W. Griffin - The shooters

"I'll wager you're about to tell me," Montvale said, icily. "Something more, I mean, than that you're a midlevel officer of the CIA."

"I wondered how long it would take you to get around to that," Delchamps said. "Christ, you're all alike."

"Who's all alike?" Montvale challenged.

"What the good guys in the clandestine service call the 'Washington assholes,'" Delchamps said, matter-of-factly.

"I will not be talked to like that," Montvale flared. "'Washington asshole' or not, I'm the director of National Intelligence."

Delchamps smiled. "You won't be DNI long if this Presidential Finding blows up in your face. The President will feed you to Senator Johns. The term for that is 'sacrificial lamb.' You, Montvale, not Charley. Charley is not fat enough to be fed as a sacrificial lamb to the Senate committee on intelligence. They like large, well-known sacrificial lambs for the headlines and sound bites with their names."

They locked eyes for a moment, then Delchamps went on, calmly, "As I was saying, it is my professional assessment, and that of Inspector Doherty, that Lieutenant Lorimer did not, at any time, share with anyone anything that he suspected might be classified.

"What he did, as I said before, Mr. Montvale, was listen. And, with a skill belying his youth and experience, put together a rather complete picture of what Colonel Castillo has done in compliance with the Presidential Finding.

"And then he made a mistake, which, considering his youth and inexperience, is perfectly understandable. He's naive, in other words. He believed that there had to be someone in the system somewhere who would really care about his pal Timmons and do the right thing."

"The right thing?" Montvale repeated, drily.

"Do something but wring their hands."

"Such as?"

Delchamps ignored the question.

Instead, he said, "Let me paint the picture for you, Mr. Montvale. The Paraguayan authorities notified our ambassador that an embassy vehicle had been found parked against the fence surrounding Silvio Pettirossi International Airport, directly across the field from the terminal building.

"In the backseat of the SUV, on the floor, was the body of one Franco Julio Cesar, thirty-nine years old, a Paraguayan national, employed as a chauffeur by the U.S. embassy. El Senor Cesar was dead of asphyxiation, caused by a metallic garrote having been placed around his neck by party or parties unknown-"

"This guy had been garroted?" Castillo interrupted. "A metal garrote?"

"Yeah, Ace, that's what the Paraguayan cops reported," Delchamps said.

"Is that of some significance?" Montvale asked.

Delchamps ignored him again.

"A check of embassy records revealed that Senor Cesar had been dispatched to drive Special Agent Byron J. Timmons, Jr., of the DEA to the airport. Nothing was known of Agent Timmons at that time.

"Late the next morning, however, a motorcycle messenger delivered an envelope to the embassy, which contained a color photograph of Special Agent Timmons. It showed him sitting in a chair, holding a copy of that day's Ultima Hora, one of the local newspapers. There were four men, their faces concealed by balaclava masks, standing with Special Agent Timmons. One of them held the tag end of a metallic garrote which was around Timmons's neck-one yank on that, and he'd wind up like el Senor Cesar."

"Sonofabitch!" Castillo muttered.

"There was no message of any kind," Delchamps went on. "At this point, the senior DEA agent in charge summoned Lieutenant Lorimer to his office. When Lorimer got there he found the consul general, who Lorimer suspected was in fact the CIA station chief, and the legal attache.

"They asked Lieutenant Lorimer, who was known to be Timmons's friend and who occupied an apartment immediately next to Timmons's, if he had any idea who might have kidnapped Special Agent Timmons.

"To which Lorimer replied, 'Gypsies? You know-blasphemy omitted-well who kidnapped him,' or words to that effect, and then asked, 'So what are we going to do about getting him back?' "To which the CIA station chief replied, 'The matter is, of course, being handled by the Paraguayan Capital Police Force, which has promised to notify us promptly of any developments, and there is every reason to believe that Timmons will be ultimately freed.' Or words to that effect.

"To which Lieutenant Lorimer replied, 'As a-blasphemy deleted-junkie you mean, providing we don't do our-blasphemy deleted-job.' At which point, after being admonished to get his emotions under control and ordered not to discuss the kidnapping with anyone, Lorimer was dismissed. And so he went looking for Colonel Costello, in the belief that this Costello was not your typical candy-ass."

"Ed, what's that about 'as a junkie'?" Castillo asked.

"Well, Ace, according to Lorimer-and Doherty agrees with me that Lorimer probably isn't making this up-the way things work down there-there have been four other kidnappings Lorimer says he knows about-what the bad guys do is snatch a DEA guy-or an FBI guy or a DIA guy-then let the embassy know he's alive. If shortly thereafter some heavy movement of cocaine goes off all right, they turn him loose. Payment for everybody looking the other way."

"But what's with the 'junkie'?" Castillo pursued.

"I'm getting to that. To show their contempt for gringos generally, and to keep their prisoner captive and quiet, by the time they turn him loose, his arm is riddled with needle tracks. He's lucky to have a vein that's not collapsed. They've turned him into a coke-sometimes a crack-junkie."

Castillo shook his head in amazement.

"And if their movement of drugs is interdicted?" he asked softly.

"According to Lorimer, there have been four kidnappings of DEA agents in Paraguay since he's been there-five, counting Timmons. Three have been turned loose, full of drugs. One was found dead of an overdose, shortly after about five hundred kilos-more than half a ton-of refined coke was grabbed in Argentina on a fruit boat floating down the Paraguay River."

"Not garroted?" Castillo asked.

Delchamps shook his head.

"Full of cocaine," he said.

"What happens to the ones who are turned loose?"

"They are quietly given the best medical attention available for drug addiction," Delchamps said, "'in anticipation of their return to full duty.'" He paused. "Want to guess how often that works?"

"Probably not very often," Ambassador Montvale said.

"And that doesn't bother you?" Castillo snapped.

"Of course it bothers me."

"But we have to look at the big picture, right?" Delchamps said, sarcastically. "DEA agents know their duties are going to place them in danger?"

Montvale nodded.

He said, "How likely do you think it is that this DEA agent-"

"His name is Timmons," Delchamps said.

"Very well," Montvale replied. "How likely do you think it is that Special Agent Timmons-and every other DEA agent, DIA agent-Lieutenant Lorimer, for example-and CIA officer in the embassy in Asuncion volunteered for the assignment?"

Delchamps looked at him for a moment, then said, "And that means Lorimer is an unimportant little lieutenant, and Timmons is an unimportant little DEA agent, right?"

"That was an unfortunate choice of words," Montvale said, "but isn't 'important' a relative term? Which would you say is more important, Mr. Delchamps: preserving the confidentiality of the Presidential Finding, the compromise of which would embarrass the President and just about destroy the fruits of the investigation you and Inspector Doherty and the others are about to complete, or sending an unimportant little lieutenant to a weather station in the Aleutian Islands for a year or two to make sure he keeps his mouth shut?"

Delchamps didn't reply.

Montvale went on: "Or which would be less wise: to send Colonel Castillo and his merry band to Paraguay to take on a drug cartel, which could carry with it, obviously, the very real risk of compromising the Finding, and, in addition, render the OOA impotent, or letting the people for whom Special Agent Timmons works in Paraguay deal with the matter?"