W. Griffin - Covert Warriors

“Where did you get this, Allan?” McNab asked softly.

And again there was a long pause before Naylor replied.

“Natalie Cohen,” he said finally. “And I ran it past Frank Lammelle. He confirmed it.”

“He’s insane,” McNab said. “Not Lammelle. Clendennen.”

Naylor didn’t reply to that.

“What Natalie suggests is that all of us do nothing that could possibly give him a chance to ask for-demand-our resignations.”

“Natalie always keeps her head.”

“Natalie suggests that his plan is to get rid of us one by one, and says that John David Parker was the first one to go.”

“That seems pretty clear,” McNab said.

“It seems pretty clear, Bruce, that you’re next on the list,” Naylor said. “Beiderman made it obvious that he would support me if I relieved you at SPECOPSCOM, or even announced your retirement.”

“What does he think of this coup d’etat nonsense?”

“I don’t know if he knows about it or not, or if he does know, his reaction to it. I think his primary motivation is to keep his job. Which brings us to, what do I tell him about Charley and your people being at Arlington, where they walked out on the President’s speech?”

“To get me out of here would require that you have proof I did something I should not have done, or not done something I should have done. And my skirts are clean here, Allan.

“I have not been in touch with Charley-I told you this before-since before Danny Salazar was murdered. I did not suggest that he go to Arlington. I knew he probably would be there, sure, but I had nothing to do with his going.”

“Bruce, what about the Delta Force people? How do I explain to Beiderman that fifteen or twenty of your people showed up there without your knowledge?”

“When all else fails, tell the truth. Those men-some of them commissioned officers, some of them warrant officers, and the rest senior noncoms-are not PFCs who have to knock on the orderly room door to ask the first sergeant for a pass. So long as they are available for duty-depending on their alert status-immediately, or on one hour’s notice, or six hours, or twenty-four hours-they are free to go anywhere they please.

“Now, I don’t know this, and you might not want to tell Beiderman this, but what I strongly suspect happened here is that after you shoved burying her husband at Arlington down Mrs. Salazar’s throat-”

“That was not my idea, Bruce. The President, to use your phraseology, shoved it down Secretary Beiderman’s throat, and he shoved it down mine.”

“Whereupon, you obediently shoved it down Mrs. Salazar’s. And after you did, I think that she called Charley. And Charley-never forget he’s one of us, Allan-decided that the best thing all around-‘for the good of the service’ comes to mind-was to resist what must have been a hell of a temptation for him to tell her to tell you and the President to go to hell and insist that her husband be buried in San Antonio National Cemetery.

“He probably told her he was going to be at Arlington, and that if any of the people in the Stockade wanted to go, he’d have them picked up at the Fayetteville Regional Airport by Jake Torine or Dick Miller and flown back there when the interment was over. He has several airplanes, and the wherewithal to charter more. So I suspect that the reason they left Arlington right after the funeral was to get to the airport so that they could come back here.”

After a long silent moment, Naylor said, “I’ll buy everything but hurrying to the airport. What they did was go to that suite Charley keeps at the Mayflower. They’re having sort of a wake. As we speak, according to Beiderman, the party’s still going on. And, again according to Beiderman, Roscoe Danton and John David Parker are among the mourners.”

“Which will tend to convince the President even more of the coup d’etat conspiracy,” McNab said.

“Precisely. Well, that’s what I will tell the secretary of Defense. That you knew nothing about Charley Castillo’s presence at Arlington, and haven’t been in touch with him since before this mess started. I don’t have much hope that he’ll believe me.”

“Your skirts are clean, Allan. You issued the orders you were told to issue, and made sure they were carried out.”

“It isn’t that black-and-white though, is it?” Naylor asked thoughtfully.

“Very little is ever either black or white, Allan.”

There was another pause, and then Naylor said, “You said something before. .”

“What?”

“You suggested the President was insane.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, that was a figure of speech, and you know it.”

Naylor didn’t reply.

“I have, Allan, on many occasions, going all the way back to our unhappy days at Hudson High, called you chickenshit. You knew I didn’t think you were really fecal matter excreted from the anus of a Gallus domesticus . When I accused our lunatic President of being crazy, I was-”

“What if he is, Bruce?” Naylor asked softly.

McNab took a long time to reply.

“Well, that would certainly explain a hell of a lot, wouldn’t it?”

“Jesus H. Christ!” Colonel Caruthers said softly. “If you think about it. .”

“Not only this coup d’etat nonsense,” McNab said. “But. .”

“I think we had all better stop right here,” Naylor said.

“That won’t work, I’m afraid, Allan,” McNab said. “You’ve let a very ugly genie out of your bottle. He’s not going to go back in.”

There was another long pause, and then McNab said, “Allan, I don’t think I’d mention this part of our conversation to Secretary Beiderman.”

“What I think we should all do is wipe the last ninety seconds of this conversation from our minds,” Naylor said.

“That won’t work, either, I’m afraid,” McNab said. “For two reasons. First, I don’t think any of us could. Second, we’ve all taken an oath to defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. And I think a President who has done what this one has done-is doing-can be fairly characterized as a threat to the Constitution.”

Another long pause ensued before Naylor asked, “For the time being, can we agree this conversation goes no further than it has?”

“Yes, sir,” McNab said.

“Yes, sir,” Caruthers said.

“Thank you,” Naylor said.

The red LED stopped blinking.

Hacienda Santa Maria Oaxaca Province, Mexico 1515 16 April 2007

As soon as Castillo took off his headset, Lester Bradley, who was sitting with Max in the backseat of the Cessna Mustang, handed him the headset from Castillo’s Brick. Castillo put it to his ear.

“Yeah, Frank?”

“Something wrong with the net? The new net?” Lammelle asked. “It took me almost four minutes to get you to answer.”

“I try not to talk on a cell phone when I’m flying fifteen feet above the ocean,” Castillo said. “It tends to distract me.”

“Where the hell are you?”

“I just landed at the family ranch in Mexico; about fifty miles from Acapulco. What’s up?”

“You free to talk?”

“Nobody here but Sweaty and Lester, and they both know all-well, almost all-of my secrets.”

“I have to know. Why were you flying fifteen feet above the ocean?”

“Because that way, the radar at Xoxocotlan and Bahias de Huatulco international airports can’t see me landing at the family ranch. Next question?”

“Makes sense,” Lammelle said.

“My answers generally do. Now, is there something else you’d like to chat about before I get out of my airplane?”

“Mark Schmidt came to see me just now. He needed my help, he said, to identify some of the people in the pictures his intrepid agents took on the tenth floor of the Mayflower yesterday afternoon and early this morning.”