W. Griffin - Covert Warriors

“And we don’t extradite people-neither do the French, by the way-to any place that executes people.

“So the way it works here, if Senor Abrego had shot one of my people and got caught-that happens every once in a while-and he got tried and convicted-that also happens every once in a while-he would have gotten life.

“And in a couple of years, after a lot of money changed hands, he would ‘escape,’ so to speak.”

“Jesus!” Castillo said, hoping he sounded as if he was shocked to the depths of his naive soul.

Juan Carlos nodded.

“So the way it’s worked out is that your judges sentence Mexicans who deserve the electric chair to life without parole in Florence. That keeps the bad guys off the streets almost as well as the electric chair-nobody has ever escaped from Florence-and keeps Mexican politicians from making members of your Congress unhappy. Getting the picture?”

“I never heard any of this before,” Castillo said.

“I never would have guessed,” Juan Carlos said sarcastically. “Look, Carlos. There is some good news. You don’t fuck with these people, they don’t fuck with you. What I’m saying is there’s not a goddamn thing you can do for your friend the colonel, except get yourself killed. Let whoever deals with things like swapping prisoners-the FBI maybe, or DEA? — try to get him back. You start nosing around, you’re going to get yourself killed, and probably him, too. Can you understand that?”

“Yeah, I guess I can,” Castillo said reluctantly. “But, Juan Carlos, if you could find out anything. .”

“Sure. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know. By mail. I suppose if I sent a letter to. . 1700 Arizona Boulevard, San Antonio, Texas. . I remember Dona Alicia’s address; I’ve got a good memory for addresses and numbers, things like that. . she’d get it to you, right?”

“I’m sure she would.”

“Even with you in Uruguay? Which is really where I hope you’ll be. What’s your address down there, anyway?”

Shit, now what?

I don’t have an address in Uruguay!

Rule One-the First and Great Commandment-in the Uncle Remus List of Rules for the Interrogation of Belligerent Bad Guys: Never ever underestimate the bad guy!

“If you’re going to send a letter to Carlos down there,” Sweaty said, “send it in care of me-Senorita Susanna Barlow, Golf and Polo Country Club, Km 55.5 PanAmericana, Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina.”

“Wait, let me write that down.”

He took a notebook and ballpoint from his shirt pocket.

Then he asked, “Argentina? I thought you said Uruguay.”

“We farm in Uruguay,” Sweaty said. “We play polo in Argentina. It’s only half an hour in the plane from Uruguay.”

“Polo, huh? You play polo, Carlos?”

“Frankly,” Sweaty said, “he’s not very good at it. Barlow is spelled B-A-R-L-O-W. You want the phone number? The country code is zero one one-”

“I won’t be calling,” Juan Carlos interrupted. “It probably costs ten dollars a minute to call down there.”

“Closer to seven dollars, actually,” Sweaty said.

Juan Carlos put his notebook back in his shirt pocket.

“Well, like I said, I have things to do,” he said. He drained his glass, nodded at everybody, and then draped his arm around Castillo’s shoulder.

“Pay attention to what I told you, Carlos. I really want to keep you alive.”

“I know,” Castillo said. “It’s just that I wanted to help if I could.”

“The best way for you to help is go to Uruguay. Or Argentina. Go work on your polo game in Argentina, Carlos.”

Juan Carlos Pena punched Castillo painfully in the upper arm, shook Fernando’s hand, nodded at the others, then quickly walked off the porch and got into his Suburban.

Ninety seconds later, both Policia Federal vehicles had disappeared in a dirt cloud down the road through the grapefruit orchards.

Castillo filled his wineglass, then said, “Comments solicited.”

“A dangerous man,” former SVR Major Stefan Koussevitzky said.

“But I think he really likes Carlos,” former SVR Lieutenant Colonel Svetlana Alekseeva said.

“That makes him less dangerous?” Koussevitzky challenged.

“I didn’t say that,” she said.

“Are you interested in what I think?” Don Armando Medina asked.

“Of course,” Castillo said.

“Some of the things he said were absolutely true. If you don’t get in the way of the drug cartel people, they leave you alone. We have had no trouble with them.”

“They aren’t stealing our grapefruit?” Castillo quipped.

“One of their bricks of cocaine is worth more than an eighteen-wheeler trailer load of grapefruit. That’s another thing Juan Carlos said that’s true: The amount of money involved is nearly unbelievable.”

“I was hoping I could get him talking more about the people involved. He suggested everybody involved is Mexican.”

“He came here to tell you as little as possible beyond ‘butt out or die,’ ” Fernando said, “and that’s just what he did.”

“You think our ol’ buddy is in with the drug people?”

“He’s alive, isn’t he?”

“Then why did he come here at all?”

“Like Sweaty said, he likes you. And he was probably curious-professionally-why you showed up here.”

“And do you think I convinced him I’m just an old soldier trying to help out an old classmate?”

“Yeah,” Fernando said after a moment. “Don’t let this go to your head, Gringo, but that was quite a performance. You, Stefan, and Sweaty were pretty convincing.”

“Looking stupid is easy for me,” Castillo said. “But Sweaty? Sweetheart, I could have kissed you when he asked for an address in Uruguay and you came up with Golf and Polo.”

“ ‘ I’ve got a good memory for addresses and numbers, things like that,’ ” Sweaty quoted. “You can kiss me later. So now what?”

“Now we get in the Mustang and go to Cozumel, and catch tomorrow’s PeruaireCargo flight to Chile.”

“Why are we going to do that?”

“I want Aleksandr to understand that whacking Sergei Murov or any of his people without asking me first is not one of his options.”

“You’re going to have trouble with that,” Koussevitzky said. “He’s convinced the best way to protect himself is to eliminate anybody Vladimir Vladimirovich sends over here.”

“If he takes out anybody, Ferris will die,” Castillo said.

“Stefan’s right,” Sweaty said. “Aleksandr will be genuinely sorry about that, but he’ll think of your friend’s passing as unavoidable collateral damage.”

“Well, I’ll just have to talk him out of thinking that way,” Castillo said. “Sweetheart, your call. We either leave right now, or very early in the morning.”

“Why can’t we have dinner first, and then leave?” she asked.

“Because I suspect Juan Carlos is going to have the radar operators at Bahias de Huatulco International Airport report to him when any airplanes take off from here. If we take off after dark, he’ll know the runway is lighted. And I don’t want him to know that.”

“Then dinner here, looking down at the ocean,” Sweaty said without hesitation. “Afterward, we can walk on the beach, holding hands.”

“Are you going to take Stefan and his ‘citrus experts’ with you?” Don Armando asked.

Castillo nodded. “Stefan, yes. But if you don’t think the ‘citrus experts’ pose a danger to Hacienda Santa Maria, I’d like to leave them here. I may need them later on.”

The President’s Study The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W. Washington, D.C. 0830 17 April 2007