"I suggested to the ambassador that he would probably be more comfortable in an apartment in Paris than on a ranch-an estancia-in Uruguay. His response to that suggested he's about as much a Francophobe as you are, Charley. He wants to go to the estancia and there's not much we can do to stop him. Except, of course, you talking him out of going down there. I asked you what the problem is?"
Castillo looked at Montvale, then raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
"Things happened down there, Natalie," Montvale said, "which suggested the possibility the Presidential Finding might be at risk of compromise. Castillo thinks, operative word thinks, that his shutting down his operation there has removed the threat. But Lorimer going down there would pose problems."
"Why, Charley?" the secretary asked simply. "More important, what things happened down there?"
"A too-clever young DIA officer assigned to our embassy in Asuncion has pretty well figured out what's taken place down there," Montvale answered for him.
"Oh, God!"
"Castillo has brought this young officer back with him, and intends to send him to Fort Bragg in what I think is the rather wishful belief that there he will keep what he has learned to himself."
"I've also taken steps to shut mouths in Montevideo, Buenos Aires, and Asuncion," Castillo said. "And I think the threat of compromise is pretty well reduced."
"Again the operative word is thinks," Montvale said. "Although I don't believe we should worry the President with the situation at this time."
"But Ambassador Lorimer going down there might change that?" she replied, and then, before anyone could answer, she asked, "Why, Charley?"
"There is a very clever Uruguayan cop, Chief Inspector Jose Ordonez, who has figured out just about everything that happened down there," Castillo said. "I talked with him in Punta del Este, right after they found the bodies of Howard Kennedy and Lieutenant Colonel Viktor Zhdankov of the FSB beaten to death in the Conrade-a plush hotel and casino. He said he believed Kennedy was a drug dealer, and Zhdankov the Czech businessman that his passport said he was. And that the bodies at Shangri-La, Lorimer's estancia, including Lorimer's, were also the result of a drug deal gone wrong, and that he doubted if anyone would ever be arrested. And then he suggested that I leave Uruguay as quickly as possible and not return until, quote, the bad memories had time to fade, unquote. Which, of course, I did."
"And Ambassador Lorimer going down there would possibly pull the scab off this?" she asked.
Castillo nodded.
"There's more, Natalie," Montvale said. "Senator Johns came to see me, and implied that he thinks his brother-in-law the ambassador was kept in the dark about a Special Forces team operating in Uruguay."
"God!" she said. "How bad is that?"
"At the moment, under control. But if Lorimer goes down there…"
"If Lorimer goes down where?" the President of the United States asked as he walked into the breakfast room heading for the coffee service.
"Good morning, Mr. President," the secretary of State, the director of National Intelligence, and Lieutenant Colonel Castillo said almost in unison.
"Good morning," the President said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Then he turned. "I'm especially glad to see you, Charley. You have this wonderful ability to show up at the exact moment I need you. When did you get back?"
"Last night, Mr. President."
"'If Lorimer goes down there' what?" the President asked.
Natalie Cohen said, "Ambassador Lorimer's home in New Orleans is under the water, Mr.-"
"His and several hundred thousand other people's," the President interrupted. "My God, what a disaster!"
"-and he called me and asked for directions to his son's ranch in Uruguay in which, or at which, he intends to live until he can get back in his home."
"And that poses problems?"
"It may, sir," Montvale said.
"How bad problems?" the President asked.
"Not catastrophic, Mr. President," Montvale said, "but potentially dangerous."
"I can't imagine why the hell…yeah, now that I think about it, I can imagine why he'd want to go down there. Far from the mess in New Orleans, and it's cheap-right, Charley?-to live down there."
"Yes, sir, it is."
"If it's not going to cause catastrophic problems for us, I don't think it's any of our business what he does," the President said. "We have other problems to deal with. Aside from Katrina, I mean."
"Sir?" Natalie Cohen asked.
The President sipped his coffee, then said, "Two days ago, the mayor of Chicago called me. Now, I know you two are above sordid politics, but I'll bet Charley can guess how important Cook County is to me. Right, Charley?"
"I think I have an idea, Mr. President," Castillo said.
"And knowing that, you'll all understand why I responded in the affirmative when the mayor asked me to do him a personal favor."
"Yes, sir," the three said, chuckling almost in unison.
"And when I heard what favor he was asking, I was glad that I had replied in the affirmative, because it pissed me off, too. If I'd known about this, I would have taken action myself."
"Known about what, Mr. President?" Montvale said.
"You're the director of National Intelligence, Charles," the President said, "so I am presuming you (a) know what's going on in Paraguay and (b) have a good reason for not telling me about it."
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. President," Montvale said.
"You have any idea what I'm talking about, Natalie?"
"I'm afraid not, Mr. President."
"Well, then, let me tell you," the President said. "What the drug cartel down there has been doing is kidnapping our agents and then either turning them into junkies or giving them fatal overdoses of what we euphemistically call 'controlled substances.' Are you learning this for the first time, Charles?"
"No, sir. Of course, I'm aware of the situation-"
"Natalie?"
"I've heard of the abductions, Mr. President, but not about the…uh…business of making the agents drug addicts."
"Charley, are you learning this for the first time now?"
"No, sir."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" the President said. "Sometime when we have time, Charles, we can have a long philosophical discussion of what the DNI should, or should not, pass on to the commander-in-chief, but right now all we have time for is dealing with the problem.
"I have come by my intelligence regarding this situation from His Honor the Mayor. It seems that his father, who was, you recall, His Honor the Mayor for a very long time, had a lifelong pal, one Francis "Big Frank" Timmons, who the current mayor told me his father said was one of the only two really honest cops in Chicago.
"The mayor told me that Big Frank Timmons called him and asked him for a favor. The mayor, who was bounced on Big Frank's knees as an infant and calls him 'Uncle Frank,' said 'Name it,' or something like that.
"Big Frank told the mayor that his son Byron-who is a captain on the Chicago Police Force-just had a visit from an official of the Drug Enforcement Administration, who told him that his son, Special Agent Byron J. Timmons, Jr., of the DEA, was missing from his assignment at the U.S. embassy in…whatever the hell the capital city is…in Paraguay…"
"Asuncion," Castillo furnished without thinking.
The President's face showed that he was not very grateful for the information.
"…and that the possibility he had been kidnapped had to be faced, although they had no proof of that."
Castillo exhaled audibly.
"What's with the deep breathing, Charley?" the President asked.
"Pardon me, Mr. President."
"What does it mean, Colonel?" the President demanded coldly.
"Sir, I don't know if the DEA man in Chicago knew this, but the embassy in Asuncion knew the day after Timmons disappeared that he had been kidnapped. They sent a photograph of him, surrounded by men in balaclava masks, and with a garrote around his neck."
"How long have you known about this?" the President asked.