"And Pevsner?"
"He disappears once again into the wilds of Argentina."
Castillo exhaled audibly.
"Apparently, you have given this some thought."
"There we were, floating around on the ocean, catching our supper and giving this a lot of thought," Delchamps said.
When Castillo didn't immediately reply, Delchamps added, "Your call, Ace. But I think we'd all be more efficient if we didn't have members of the Clandestine Service breathing down our necks. Or trying to put handcuffs on us. But if you-"
"Everybody's willing to go along?"
Delchamps nodded.
"They would have joined this little chat," he said, "but Uncle Remus said that you get really antsy when you feel outnumbered."
"When do you plan to leave?" Castillo asked.
"First thing in the morning," Delchamps said.
"I wonder what Pevsner's going to think about this," Castillo said.
"Well, he probably won't like it when he learns he has just sold his new fly-the-high-rollers-around airplane to the LCBF Corporation, but the bottom line there, Ace, is you don't ask your Russian pal anything. You tell him the way it is." [TWO] The Oval Office The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W. Washington, D.C. 0915 8 February 2007 "Good morning, Mr. President and Madam Secretary," John Powell, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, said as he walked into the Oval Office.
"This had better be important, Jack," President Clendennen replied. "I am supposed to take off for Chicago in fifteen minutes, and Natalie has a lunch in New York with a gaggle of UN morons."
"I believe it is important, Mr. President," the DCI replied. "And all I have to do is slip this in the machine…"
With a DVD disc in his hand, Powell walked toward a large flat-screen television monitor mounted on a wheeled table.
"Let him do that," Clendennen said, indicating a Secret Service agent. "I know he won't screw up the TV."
"Yes, sir," Powell said, and handed the disc to the Secret Service agent.
"Before it starts to play, Mr. President, I'd like to say, if I may, that we believe this disc to be authentic. That is, the surveillance tapes from which we made this are authentic. And that what you will see when it plays is authentic and has not been altered or changed in any way."
"I'm delighted to hear that, Jack," Clendennen said. "Play your movie." "What kind of an airplane is that?"
"That's a Tupolev Tu-934A, Mr. President."
"I don't think I've ever seen one before," Natalie Cohen said.
"Few people have. It's a Russian Special Operations aircraft. Magnificent airplane. It's practically invisible to radar, can fly nonstop-with aerial refueling, of course-anywhere in the world at Mach zero point nine and land on a football field. We are offering a hundred twenty-five million for one."
"You better hope Senator Johns doesn't hear about that," the President said. "A hundred twenty-five million! Are the Russians that far ahead of us?"
"In this area, yes, sir. We have nothing like it; the Air Force really wants to take a close look at the Tu-934A. And, in a manner of speaking, sir, the Russians have been ahead of us before. They beat us into space of course, and before that, Igor Sikorsky-who fled the Communist revolution to come here-is generally recognized as the man who made rotary-wing flight practical."
"And exactly where is this example of Russian aeronautical genius landing, Jack?"
"In a dry lake in Mexico, sir. Specifically, Laguna el Guaje, in Coahuila State."
"How do you know that?"
"Our analysts worked with the angle of sun, Mr. President," Powell said. "And with the date and time on the surveillance tapes. At the time shown, the angle of the sun would be like that on the tapes at only Laguna el Guaje."
"I'm impressed, Frank, I really am. What I'm wondering is where you got the tapes."
Powell did not respond directly, and instead said, "The man walking toward the Tupolev, sir, is, with a ninety-nine-point-nine-percent certainty, Pavel Koslov, the FSB rezident in Mexico City. We computer-compared the image on the surveillance tapes with images in our database."
"I'll be damned."
"Those men, sir, coming down the ramp of the Tupolev are almost certainly Russian Spetsnaz-Russian Special Forces. And that man, sir, is General Yakov Vladimirovich Sirinov. We made that identification ninety-nine-point-nine-percent certain by comparing this image with images of him in our database. Sirinov runs the FSB for Vladimir Putin, Mr. President."
"What are those barrels?" Clendennen asked.
"What we believe, sir, with an eighty to eighty-five degree of certainty, is that those barrels are the ones sent to Colonel Hamilton at Fort Detrick. The scenario is that they were taken across the border near the dry lake; that the first was then moved to Miami, and from there FedExed to Colonel Hamilton, and the second left for the Border Patrol to find near McAllen."
Natalie Cohen said, "If you can compare pictures of people on a computer, Jack, and say they're just about a perfect match, why can't you do the same thing with a couple of what look like blue beer barrels?"
Powell said, "According to Stan Waters-"
"Who?" the President asked.
"J. Stanley Waters, the deputy director for operations, Mr. President. He supervised the analysis of these tapes. He's an old analysis type."
"And what did he tell you?"
"There are more details on a human being that can be compared to another image of that person, Mr. President. An object like these blue 'beer' barrels is more difficult; they look like every other barrel."
"Are these the same barrels? Yes or no?"
"With an eighty to eighty-five percent degree of certainty, Mr. President, we believe they are."
President Clendennen snorted.
"Where did you get these tapes, Jack?" Natalie Cohen asked, and immediately, when she saw the look on his face, regretted having asked. She had guessed the source.
"I think we can safely proceed on the assumption that these are the barrels of Congo-X now at Fort Detrick, Mr. President," Powell said.
"Answer Natalie's question, Jack," the President said.
"They were, in a manner of speaking, slipped under our door, Mr. President, addressed to DDCI Lammelle."
"Tell me what that means," Clendennen said.
"Sir, parties unknown delivered them to my outer office yesterday."
"In other words, you don't know where these came from?"
"No, sir. I don't know where they came from."
"Mr. President, it doesn't matter, does it?" the secretary of State began. "We have them, and they have been determined to be genuine. We now can send Frank Lammelle back to Sergei Murov-"
"Maybe God slipped them under your door, Jack," the President cut her off. "Or little green men from Mars. Or maybe, as incredible as it might sound, Lieutenant Colonel Castillo might even be responsible. Isn't that true?"
"Mr. President, since I don't know where these tapes came from, anything is possible."
"You were both here, I seem to recall, when I made it as plain as I knew how that I didn't want my predecessor's loose cannon, or anyone associated with Colonel Castillo, Retired, connected in any way with our Congo-X problem. Is that right?"
"Yes, sir," Powell said.
"I was here, Mr. President," the secretary of State said.
"Where is Castillo?" the President asked.
"I have no idea, Mr. President," Powell said.
"Nor do I," Cohen said.
"What about Ambassador Montvale, my Director of National Intelligence? Has anyone heard from him?"
"I spoke with the ambassador last night, Mr. President. He's in Buenos Aires. As is Truman Ellsworth. At your orders, sir."
"And has he found Castillo and delivered my orders to him that he is not to get involved in any way with Congo-X?"
"No, sir."
"Did Montvale have anything at all to say?"
"He believes he knows where Mr. Darby is, sir."