"Yes, sir."
"And the other ones, I think, should nose around the embassy. See if they can get anything from the DEA people, the FBI people, the Secret Service people. Someone has to know something about where to find Castillo and these Russians."
"Yes, sir. As soon as they get here tomorrow, I'll brief them on what we have, and what we want them to do." Montvale and Lowe went to bed in their adjoining king-size beds shortly thereafter.
Lowe almost immediately went to sleep and began to snore. [ONE] Penthouse B The Grand Cozumel Beach amp; Golf Resort Cozumel Quintana Roo, Mexico 2215 7 February 2007 Castillo was standing at the railing of the patio, taking an occasional pull at the neck of a Dos Equis bottle and somewhat inhospitably wishing that the fish-eaters would get the hell out of the penthouse-which would leave him alone with Sweaty-when Edgar Delchamps joined him.
"Got a minute, Ace?" Delchamps asked.
"Always," Castillo said.
Delchamps pointed to a far corner of the patio surrounding the swimming pool. As they started walking toward it, Castillo saw that Alex Darby and Dick Miller were also headed in that direction.
And he knew that he had fucked up somehow and was about to learn how the moment Edgar Delchamps began the chat by saying, "We know that even though you have a lot on your mind, you probably have thought about this…"
"But?" Castillo interrupted.
"I recognize that tone of voice, so I'll cut to the chase," Delchamps said. "We just got word from one of the dinosaurs that the tapes and the narrative are in that building at Langley in a position where Frank Lammelle can't help but find them when he goes to work in the morning."
"That was quick!" Castillo said, genuinely surprised.
"Real dinosaurs move much more quickly than the ones you saw in the Jurassic Park movies, Ace. You might want to write that down."
"If you say so."
"And when Lammelle and Company finish authenticating the tapes, someone is going to say, 'Hey, you know what? I'll bet this came from Charley Castillo.'"
"What was I supposed to do, not send it?"
"What you were supposed to do-what we were all supposed to do-was fall off the face of the earth and never be seen again."
"Same question: What were we supposed to do once we came up with this? Keep it to ourselves?"
Delchamps didn't respond directly. He looked between Darby and Miller, then back at Castillo, and went on: "And even if Lammelle or one of his guys doesn't attach you to the tapes, Casey is going to send the tapes to the DCI himself, and Casey is going to say something like, 'You can rely on this; I got it from Castillo.' So the President will know you didn't fall off the face of the earth as ordered."
"And you don't think he'll be happy I didn't? According to Casey, they don't have a clue about what's going on with the Congo-X. All I'm guilty of is lending a helping hand."
"You really have no idea how much the agency-everybody in the quote unquote intelligence community-hated the Office of Organizational Analysis, and in particular Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo, do you? And how overcome with bureaucratic joy they were when the President cut your throat and told you to disappear, taking OOA and all its wicked members with you?"
"I did have some small inkling that I wouldn't have won any popularity contests," Castillo said. "Actually, Edgar, I thought about that when I sent the tapes. I would have preferred they would have come from an unknown source. But there were two things wrong with that, starting with I don't think it would have been possible, because of Casey's connection with somebody-probably, but not certainly, the DCI-at the agency. But say I had managed to convincingly send them from Mr. Unknown Source. I don't trust unknown sources, and I don't think Lammelle would have either. So let him know the tapes came from me. I didn't expect a letter from Lammelle-or Jack Powell-like the one Sweaty and Tom got. 'Come home. All is forgiven. We love you.'"
"Let me try this on you: If our late President-who was a really good guy, and for whom you did everything he asked you to, including coming up with the Fish Farm-was willing to cut your throat to cover his ass, what do you think Joshua Ezekiel Clendennen, who is the master not only of covering his own ass, but also of throwing people who have done him a service under the bus so he can take the credit, will be willing to do to you?"
"For example?"
"Turning Tom and your girlfriend-and maybe you-over to the Russians, for one thing."
"Where the hell did you get that?"
Delchamps and Darby exchanged glances, then Edgar said, "That's the scenario Alex and I have come up with for what's behind this whole Congo-X operation. If they wanted to hurt us with that stuff, they would have. They haven't hurt us, just let us know they can. Why? They want something. What do they want? They want Tom and Sweaty back. Clendennen gives them to the Russians, they give Clendennen the Congo-X, the problem is done. If he also gives them you, that solves that problem."
Castillo didn't respond for a moment, then looked at Darby.
"That's the way I see it, Charley," Darby said.
"What supports that scenario?"
"Nothing concrete yet, Ace, except the thing that I've developed-that Alex and I have developed-in our long service as spooks: a feeling in the gut that just won't go away."
"You talk to either Tom or Sweaty about this?" Castillo asked softly.
Both Delchamps and Darby shook their heads.
"You've got a solution?" Castillo asked.
"I've got a suggestion that may not be a solution, but it's all I have."
"All we have, Charley," Darby said.
Castillo gestured for Delchamps to tell him.
"Disperse," Delchamps said. "Fall off the face of the earth."
Castillo looked thoughtful for a moment, then gestured again for Delchamps to continue.
"If Clendennen isn't already looking for us-even though my gut tells me that he is-he'll really start looking when Lammelle shows that tape to him. They'll probably start in Argentina-"
"We know Roscoe J. Danton is down there looking for you," Darby interjected. "So, they likely do, too."
Delchamps went on: "And when they don't find you-us-down there, they'll look elsewhere, and inevitably find us all gathered here getting sunburned and eating broiled fish in a penthouse."
"I'm sure there's already a satellite picture of the Gulfstream sitting here in somebody's database," Darby interjected again.
"Cut to the chase," Castillo said.
"Darby flies to Washington, where he immediately goes to a bank and asks for a mortgage to buy the house in Alexandria, and then starts looking for a job suitable for his talents with one of those hire-a-spook companies. Blackwater, for example.
"Britton returns to Philadelphia, where Sandra goes back to the classroom, and Jack starts trying to get back in the police department. Peg-Leg goes back to Vegas, where Casey has already given him a job." He looked at Dick Miller, then went on: "Dick, Jake, and Sparkman go to Panama City, Panama, where they immediately put the Gulfstream up for sale, start looking for a better airplane, and go into the private-jets-for-hire business. Two-Gun goes to Montevideo and opens a financial management-read money-laundering-business. Getting the picture?"
Darby added: "The Gulfstream has six-maybe seven-of Casey's latest radios in the baggage compartment. We'd all be in contact."
"What happens to Lester?" Castillo asked.
"He stays here-or around here-with you, Sweaty, Tom, and Uncle Remus. You own a farm here in Old Meh-hee-co, right?"
"And you?"
"I go to Budapest. Where I will find employment with Billy Kocian."
Darby put in: "Everybody could be back here-or be anywhere else-in twenty-four hours, when you decide what we have to do about the Congo-X. And how to keep Sweaty and Tom from being loaded on an Aeroflot flight to Mother Russia."