"That Timmons had been kidnapped, about"-he paused and did the arithmetic-"thirty-six hours, Mr. President. I learned about the photograph being sent to the embassy about midnight last night, sir."
"And you, Charles?" the President asked.
"I learned of this incident for the first time last night, Mr. President, when Colonel Castillo did."
"And you, Natalie?"
"I'm hearing about this man…Special Agent Timmons…for the first time now, Mr. President. I'm sure the embassy made a report. I can simply presume it never made it to my desk."
"I guess not," the President said. "Well, it seems that Special Agent Timmons wrote his grandfather-who bounced the mayor on his knee, you will recall-about what was happening down there. He said there have been four such kidnappings. His makes five. So neither he nor Captain Timmons was very much impressed with what the DEA representative had told them. The word they used to describe it, forgive me, Madam Secretary, was 'bullshit.' At that point, Big Frank Timmons called the mayor."
"Mr. President," Montvale said, "just as soon as you're finished with us, I'll get on the telephone to our ambassador in Paraguay."
"No, you won't, Charles," the President said.
"Sir?"
"What I told the mayor was that I have an in-house expert for dealing with matters like this, and just as soon as I could lay my hands on him, I was going to tell him that his first priority was to get Special Agent Timmons back from these bastards."
"Sir, you don't mean Charley?" the secretary of State asked.
"Natalie, who else could I possibly mean?" the President said. But it clearly was more a statement than a question.
"Mr. President," she said, "I don't think that's a very good idea."
"Your objection noted," the President said.
"Mr. President, with all possible respect," Castillo said, "I don't know anything about dealing with something like this."
"How much did you know about finding a stolen airliner, Colonel? Or a missing UN official?"
"Sir, with respect, I know nothing about the drug trade…"
"I thought the way this works is the superior officer gives an order and the subordinate officer says, 'yes, sir,' and then does his goddamnedest to carry it out. Am I wrong?"
"Yes, sir," Castillo said.
"I'm wrong?"
"No, sir. I meant to say-"
"I know what you meant to say, Charley," the President said, and smiled. "And to assist you in carrying out your orders, the DNI and Secretary Cohen will provide you with whatever you think may be useful. As will the secretary of Defense and the attorney general. I will inform them of this just as soon as I can get to Andrews, where both are waiting for me. We're going to have a look at what Katrina has done." He paused. "Any questions?"
There was a chorus of "No, sir."
The President had another thought: "I'm going to call the mayor from Air Force One and tell him that I am sending you up there to talk to him and Big Frank and Captain Timmons and anyone else who needs reassurance that I'm doing everything in my power to right this wrong."
"Yes, sir," Castillo said.
"Wear your uniform," the President said. "I think they'll find that reassuring. My wife says you look like a recruiting poster in your uniform."
He gave his hand to Castillo, then walked out of the breakfast room with only a nod of his head to Montvale and Cohen.
"My God!" Natalie Cohen said when the door had closed after him.
Montvale shook his head, then walked to the window. Cohen followed him after a moment, and then Castillo did.
No one said a word until after the President had walked quickly across the lawn to the Sikorsky VH-3D and gotten aboard, and the helicopter had gone airborne.
"Colonel," Montvale said, breaking the silence, "by the time you return from Chicago, the experts on the drug trade will be waiting for you in your office. And I suggest you make the flight in my Gulfstream. You have just flown yours eight thousand miles. It-and you-must be tired."
"Thank you."
"Unnecessary," Montvale said. "While it might be a wonderful solution to this problem, if you were to crash and burn flying your own airplane, I fear the President would suspect I had something to do with it."
"I can't believe you said that, Charles," Natalie Cohen said, appearing genuinely shocked. She touched Castillo's arm. "Maybe you can reason with Ambassador Lorimer. I really don't think he should be going to Uruguay, especially now."
Castillo nodded.
IV
[ONE]
The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW Washington, D.C. 0845 2 September 2005 "Madame Secretary, Mr. Director," the uniformed Secret Service man at the door to the north side drive apologized, "it'll be just a moment for your vehicles."
They had come down from the presidential apartment before the Secret Service agent on duty there passed word to the uniformed Secret Service agent in charge of the motor pool "downstairs" that they were coming.
"Not a problem," Natalie Cohen said. "Thank you."
Castillo had learned the cars would be brought to the door following protocol. The secretary of State was senior to the director of National Intelligence. Her armored Cadillac limousine would arrive before Montvale's black Yukon XL Denali.
And since I am at the bottom of the protocol totem pole, mine will arrive last.
If at all.
The secretary of State put her hand on Castillo's arm and led him outside, out of hearing of the Secret Service uniformed officer and, of course, DNI Montvale, who hurried to catch up.
"Charley," she said, "I'm going to do my best to talk him out of this. But I'm not sure I'll be able to."
Castillo nodded.
"Do I have to ask you to try hard not to make waves?"
"No, ma'am."
"Let me know what I can do to help."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you."
Her limousine rolled up. A burly man-obviously an agent of the Bureau of Diplomatic Security, which protects the secretary of State-got quickly out of the front seat and glanced around carefully as he opened the rear for Cohen. He saw Castillo and eyed him suspiciously.
Castillo winked at him, which obviously displeased him.
Oh, for Christ's sake! What are the odds that somebody wanting to do her harm is going to walk out of the White House with her and the director of National Intelligence?
Montvale's Denali rolled up. Castillo saw his coming up the drive.
"I'll call the Eighty-ninth," Montvale said, "and tell them that you'll be using my Gulfstream."
The 89th Airlift Wing at Andrews Air Force Base provided the White House with its fleet of airplanes, including the two VC-25A Boeings that had the call sign of Air Force One when flying the President.
"I thought you were kidding," Castillo said.
"Not at all."
"Thanks just the same. I think it would be smarter if I used my own."
"My God, aren't you tired?"
"Exhausted. But not a problem. I'll just set the autopilot and the alarm on my wristwatch. Then I can sleep all the way to Chicago."
It took a moment for Montvale to realize his chain was being pulled. When that showed on his face, Castillo said, "I'd rather not have people asking, 'Who's the guy in the presidential G-IV?' But thanks anyway."
"My God, Castillo!" Montvale said, and got in the rear seat of his vehicle.
His Yukon rolled off, Castillo's rolled up, and Castillo got in the backseat.
"Where to, sir?" the driver asked.
"Why don't you move this thing so it's not blocking the door while I find out?" Castillo said, and reached for the telephone.
"White House."
"If you can guess who this is, can you ring my office?"
"Oh, you heard about the voice recognition, did you, Colonel?"
"God, ain't we clever?"
There was a chuckle, then Agnes's voice.
"Colonel Castillo's line."
"Good morning," Castillo said.
"How'd it go with the President?"
"Disastrously. Guess who's supposed to get that DEA agent back from the bad guys?"