W. Griffin - Covert Warriors

“Then get on your goddamn airplane and go,” Pevsner said.

“Where Carlos goes, I go,” Svetlana said.

Pevsner shot back: “Then both of you get on the goddamn airplane and go. I will deal with the problem this family faces.”

“Aleksandr,” Nicolai Tarasov said, “I think you should listen to what Podpolkovnik Castillo has to say.”

Pevsner looked at him in disbelief.

“I’ll go further than that,” Tom Barlow said. “You have to listen to what Carlos has to say.”

“Or what?” Pevsner snapped.

“Or when Carlos’s airplane leaves, Lora, Sof’ya, and I also will be on it. Presuming of course Carlos will take us.”

“Of course we will,” Svetlana said. “You’re family.”

“Family? Family? What it looks like to me is that my family is betraying me and taking the side of this goddamn American.”

Svetlana snapped: “You goddamn fool! You are alive because of this ‘goddamn American.’ ”

Castillo thought : She sounds like an SVR lieutenant colonel.

“And if not for Carlos,” Tom Barlow added, “Svetlana, Lora, Sof’ya, and I would never have gotten out of Vienna. And you really would be handling this family problem by yourself.”

“Before this family starts doing to each other what Vladimir Vladimirovich wants to do to us,” Tarasov said, “can we at least listen to what Podpolkovnik Castillo has to say?”

Pevsner glared at each of them.

“I’ll listen,” he said after a moment.

“How gracious of you,” Castillo said, his tone dripping sarcasm. “May I presume that I have the floor?”

“I should have killed you on the Cobenzl,” Pevsner said evenly.

“I guess I don’t,” Castillo said.

“Yes, you do,” Tom Barlow said. “Aleksandr, I just figured your odd behavior out. You just can’t face the fact that Carlos can deal with this problem better than you can. Carlos was right-again-to say that you think you’re Ivan the Terrible and we’re in Russia. You’re not, and we’re not. I say, thank God for Carlos.”

“So do I,” Anna Pevsner put in.

Castillo snapped his head around. He had been unaware she’d come into the room.

“What?” Pevsner snapped.

“Will anyone join me in giving thanks to the Lord for bringing Carlos into the family?” Anna said as she bent her head and put her hands, fingertips touching, together in prayer.

Castillo thought that Svetlana would be agreeable to involving the Deity, but he was genuinely surprised when Nicolai Tarasov and Stefan Koussevitzky got to their feet, bowed their heads, crossed themselves, put their hands together, and waited for Anna to continue.

And really surprised when Aleksandr Pevsner did the same thing.

Ninety seconds later, after everyone had joined Anna in saying “Amen,” Castillo suddenly found himself facing an expectant audience.

And so I have the floor. .

“The way I’m going to do this is with what the U.S. Army calls a staff study,” he began. “If we can get laptops in here for everybody, Lester has my staff study on a thumb drive. .”

“You heard Podpolkovnik Castillo,” Aleksandr Pevsner barked at the waiter. “What are you waiting for? Bring the goddamn laptops! And immediately serve their breakfast, as was ordered.”

The Oval Office The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W. Washington, D.C. 0830 18 April 2007

“Go see who’s out there, Douglas,” President Clendennen ordered. “I called this meeting for half past eight, and that’s what time it is.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” replied Secret Service Special Agent Mark Douglas, who now saw himself as the guardian of the President’s door. He went through the door into the outer office.

The President pointed at Clemens McCarthy, the presidential press secretary, and at Supervisory Secret Service Agent Robert J. Mulligan-both seated on simple chairs against the wall-and motioned them toward the armchairs and couches to which senior officials felt entitled.

“We don’t want these disloyal bastards to feel too comfortable in here, do we?” the President asked rhetorically.

Douglas came back into the office and announced, “The secretary of State, the attorney general, and the FBI director are out there, Mr. President.”

“Look at your watch, and in precisely five minutes let them in,” the President ordered.

“Yes, sir. And the secretary of Defense, Mr. President, and General Naylor are out there.”

“I didn’t send for them,” Clendennen said.

“Secretary Beiderman said he is aware he doesn’t have an appointment, Mr. President,” Douglas said. “He said he will await your pleasure.”

Clendennen considered that a moment, and then said, “Let them in with the others.”

“Yes, sir.”

Five minutes later, Secretary of State Natalie Cohen led Attorney General Stanley Crenshaw, FBI Director Mark Schmidt, Defense Secretary Frederick K. Beiderman, and CENTCOM Commander in Chief General Allan Naylor into the room.

“Since I didn’t send for you, Secretary Beiderman,” the President said, “what’s on your mind? Let’s get that out of the way first.”

“Mr. President, I regret to have to tell you that General Naylor was unable to speak with General McNab as you requested.”

“Why not?”

“General McNab was on his way to-by now is in-Afghanistan,” Beiderman said, and waited for the explosion.

It didn’t come.

Clendennen didn’t say anything at all.

Beiderman went on: “It was our intention, Mr. President-General Naylor’s and mine-to speak with General McNab together. But when General Naylor called, General O’Toole, the deputy SPECOPSCOM commander, reported that General McNab was on his way to Afghanistan.”

The President considered that for a moment, and then said, “Well, we’ll just have to deal with that issue at a later time, won’t we?”

“Yes, sir,” Beiderman said.

“And the photographs?”

“I have them right here, Mr. President.”

“Give them to Mulligan,” the President said. “We wouldn’t want them to disappear, would we?”

“Yes, sir,” Beiderman said. “I mean, no, sir, we wouldn’t.”

Still standing, and thus somewhat awkwardly, he opened his attache case, took out the manila envelope that held the photographs, and handed it to Supervisory Special Agent Mulligan.

“Will that be all, Mr. President?” Beiderman asked.

“No. Stick around. I think you should hear what we’re going to do about Colonel Ferris. You, too, General Naylor.”

“Yes, sir,” they replied, speaking on top of each other.

Natalie Cohen, although she had not been invited to do so, sat down in one of the armchairs. After a moment, Attorney General Crenshaw sat on one of the couches, and a moment later FBI Director Schmidt sat beside him. Beiderman and Naylor remained standing.

“So where do I start?” the President asked rhetorically, and then answered his own question. “With you, Schmidt.”

“Yes, sir?”

“How are things going in El Paso? Has that classified advertisement our Mexican friends have asked for been published yet?”

“Yes, sir. Yesterday. The first time, yesterday. It will run for four days.”

“And when do you think there will be a reply. Today? Or when?”

“Mr. President, my SAC there-William Johnson-I told you about him, sir. He’s one of my best-”

“That’s nice to hear, but it doesn’t answer my question,” the President interrupted.

“I was about to say, sir, that SAC Johnson has determined that the average time for delivery of a letter deposited in a post office to be delivered to a post office box in the same building is a minimum of six hours, and may take as long as twenty-four.”