"Mr. President, I just don't see how that's possible."
"So, what do we do?"
"Mr. President, there is some good news. Actually, I was just about to call you when you called me."
"Let's have the good news. God knows we need some."
"I just got off the phone with Frank Lammelle, sir. He said that General Naylor has sent General McNab to find Castillo."
"Where did he send him? Nome, Alaska? I don't think we've looked there yet. Or in Timbuktu."
"I believe General McNab went to South America, sir."
"Haven't we already looked there?"
"Sir, Colonel Castillo spent most of his career working for General McNab. They have a close personal relationship. It's possible that Castillo would turn over the Russians to McNab."
"That raises a presumption and a question: We're presuming that McNab can find Castillo. And if he does, what if Castillo tells him to go fuck himself? He already told Ambassador Stupid and the colonel Naylor sent down there with him to do that."
"As far as presuming that General McNab can find Castillo, sir, I think we can safely do that. People with knowledge of Castillo's location who would not tell anyone else would tell General McNab. Because of their close relationship."
"I wonder."
"And after General McNab locates Castillo, there is a Plan B in case Castillo remains intractable."
"Which is?"
"Lammelle and I feel, Mr. President, that once Castillo knows he has been found, he would agree to a face-to-face meeting with McNab and Lammelle. To see if some accommodation could be reached. He knows he can't remain on the run forever."
"What do you think he wants that we're prepared to give him?"
"That doesn't matter, sir. What we're trying to do is arrange the meeting. General Naylor, General McNab, meeting at a place of Castillo's choice, a place he will feel is safe."
"And what will that accomplish?"
"The place will not be as safe as Castillo thinks."
"How are you going to arrange that?"
"At this moment, there is an agency airplane-a Gulfstream V-sitting at Saint Petersburg-Clearwater International. On it are four officers of the Clandestine Service. When the meeting is set up and Lammelle and Naylor go to meet him, the airplane will follow them. Anywhere in the world."
"That sounds too simple," Clendennen said after a moment. "It presumes that Castillo won't suspect the CIA would try something like that. And from what I've seen of the sonofabitch, whenever he gets in a battle of wits with the CIA, you lose."
"What we think will happen is this, Mr. President. We believe Castillo will announce that he will be at a certain location. Probably in Argentina. He will not be there. His people will be. They will search General Naylor and Mr. Lammelle. In Mr. Lammelle's briefcase, skillfully concealed, they will find the very latest version of an AFC Corporation GPS transmitter. It permits the tracking of a target within six feet anywhere in the world. They will naturally confiscate it before Lammelle and the general are permitted to get back on the airplane to go to where Castillo will actually meet them."
"Leaving the four spooks on your airplane where?"
"Prepared to follow Lammelle and Naylor to wherever the chase leads them. There is a second GPS transmitter concealed in the heel of Lammelle's shoe. And when he actually sees Castillo and hopefully the Russians, he will stamp his foot three times in rapid succession, which will cause the transmitter to send a signal that will mean, 'We've found him. Come and get him.'"
"That sounds like something you saw in a bad spy movie," the President said. "And what happens then? Castillo says, 'Okay. You got us,' and he and the Russians get on the airplane? Bullshit."
"The Clandestine Service officers are armed with a weapon that fires a dart that causes the target, within fifteen seconds, to fall into a harmless sleep lasting between two and three hours."
"And then they are taken where?"
"To the nearest airport served by Aeroflot, Mr. President. All that has to be done is for us to tell Mr. Sergei Murov where they are. He will arrange for the repatriation of the Russians."
"And the 'expatriation' of Castillo," the President said. "Does that bother you, Jack?"
"I've given that some thought, Mr. President. Frankly, I don't like it. But if Colonel Castillo is the price the Russians want for their Congo-X, I don't see where you have much of a choice. I have even come to think that Castillo would understand why you were forced to that conclusion."
"Well, Jack, you know what Harry Truman said: 'The buck stops here.' I have to do what I think is best for the country."
"Yes, sir."
"I have serious doubts about this plan of yours, Jack. But right now I don't see we have much choice but to go forward with it. When does Lammelle say we'll hear something from General McNab?"
"He didn't, sir. I would guess within seventy-two hours, one way or the other."
"Ambassador Stupid will be back from Argentina a lot sooner than seventy-two hours. Maybe he'll have some ideas, as unlikely as that sounds."
"Yes, sir."
"Not to go any further, Jack, but as soon as I can figure out how to get rid of him quietly, Montvale's going to have to go. That job will be open. You get Castillo and the Russians on that Aeroflot airplane and it's yours."
"I'm sure that was another very difficult decision for you to make, Mr. President. And I would be honored to take over, if you decide that's what should be done."
"Let me know of any developments, Jack. Any."
And then the President hung up. [THREE] Level Four BioLab Two U.S. Army Medical Research Institute Fort Detrick, Maryland 1510 9 February 2007 The senior scientific officer of the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute-Colonel J. Porter Hamilton (B.S., USMA, '84; M.D., Harvard Medical School, '89; Ph.D., Molecular Physics, MIT, '90; Ph.D., Biological Chemistry, Oxford, '91)-and his principal assistant-Master Sergeant Kevin Dennis, USA (Certificate of High School Equivalency for Veterans, Our Lady of Mount Carmel High School, Baltimore, Maryland, '98)-were both attired in the very latest Level Four chemical/ biological hazardous material protective gear.
It was constructed of a multilayer silver-colored fabric completely enclosing their bodies. The helmet of the garment had a large glass plate so they could see pretty well, and was equipped with a communications system that when activated provided automatic video and audio recording of whatever they said and whatever they were looking at. It also provided access to both the BioLab Two and Fort Detrick switchboards and-a modification personally installed by Colonel Hamilton, assisted by Master Sergeant Dennis-encrypted communication with an underground laboratory at the AFC Corporation in Las Vegas, Nevada. Finally, there was provision for Colonel Hamilton and Master Sergeant Dennis to communicate with each other privately; no one could hear what they were saying and it was not recorded.
Each suit was connected by two twelve-inch-diameter telescoping hoses on their backs to equipment which provided purified air under pressure to the suits, and also purified the "used" air when it flowed out of the suits.
Colonel Hamilton had more than once commented that when he looked at Kevin Dennis "suited up," he thought he looked as if they were in a science fiction movie and would not have been at all surprised if Bruce Willis joined them to help in the slaying of an extraterrestrial monster.
There was all sorts of equipment in the laboratory, including an electron microscope which displayed what it was examining on as many as five fifty-four-inch monitors. Colonel Hamilton placed the communication function of the helmet on INTER ONLY, and then asked, vis-a-vis what was on the left of the five monitors, "Opinion, Kevin?"
"Colonel, that shit's as dead as a doornail."
"Let us not leap, Kevin, to any conclusions that, if erroneous, might quite literally prove disastrous."
"Okay, but that shit's as dead as a doornail."
"What are we looking at?"