W. Griffin - Covert Warriors

“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 Felix 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.”

1700 Arizona Boulevard San Antonio, Texas 0905 14 April 2007

Dona 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 cafe 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,” Dona 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,” Dona Alicia said.

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

“Why don’t we eat?” Dona 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?” Dona 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?”