"Point well taken," Montvale said after a moment with a smile.
"Are you going to the President, Mr. Ambassador?" Castillo asked.
"Probably, but not right now. That one card of yours-at this moment-is the ace of all spades. General Naylor is right. If the President was the pope, after that session in the apartment tonight you would now be Saint Carlos the Savior of His Country."
Both Naylor and Castillo chuckled.
"So you are going to find something else for Mr. Ellsworth to do?" Castillo asked.
"Let me show you my cards," Montvale said. "Okay?"
Castillo nodded.
"I'm very impressed with you."
"Is that what they call the 'flattery card'?"
"Hear me out. All it will cost you is a little time."
"My standard tactic when I'm dealing with someone I know is smarter than me is to run," Castillo said.
"Is that your flattery card?"
"I am out of my class with you and I know it. Just because it may be flattering doesn't mean it isn't true," Castillo said.
"Then why does it have to be untrue that I'm impressed with you?"
"That would depend on why you're impressed."
"Like the President, I think you did one hell of a job finding that airplane and then finding this Lorimer fellow. The major problem I have with you-other than that the President thinks you should be beatified-is that I think you should be working for me."
"Mr. Ambassador, I don't want to work for you."
"At the moment, that's a moot question, isn't it? The President is very happy with his presidential private agent."
"All I want from you, sir, is to be left alone to do what the President wants me to do."
"Until you said that, I was beginning to think you might really be as smart as the President thinks," Montvale said.
"Excuse me?"
"You can't afford to be alone, Charley," Montvale said. "You need me. My assets. My authority. My influence. Think about it. They use your face as a dartboard in Langley and in the J. Edgar Hoover Building. The FBI is starting to hate you as much as they do your friend Howard Kennedy."
"I wasn't sure you believed that story," Castillo said.
"I checked on it," Montvale said. "I have some friends in the bureau. To a man, they would like to see Kennedy dragged apart by four horses after he was disemboweled."
Curiosity overwhelmed General Naylor. "Who is this fellow? What did he do?"
Montvale smiled, more than a little condescendingly.
"As Charley told me-and my friends confirmed-after being made privy to the darkest secrets of the FBI, Mr. Kennedy went to work-presumably at a far more generous salary-for a notorious Russian mafioso, a chap named Aleksandr Pevsner, taking with him all the darkest secrets." He paused. "The reason they hate our friend Charley is because when they sent an inspector to tell him they expected him to notify them immediately of any contact with Kennedy, our friend Charley told them not to hold their breath. They also suspect-correctly-that Charley was behind the President's order to them to immediately cease and desist looking for Mr. Kennedy."
"Pevsner and Kennedy have been useful to me in the past," Castillo said. "And almost certainly will be useful to me in the future."
Charley saw the look on Naylor's face.
It's a look of…sympathetic resignation.
He's thinking I'm going down Ollie North's path.
And that I have just lost this confrontation.
Well, what the hell did I expect?
Montvale's right. I am a junior officer given more authority than I am equipped to handle.
A very small fish in a large pond about to be eaten by a very large shark.
"What are you suggesting, Mr. Ambassador?" Castillo asked.
"Until such time as I can convince the President-and that's a question of when, not if-that the Office of Organizational Analysis should be under me, I suggest that it would be in our mutual interest to cooperate."
"Cooperate how?"
"On your part, primarily by keeping me informed of what you're doing. I really don't like walking into the Oval Office to have the President greet me with, 'Charles, you're not going to believe what Castillo has done, ' and have no idea what the hell he's talking about. I want to be able to tell him that I knew what you would be going to try to do and that I did thus and so to help you do it."
"I'm sorry," he said, just before he was shot down in flames, "but if that means you will insist on your liaison officer, no deal."
The look on the general's face now means I have really just shot myself in the foot.
"That's negotiable," Montvale said.
"Negotiable?" Castillo blurted. It was not the response he expected.
"That means you offer me something in lieu thereof and I decide if I'm willing to take it."
"That telephone call I made just now? It was to my chief of staff, Major Richard Miller."
"What about him?"
"You take Mr. Ellsworth out of my office and I will instruct Major Miller to tell you-promptly-everything he can, without putting the lives of my men at risk, about what I'm doing and why."
"We are, I presume, talking about the same Major Miller who comes to my mind?"
"Excuse me?"
"The general's son? The man whose life you saved-at considerable risk to your life and career-in Afghanistan? The man whom Mr. Wilson accused of making improper advances to her when she was in fact at the time making the beast with two backs in your bed? That Major Miller?"
"Yes, sir. That Major Miller."
"Deal," Montvale said and got half out of his chair and put out his hand.
Jesus H. Christ!
This is too easy.
When does the other shoe drop?
Montvale's grip was firm.
"Our new relationship will probably be a good deal less unpleasant for you than I suspect you suspect it will be," Montvale said, smiling.
"Yes, sir," Castillo said.
"Okay, why are you going to Paris?" Montvale asked, retaking his seat.
Okay, a deal is a deal. I'll live up to my end of it.
"I got Ambassador Lorimer, Mr. Lorimer's father, to give me sort of power of attorney to settle his affairs in Paris and Uruguay. I want to see what I can turn up in his apartment and at his estancia."
"You're also going to Uruguay?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you think you are qualified to perform searches of that nature?"
"No, sir, I don't. I'm going to enlist the CIA station chiefs in both places to help me."
"What makes you think they will?"
"Because I have already dealt with them, sir. They'll help."
Montvale nodded.
"Anything else I should know?"
"I have a source in Budapest. I'd rather not identify him. He gave me a list of names of people involved in the oil-for-food business, with the caveat that I do not turn them over to the agency or anyone else. I'm going there to see if I can get him to release me from that agreement."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then I will have to see if I can get another list from someone else."
Montvale nodded but did not respond directly, instead asking, "What's happened to the money?"
"We got it out of Uruguay, first into an account an FBI agent there had opened in the Caymans…"
"Yung? The one who was with you when Lorimer was terminated?"
"Yes, sir. I'm sending him back to Uruguay to cover our tracks."
"He'll be able to do that?"
"I think so, sir."
"He would probably be useful permanently assigned to you," Montvale said. "Have you thought about that?"
"Yes, sir. I have. Secretary Hall arranged it."
"Well, fine. But the next time something like that comes up, I suggest you come to me with it."
What is he doing, trying to cut Matt Hall out of the loop?
"Yes, sir."
"You said 'first' into Yung's account?" Montvale pursued.
"And then I moved it into an account I opened in the same bank, the Liechtensteinische Landesbank. That took place today."
"In your name?"
"In the name of an identity-that of a German national-I use sometimes. I thought that would be best."