General Naylor looked around the room. "Why do I feel I'm basking in the approval of a number of people who five minutes ago thought I was a chicken-shit sonofabitch?"
"Dad," Lieutenant Colonel (Designate) Allan Naylor, Jr., said, "why don't we all try to forget what you were five minutes ago?" [TWO] The President's Study The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W. Washington, D.C. 0905 12 February 2007 "Good morning, Mr. President," John Powell, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, said as he walked into the room.
"You're here to tell me that the Russians and Castillo are now en route to Moscow, right?"
"No, sir, I regret that I am not. But there have been some interesting developments, Mr. President, that suggest we're a good deal closer to that solution of the problem than we were at this time yesterday."
"Let's hear them. Before a National Park Service policeman finds another beer barrel of that stuff at Nine Hundred Ohio Drive, Southwest."
"Mr. President, Nine Hundred Ohio Drive?"
"The Lincoln Memorial, Jack. You don't know where it is?"
The President looked very pleased with himself.
"Jack," he went on, "we promised that Russian sonofabitch… what's his name, the rezident?"
"Murov, sir. Sergei Murov."
"We promised Murov his two traitors and Castillo several days ago. If I were this guy, I would be wondering why that hasn't happened, and if I were this guy, I think I would be tempted to leave another barrel of this stuff somewhere-say, at Nine Hundred Ohio Drive, Southwest-as a little reminder. You heard what that Fort Detrick scientist… what's his name, the black guy…?"
"Colonel Hamilton, sir. Colonel J. Porter Hamilton."
"… had to say about how dangerous this stuff is."
"Yes, sir, I did."
"I don't want any more barrels of Congo-X popping up anywhere. You understand?"
"Yes, sir. Of course."
"Now, with that in mind, tell me about the interesting developments."
"Sir, General Naylor has been heard from."
"Where is he?"
"Sir, according to Bruce Festerman-"
"Who the hell is he?"
"Festerman is the CIA liaison officer with Central Command at MacDill, Mr. President. We've been on the phone a half-dozen times since yesterday afternoon."
"And?"
"General Naylor called General McFadden, his deputy, from Mexico City and ordered that a ship, the USS Bataan, which is a Wasp-class amphibious assault ship, be moved to a location in the Caribbean and be prepared to receive and refuel four Black Hawk helicopters. He also ordered the Navy base at Key West to do the same thing; in other words, be prepared to receive and refuel four UH-60s. It seems clear, sir, that the helicopters will be flown from Key West to the Bataan."
"Why?"
"I don't know, sir. What I suspect is that General Naylor has learned where Castillo and/or the Russians are, somewhere in Mexico, and is going to go get them."
"And what does Lammelle think?"
"Sir, that's a development I don't quite understand."
"What development don't you understand?"
"Sir, the GPS transmitter in Lammelle's shoe places him aboard the Queen of the Caribbean, a cruise ship, which is now in the Caribbean bound for Malaga. There has been nothing from him."
"And the GPS transmitter in Castillo's laptop places him aboard a river steamer on the Danube between Budapest and Vienna, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"And now you're telling me General Naylor thinks he's found Castillo in Mexico?"
"I am making that inference, sir. I can't imagine why else General Naylor has-"
"Well," the President interrupted, "one possibility is that Lammelle has suddenly decided he needs a vacation, and taking a cruise is the way to do that. But, sitting around here, Jack, with nothing to occupy my mind, I have been thinking of all the bad spy movies I've seen over the years to see if anything in them might be useful."
"Sir?"
"For example, do you think it's possible that somebody shot Lammelle with that whiz-bang dart gun of his and then loaded him onto the cruise ship?"
"Why would anyone want to do that, sir? You're suggesting that Castillo-"
"I'm suggesting General Naylor might have done it. Or more likely, now that I think about it, General McNab."
"Why would they want to do that, sir?"
"To keep him from fucking up what they're doing to put Castillo and the traitors in the bag."
"I don't think that's likely, Mr. President."
"Tell me about Castillo on the river steamer. You sent people over there, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"And what have they found out?"
"The ship is called Stadt Wien," Powell said. "It plies the Danube back and forth between Budapest and Vienna."
"I already know that. The question is, is Castillo-and maybe the Russians-on it or not?"
"We've learned that Castillo never made a reservation on it."
"That wasn't the question."
"We don't know, Mr. President."
"Did it occur to your people to go aboard the damned ship and look for him?"
"They couldn't get a ticket, Mr. President. And without a ticket you can't get on the Stadt Wien. Apparently, sir, you have to make reservations at least two weeks in advance." Powell hesitated and then went on: "What the Stadt Wien is, Mr. President, is somewhere the Viennese and the Budapesters take their romantic interests for an overnight trip. Not always their wives, if you take my meaning. It's very popular."
"Jesus Christ, Jack! Castillo hasn't been over there two weeks. How the hell could he have made a reservation on this Hungarian Love Boat?"
"Mr. President, all I can tell you is that's where Casey's GPS locator shows he is."
"Presumably fucking the woman traitor as they cruise up and down the Danube? Jack, listen closely: I don't think Castillo is anywhere near Europe. I think Naylor and McNab have found him in Mexico. And presuming neither the CIA nor Ambassador Stupid get involved and fuck things up for them-the more I think about it, Naylor or McNab did shoot Lammelle with that dart gun and load him on that cruise ship to get rid of him-"
President Clendennen interrupted himself, took a deep breath, and then went on: "Jack, what I want you to do is get in touch with all your Clandestine Service officers who are running around chasing their tails looking for Castillo and the Russians and get them back to Langley. And then lock them in. Naylor is going to bag Castillo if you don't get in the way. You understand me?"
"Yes, Mr. President."
"The next time you walk in that door, Jack, I want you to tell me that you've just learned from General Naylor that he's dealt with the problem. And I don't want to see you until you can do that." [THREE] Cozumel International Airport Isla Cozumel Quintana Roo, Mexico 1010 12 February 2007 Dick Miller and Dick Sparkman had flown the Policia Federal Preventiva UH-60 from Drug Cartel International to Cozumel. They had carried with them all but two of the ex-Spetsnaz special operators and all the weapons and other equipment that would be needed.
Both pilots had been more than a little pissed-and vocally so-with their assigned tasks in the operation. Miller had wanted to fly with Castillo in the UH-60 in the assault, and Sparkman had simply presumed until the last minute that he would be Jake Torine's co-pilot when the Tu-934A was flown out of La Orchila.
Uncle Remus Leverette had similarly taken for granted that he would be in on the assault and was more than displeased with his assigned role: He was now to "hold the fort" at Laguna el Guaje. It was more than a figure of speech. There was a small but real chance that some members of the drug cartel-either not having heard, or not caring that Drug Cartel International was closed-would drop in.
If this should happen, Uncle Remus would politely suggest to them that they come back another day-say, in a week-and if that didn't work, he would take the appropriate measures. The drug runners would, if possible, be disarmed, placed in plastic handcuffs, and confined.
If the disarmament option didn't work, they would be eliminated.