"Did you ask him?"
"No, I didn't ask him. He's the President of the United States."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Follow my orders."
"What are the charges they're bringing against Charley?" Allen Junior asked.
"I don't know."
"But you're going to arrest him anyway?"
"I don't like the tone of your voice."
"And I don't like what I'm hearing here."
"That's not really germane, is it?"
"What I'm hearing is bullshit," Allan Junior pursued.
"That's quite enough, Allan."
"Starting with that Top Secret Presidential classification," Allan Junior went on. "Information is classified to keep it from our enemies. The Russians know all about this. This is classified to keep it off Wolf News, so that Clendennen can cover his political ass."
"I said, enough!"
"Tell me this, Dad: What has Charley done wrong? Exactly what article of the Uniform Code of Military Justice has he violated?"
"Willful disobedience of a lawful order."
"What order was that?'
"When he flew the defectors out of Vienna to Argentina-without any authority to do so-Ambassador Montvale came to me and suggested the best way to deal with the problem was for me to send an officer from Special Operations Command-Charley was then assigned to Special Operations Command and thus subject to its orders-down there and order him to turn the Russians over to the CIA officers Montvale would have with him. I did so. I sent a colonel from Special Operations with Ambassador Montvale. He ordered Charley to turn the Russians over to Montvale. Charley refused to do so."
"Charley was then working for the President," Allan Junior said. "He was not subordinate to Special Operations Command. Your colonel had no authority to order him to do anything."
"Okay, that's it, Allan. I am not going to debate this with you."
Allan Junior stood up, and said, "Good evening, Colonel Brewer. It's always a pleasure to see you, sir."
He walked to the door.
"Where do you think you're going?" General Naylor challenged.
"I'm going to see if I can find Charley, and if I can, I'm going to warn him about what you're trying to do to him."
"Major, you have been advised that what you heard here tonight is classified Top Secret Presidential," General Naylor said, coldly angry.
"So court-martial me. Let's see how Wolf News plays that story."
He walked out of the kitchen and slammed the door closed after him.
After a long moment, General Naylor said, "I don't think he knows where Castillo is any more than we do."
"I hope he doesn't. In his frame of mind, if he finds him, he will tell him."
"Suggestions solicited."
"I think you ought to keep him on a short leash until this is over."
"Particularly since I know the lieutenant colonel promotion board is sitting."
"Has sat. And selected Allan from below the zone. I suspected that was why he was here when we got here; he wanted to tell you."
"Get him back here, Jack," Naylor ordered.
Brewer took a cell phone from his pocket and pushed an auto-dial button.
"Major Naylor," he said twenty seconds later. "This is Colonel Brewer. General Naylor's compliments. It is the general's desire that you attend him immediately. Acknowledge."
He pushed the OFF button.
"Major Naylor is on his way, sir."
"Don't you mean 'Lieutenant Colonel (Designate),' Jack?" Lieutenant Colonel (Designate) Allan Naylor, Jr., returned to the kitchen of Quarters One two minutes later.
He walked to where his father was sitting, came to attention, saluted, and recited, "Major Naylor reporting to the Commanding General as ordered."
General Naylor glanced at Colonel Brewer, then met his son's eyes.
"Major," he said, "you are attached to my personal staff for an indefinite period. You are not to communicate with Lieutenant Colonel Castillo or anyone connected in any way to him in any way under any circumstances. Neither will you communicate in any way under any circumstances with any sort of media. That is a direct order. Indicate that you understand and intend to comply with that order by saying 'Yes, sir.'"
"Yes, sir."
"You will proceed to your quarters and will remain there until you receive further orders from either myself or Colonel Brewer. You will pack sufficient uniforms and civilian clothing to last for a period of seven days. You will go into no further detail when discussing this with your wife or anyone else than that you will be accompanying me on official business. The foregoing has been a direct order. Indicate that you understand and intend to comply with that order by saying 'Yes, sir.'"
"Yes, sir."
"You are dismissed."
"Yes, sir."
Major Naylor saluted his father, and when it was returned, did an about-face, and marched out of the kitchen.
When General Naylor heard the sound of Allan Junior's Suburban starting, he held up his glass in a toast, and said, "Congratulations on your promotion, son. You've made me very proud of you." [TWO] 7200 West Boulevard Drive Alexandria, Virginia 0705 9 February 2007 The convoy of four blackened-window Secret Service GMC Yukons turned off West Boulevard Drive and drove-not without difficulty; four inches of snow had fallen during the night-up the steep drive to the house.
Four men in business suits quickly got out of the first vehicle in line and moved as swiftly as they could through the fresh snow and the drifts of previous snowfalls to the sides and rear of the house.
Three men-Supervisory Special Agent Thomas McGuire, Special Agent Joshua Foster, and Mason Andrews, the assistant secretary of the Department of Homeland Security-got out of the second Yukon and made their way-again not without difficulty; the snow-covered walk was steep-to the front door. McGuire pushed the button for the doorbell. Chimes could be heard.
They waited a full minute. Nothing happened.
McGuire pushed the doorbell again, and again there was no response from within the house.
McGuire took a cell phone from his pocket and punched an auto-dial number.
"With whom am I speaking, please?" he asked a moment later. Then he said, "Mrs. Darby, this is Supervisory Special Agent McGuire of the United States Secret Service. We are at your front door. Will you please open it to us?"
He put the telephone back in his pocket and announced, "She said she'll open the door as quickly as she can."
"She damned well better," Mason Andrews said, brushing snow from his bald spot. The door opened. Mrs. Julia Darby stood there in her bathrobe. Another woman, also in her bathrobe, stood beside her. To their side stood a man of obvious Asian extraction. The unknown woman in the bathrobe held a cell phone to her face and there was a flash.
Mason Andrews thought: I'll be goddamned! She just took our picture.
"Hello, Tom," Mrs. Darby said. "I'm afraid you're wasting your time. We gave at the office."
Andrews stared at her. What did she say?
"Mrs. Darby," McGuire said, holding out his credentials for her to see, "this is Secret Service Agent Foster, and this is Mr. Mason Andrews, the assistant secretary of Homeland Security."
"Hello, I'm Julia Darby."
"May we come in?" Mason Andrews asked.
"I don't think so," the Asian man said. "The introduction of Mr. McGuire's credentials implies this is somehow official business of the Secret Service. The Third Circuit Court of Appeals has held that granting law enforcement officials access to a residence constitutes a waiver by the home owner of his or her rights against unlawful search and seizure. We do not wish to waive those rights."
Mason Andrews thought: Who the fuck is this guy?
He demanded: "Who are you?"
"My name is David W. Yung, Jr. I am Mrs. Darby's attorney."
"And you're refusing to let us in?"
"That is correct," Two-Gun Yung said. "Unless you have a search warrant, I am on behalf of my client denying you access to these premises."
"We're the Secret Service!" Special Agent Foster announced.
"So Mr. McGuire has said," Two-Gun said. "We are now going to close the door, as all the cold is getting in the house."