W. E. B. Griffin - Presidential Agent 07 (15 page)

This time it was McNab who hesitated for a moment—a long moment—before replying.

“She’s right,” he said. “As usual.”

“She says Clendennen thinks we’re planning a coup. First we get him to appoint Montvale as Vice President, then we get rid of Clendennen, either by resignation or impeachment, and Montvale becomes President.”

“Nice thought,” McNab said, “but it never entered my mind until just now. I didn’t even consider Montvale becoming Vice President; that was Crenshaw’s idea.”

Stanley Crenshaw was the attorney general of the United States.

“And Crenshaw, being an honorable, decent man, did what you and I know better than to do: He looked in the mirror.”

McNab knew Lammelle was referring to what would-be intel officers are taught often on the first day—certainly within the first week—of their training: “Never look in the mirror. Your enemy doesn’t think like you do.”

“Did she have anything to say about what happened at Langley?” McNab asked.

“She said that Porky Parker was the first in the long line of people Clendennen plans to knock off, one at a time. Porky’s disappeared, by the way.”

“Yesterday, he and Roscoe Danton were in Cozumel with Castillo.”

“What’s that all about?”

“I don’t have a clue, Frank. Did Natalie tell you what she plans to do?”

“Yes, she did. She recommended that you and I not do anything at all that would give Clendennen a chance to fire us. She said she was going to talk with you. I gather she hasn’t?”

“No. She didn’t say anything about warning Montvale? Or, for that matter, Naylor?”

“I guess she figures both of them haven’t been looking in the mirror. And if Truman Ellsworth has—which I doubt—Montvale will warn him. So far as Naylor goes, I get the feeling that he wouldn’t be grief stricken if Clendennen relieved you.”

“I can’t believe General Naylor would be complicit in something like that.”

“You’re looking in the mirror, General. Naylor the
soldier
probably wouldn’t. But above a certain level—and Naylor is
way
above it—senior officers have to be politicians and play by their rules.”

McNab didn’t reply.

“In this,” Lammelle went on, “I’d say that both Natalie and Naylor really believe they’re doing what they do—for the country; it’s not a personal ego trip—better than anyone replacing them would do. And they’re probably right. They want to keep their jobs for the good of the country, and will do whatever they think is necessary to keep them. Naylor thinks you’re dangerous, and you know it. He wouldn’t throw you under the bus, but if somebody else did, he would be able to put someone else in SPECOPSCOM he
could
control.”

Again McNab didn’t reply.

“I was there,” Lammelle went on, “at Drug Cartel International when Naylor suddenly decided to help. And he even told us why. If Operation March Hare failed, that would’ve been worse for the country than if it succeeded.”

“Is that why you changed sides, Frank? For the good of the country?”

“No. I changed sides because I realized I was being used, by Clendennen, by Montvale, and—maybe especially—by Jack Powell to do something I knew was wrong. And I’m like you, I guess.”

John J. Powell was the former director of the Central Intelligence Agency. Lammelle had replaced Powell when he resigned two months previously.

“What do you mean, you’re like me?”

“I’m a simple soul who sees things in black or white. Sometimes I’m a little slow in making the distinction, but once I do, I try to act accordingly.”

McNab didn’t answer.

“Two things about Natalie . . .” Lammelle began, then added: “Why do I have a hard time using your first name?”

“It’s Bruce. Use it.”

“Two things about Natalie,
Bruce
. Not only does she want to keep her job, but she really believes the way to deal with Mexico—and especially with this latest outrage—is to talk about it and keep talking about it until reason prevails.

“She was willing to resign over Clendennen’s trying to swap Charley, Sweaty, and Dmitri to the Russians. But Charley waging a war in Mexico—especially with Aleksandr Pevsner—that’s something that’ll make her just as mad.”

“So you don’t think I should tell her that Charley just talked Pevsner out of snatching the Russian
rezident
in Mexico City? They decided to wait until they see if Ferris is hurt; then they’ll whack him.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“The trouble with what you just told me, Frank, is that it all makes sense. It just took me a little time—like a decade—to figure it out.”

