Naylor's surprise was evident on his face.
"Certainly," Montvale said. "Sometime tomorrow afternoon?"
"Sir, just as soon as I can I'm going to be on a plane to Paris."
"You mean now?"
"If that would be possible, sir."
"Actually, I've been wanting to have a private word with you, too," Montvale said, thoughtfully. "And this would seem to be one of those fortuitous circumstances."
"Thank you, sir," Castillo said.
"Especially since General Naylor is here," Montvale went on.
"Excuse me?" Naylor said.
"We could go to the situation room and use the bubble, but I'm afraid that the three of us going there would attract attention. Wouldn't you agree, General? Someone would decide that something is going on that they should know about."
"Mr. Ambassador," Naylor said, "my aide is waiting outside with a car to take me to Andrews. Just as soon as I can get away from here I'm going back to Tampa."
"So far as getting away from here is concerned," Montvale said, "our role in tonight's events is over. The President has moved on to other things on his agenda. And if something unexpected comes up, he knows how to find us. I really don't want to waste the next couple of hours smiling at people I don't really like."
"I was just thinking the same thing," Naylor confessed, smiling.
"I know," Montvale said. "The Army and Navy Club. We could talk there. Could I impose and suggest we go there?"
"Mr. Ambassador, I really have to get back to Tampa," Naylor said.
"General, I just saved us from two hours-at least-of smiling at people we don't like. Can't you spare me thirty minutes? I'd really like for you to be there when the colonel and I have our little chat."
"Yes, of course," Naylor said. "Playing the game, I suggest we leave in our own vehicles," Montvale said as they approached the portico.
"Secretary Hall brought me here," Castillo said. "May I ride with you, General?"
"You can use the pool," Montvale said.
"Sir?"
Montvale answered by speaking to one of the Secret Service uniformed police guards at the door.
"We'll need my car, General Naylor's, and Colonel Castillo will need one from the pool," he ordered.
"Yes, sir," the guard said. Then he spoke to his lapel microphone. "Send up Big Eye's car, Tampa One's car, and one from the pool for Don Juan." Then he turned to Montvale. "They'll be right here, sir," he said.
Thirty seconds later, a dark blue GMC Yukon XL pulled up.
"I'll wait for you in the lobby," Montvale said to Naylor. "All right?"
"That'll be fine."
As Montvale got in the Yukon, a dark blue Chevrolet Suburban pulled up behind it.
A full colonel wearing the insignia of an aide-de-camp got out of the front passenger's seat as a staff sergeant came out from behind the wheel to snatch the covers from the four-star bumper plates.
Castillo, as a reflex action, saluted the colonel.
"Jack, take the car to the Army-Navy Club," Naylor said. "I'll ride with Maj…Colonel Castillo."
"Yes, sir," the colonel said.
Another dark blue Yukon came up the drive and pulled in ahead of the Chevrolet as the sergeant put the covers back over Naylor's four-star plates. A Secret Service agent got out of the front passenger's seat and opened the rear door.
Naylor climbed in and Castillo followed him. The Secret Service agent closed the door, got in front, and turned to look in the back.
"Where to, sir?"
"The Army-Navy Club, please," Castillo said.
"Yes, sir," the Secret Service agent said and then spoke to his microphone. "Don Juan, with Tampa One aboard, leaving the grounds for the Army-Navy Club."
The Yukon started down the drive toward Pennsylvania Avenue.
"'Don Juan, with Tampa One aboard'?" Naylor parroted.
"Don Juan is Joel Isaacson's idea of humor," Charley said.
"Charley, I've got something to say. And I think I better say it before we get there."
"Yes, sir."
"What I was thinking tonight-and don't misunderstand me, you earned that promotion-was that I really wish I hadn't sent you to work for Matt Hall."
"Me, too."
"I wonder if you mean that," Naylor said. "This is pretty heady stuff, Charley. A Secret Service car, a Secret Service code name. I am reminded of Lieutenant Colonel Oliver North and that worries me."
Castillo didn't reply.
"I would have been much happier if your promotion meant you now would take command of some battalion," Naylor said.
"I would, too, sir. I didn't ask for this job. And I asked to be relieved."
"Well, that's not going to happen and that's what worries me," Naylor said, then suddenly shifted subjects: "Do you have any idea why Montvale wants me at the club?" Then, before Castillo could reply, he asked another: "Why did you want to talk to him?"
"I have no idea why he wants you there, but the reason I want to talk to him is because he sent me Truman Ellsworth to be his liaison officer-read spy…"
"Truman Ellsworth is a former under secretary of state," Naylor interrupted. "A liaison officer with that background?"
"Yes, sir. I thought of that. And I don't want him. I want to get rid of him now before he chains himself to my desk."
"I don't think I have to tell you that Montvale is a powerful man. And a dangerous one."
"I've already figured that out," Castillo said.
"In North Africa," Naylor said, almost to himself, "when Eisenhower sent Omar Bradley to Patton as his liaison officer-read spy-Patton outwitted Eisenhower by asking that Bradley be assigned as his chief of staff. That put Bradley under Patton's orders. That kept him from communicating anything to Eisenhower without Patton knowing about it and not communicating anything Patton didn't want communicated."
"I've heard that story," Charley said.
"I don't think you want this fellow Ellsworth as your chief of staff," Naylor said. "Ellsworth is not Bradley; he works for Montvale and that's not going to change. And you're not Patton, who had as many stars as Bradley. You're a lowly lieutenant colonel and Ellsworth is…a former under secretary of state."
"That's what worries me," Castillo said.
"The difference here is that Patton worked for Eisenhower. You don't work for Montvale. But that's what he's after. If he can't get that right now, he'll use Ellsworth as your puppet master."
"That's what it looks like to me, sir," Charley agreed.
"Goddamn it, I hate Washington," Naylor said.
V
[ONE] The Daiquiri Lounge The Army and Navy Club 901 Seventeenth Street NW Washington, D.C. 2105 4 August 2005 Ambassador Montvale was waiting for them in the lobby. They all walked up the stairs to the second floor, then into the Daiquiri Lounge, taking a table in the bar where Castillo knew he and General Naylor could smoke cigars.
It immediately became apparent that before their conversation could begin, they were going to have to deal with other guests in the lounge.
The commander in chief of Central Command was not only known to-that is to say, a friend of-half a dozen officers and their wives having after-dinner drinks there but, as one of the most powerful officers in the Army, was someone to whom it was necessary to "make manners."
Once the first old friend walked over to shake General Naylor's hand, everyone else decided that it was not only all right for them to do so but expected of them.
Each visit-however brief-required that both Ambassador Montvale and Lieutenant Colonel Castillo be introduced. And Lieutenant Colonel Castillo was not used to-and thus made a little uncomfortable by-being addressed by his new title.
Finally, it was over, and the waiter, who had hovered in the background awaiting its end, came to the table.
"Gentlemen, what can I get for you?"
"I'm a scotch drinker," Montvale answered, looking at Naylor. "Nothing fancy, no single malt. Something like Chivas Regal. That okay with you?"
"Fine," Naylor said.
What is he trying to do, establish the pecking order by telling Naylor what to drink?
And why did Naylor go along?