looking for."
"What is the FBI looking for?" Castillo asked.
"They didn't tell me and I didn't ask."
"Get back on the horn, please, Inspector, and ask. And while you've got them on the phone, find out what the FBI have-anything, everything, they have-on the other numbers Yung gave you."
Doherty glowered at him and didn't move.
"Do it, Inspector," Castillo said, unpleasantly.
Doherty grabbed the telephone. Making no effort to hide it, Castillo listened and watched him carefully while he made the call.
"It'll take some time to get that information," Doherty reported when he had finished. "They'll call."
"And while we're waiting, we'll all going to take a quick course in how the scans worked," Castillo said.
"From who?" Doherty asked.
"From my Budapest source, who is now in Argentina."
"I told you, Castillo, I didn't want any data from those people until we sort out what we already have."
"Do you speak Hungarian, Inspector?"
"No, I don't speak Hungarian," Doherty responded in exasperation.
"Then you'll just have to guess what I'm saying to my source," Castillo said and picked up the Delta Force radio handset.
"Sergeant Neidermeyer," a voice came over the handset.
"Are we up?" Castillo asked.
"All green, sir."
"Data link, too?"
"All up, Colonel."
"Wake them up, Neidermeyer," Castillo ordered, then switched the radio to SPEAKERPHONE and hung up the handset. "Davidson," a voice came over the speaker ten seconds later.
"Got you working the radio, do they, Jack?" Castillo asked, in a strange tongue Inspector Davidson had never heard before. He had no idea what it was but it wasn't Hungarian.
"That's not Hungarian!" Doherty accused.
Castillo looked at him and softly said, in English, "Actually, Inspector, it's Pashto, one of the two major languages spoken in Afghanistan, the other being Afghan Persian."
Delchamps and Miller smiled and shook their heads.
Castillo turned to the radio and, switching back to Pashto, said, "Do you know if the old man's up yet, Jack?"
The reply came in Pashto: "That's why I'm working the radios, Colonel. Kocian and Kensington are kicking the soccer ball for Max. I was, but that big sonofabitch knocked me on my ass and I quit."
"I need to talk to the old man right now."
"Hold one, Colonel."
"Tell him to speak Hungarian," Castillo ordered, looking at Doherty and smiling.