“Watch your back, Bruce.”

“You, too.”

McNab closed the lid of the Brick, and then met D’Alessandro’s eyes.

“That was interesting, wasn’t it, Vic?”

“The word that comes to mind is ‘scary,’” D’Alessandro said.

 

 

When Charles D. Stevens walked into his office, his telephone was ringing. Since his secretary had not yet arrived, he answered it himself.

“FBI, Stevens.”

“Max Caruthers, Stevens. Where the hell have you been? The general’s been looking for you since oh-seven-hundred. No answer at your house, and none at your office until now.”

Stevens had a mental picture of McNab’s huge senior aide-de-camp.

“I must have been driving to work,” Stevens said.

“You didn’t answer your cell phone, either,” Caruthers accused.

Stevens decided that Caruthers would not be interested in his explanation for not answering his cell phone. Not only was talking on a cell phone while driving against the law, he regarded it as dangerous, too.

“What can the FBI do for General McNab, Colonel? Aside from getting that envelope you were asking for? That should be delivered sometime this morning.”

“General McNab’s compliments, Mr. Stevens. The general would appreciate seeing you at your earliest convenience in his office,” Caruthers said, paused, and then finished: “. . . where we have had that envelope since oh-five-fifteen.”

 

 

Chuck Stevens—who had willed himself to walk slowly from Foggy Bottom to the SPECOPSCOM headquarters building;
“I’m an FBI Inspector, not some PFC who has to run whenever his master whistles”
—arrived five minutes later in McNab’s office.

He found Colonel J. J. Tufts, the liaison officer of the Defense Intelligence Agency, and Colonel Christopher Dawson, the USCENTCOM liaison officer, already there. And so was Mr. Victor D’Alessandro, about whom Stevens knew very little, except that it was rumored he had something to do with the ultra-secret Gray Fox unit, about which Stevens also knew very little, and that D’Alessandro was sort of a confidant of General McNab.

Colonel Max Caruthers was not in McNab’s office, which surprised Stevens.

“Thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Stevens,” General McNab greeted him. “Can we get you a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you, sir,” Stevens said.

“Well, here it is,” McNab said, handing him a large translucent plastic envelope. “The envelope we have been looking for. I place it in your capable hands, confident that the FBI experts at Quantico will find something useful for you.”

“Thank you,” Stevens said.

“I have made photocopies of the contents. I didn’t think to ask permission first. I hope that doesn’t pose any problems.”

“I don’t see why it should, General,” Stevens said.

“As I was just explaining to these gentlemen,” McNab said, nodding toward Colonel Tufts and Colonel Dawson, “my official role in this whole affair is not much more than that of a spectator. Colonel Ferris and Warrant Officer Salazar were detached to the DEA before they were sent to Mexico.

“I can only presume that those who kidnapped Colonel Ferris are unaware of this, by which I mean they don’t know that I have no authority even to reply to their messages. The only thing I can do is follow the protocol laid down by USCENTCOM to deal with matters like this. Under that protocol, I am required to immediately notify my immediate superior—that is, General Naylor—when something like this—like the envelope arriving here—occurs. I did so immediately after opening the envelope. General Naylor ordered me to transfer the envelope and its contents to the FBI, and I have just done so. He also directed me to give copies of everything to Colonels Tufts and Dawson for their respective headquarters. And he gave me permission to retain a copy.

“Therefore, my official role in this is over, at least until General Naylor gives me further orders. On a personal note, however, Colonel Ferris is a friend of mine, and I would like to thank you personally, Mr. Stevens, for your help.”

“I’m only too happy to do whatever I can, General,” Stevens said.

“And, really unofficially, I’m personally curious to know who this fellow Félix Abrego is.”

“I suspect, General, that he’s probably in a federal prison,” Stevens said. “I can find out for you. Actually, I’m curious myself. I can have that information for you probably within the hour.”

“You understand that’s a personal request, not an official one?”

“Understood. Not a problem. You could find out yourself by going to the Federal Bureau of Prisons website. But I think I can get the information more quickly through my channels.”

“I’d really be grateful, Mr. Stevens,” McNab said. “Gentlemen, unless you have something for me?”

Colonels Tufts and Dawson chorused, “No, sir.”

“Then thank you for answering my call so quickly,” McNab said, and stood and offered his hand.

When they had left his office and D’Alessandro had closed the door, D’Alessandro turned to McNab.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself. When Naylor and the DEA CG hear how charming and modest you’ve been, they’re going to smell the Limburger.”

“Mr. D’Alessandro, I have no idea what you’re suggesting. General Naylor may even decide I have considered my wicked ways and have reformed.”

D’Alessandro snorted.

McNab opened his Brick and took out the telephone handset, activated the loudspeaker function, and pushed a button.

“Aloysius? Bruce McNab.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Can you set up a net within the net?”

“To do what?”

“So that I can cut Natalie Cohen out of the loop without her knowing.”

“I thought she was one of the good guys.”

“She is. She’s so good it’s going to be a problem. I suspect she’s not going to like what she might hear.”

“Who do you want on the net?”

“All the Outlaws, plus Vic D’Alessandro and Lammelle.”

“Just them?”

“Just them.”

“And you want the other net to still function?”

“That’s it. Can do?”

“It’ll take me about an hour. I’ll call you back when it’s up.”

“You will get your reward in Heaven, Aloysius.”

 

 

Doña Alicia Castillo was waiting for Charley and Sweaty when they walked into the breakfast room. Charley’s grandmother was seated at the head of the table drinking a steaming cup of
café con leche
. The table was set for four, and on each plate was a grapefruit half topped with a maraschino cherry.

Max trotted over to the dignified old woman and waited for her to scratch his ears.

“Good morning,” Doña Alicia said. “You slept well, I hope.”

Charley and Sweaty walked over to her and kissed her cheek.

“Abuela, if she didn’t snore like a backfiring John Deere, I’d have probably slept better.”

His grandmother ignored him.

“Shall we wait for Lester?” she asked.

“I looked in his room,” Castillo said. “He was sleeping like a cherub. Nobody was snoring in
his
room.”

This earned him an icy flash from his grandmother.

“I’d forgotten how beautiful this is,” Sweaty said quickly, gesturing past the windows to the garden. “What a beautiful lawn!”

“You wouldn’t think it was so beautiful if you had to mow it,” Castillo said.

“Carlos’s grandfather believed boys should earn their allowances,” Doña Alicia said.

“He paid a dollar an acre,” Castillo said.

“Why don’t we eat?” Doña Alicia said. “We have so much to talk about. Would you say grace, darling?”

“Abuela’s talking to you, my love,” Castillo said. “Try to keep it under five minutes.”

His grandmother shook her head.

“Dear God,” Sweaty began, “we thank You for the bounty we are about to receive. We thank You for our families, and ask that You keep them safe. We ask Your protection for those who are prisoners, and ask that they be soon safely reunited with their families. We ask this in the name of Jesus Christ, thy Son and our Lord and Savior. Amen.”

She turned to Charley.

“Short enough for you, my heathen?”

He made a waving gesture with his hand, suggesting she had more or less met his criteria.

“You had Colonel Ferris in mind, didn’t you, Svetlana?” Doña Alicia asked.

Sweaty nodded. “Yes.”

“Abuela, what do we have to talk about so much?” Castillo asked as he picked the maraschino cherry from his grapefruit and popped it into his mouth.

She gestured toward the windows.

“Well, Carlos, why don’t we start with those men walking around outside the fence?”

Charley and Sweaty exchanged glances.

After a moment he said, “Oh, you noticed, huh?”

“Even before Mr. Lafferty of Gladiator Security called me and said I had no cause for concern, that there were six of them and a half dozen more could be here in less than five minutes if they were needed.”