W. Griffin: The shooters

"Help about what?" Castillo asked, but before the man had a chance to open his mouth, Castillo asked another question. "You sneaked in here to ask somebody for help?"

"Sir, I didn't know what name you were using for the safe house. And even if I did, I didn't think you would pass me through the gate to this place. So I had to come in surreptitiously."

"Son," Edgar Delchamps asked, "how'd you get past the motion sensors on the fence? Fences, plural?"

"Dry ice, sir. I froze the mercury switches."

"Where'd you get the dry ice?"

"I bought it from a kid who delivers ice cream on a motorbike from the Freddo's ice cream store in the shopping mall."

"And where'd you learn to use dry ice on mercury switches?"

"Fort Huachuca, sir."

He pronounced that correctly, Castillo thought. "Wah-choo-kuh."

"What were you doing at Huachuca?" Delchamps challenged.

"Going through the Intelligence School."

"You're an Army intelligence officer?"

"Yes, sir. First Lieutenant Edmund Lorimer, sir."

"Lorimer?" Castillo said. "Your name is Lorimer?"

"Yes, sir. Same as that UN guy who got himself whacked in Uruguay."

"Your witness, Colonel," Delchamps said, gesturing grandly.

"You're Colonel Costello?" Lorimer asked.

"For the time being, I'll ask the questions," Castillo snapped, and was immediately sorry. "You may get up, Lieutenant Lorimer."

"Thank you, sir."

"You can put the.45 away, Bradley," Castillo said. He added, "But good job, Lester."

"Thank you, sir. The credit is due Max. He either detected unusual movement in the pines or perhaps smelled him."

"Take them inside the quincho, tell them 'good dog!', and give them each a bone."

"Yes, sir. Sir, when Max has too many bones-and he's already had several today-he suffers flatulence."

"Use your good judgment, Lester."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Castillo had been watching Lorimer out of the corner of his eye, idly wondering why he was getting to his feet slowly and carefully. He saw that Lorimer was smiling at Bradley, probably at the word "flatulence."

Lorimer's eyes met Castillo's for a moment, and when Lorimer was half-sitting on the table there, Castillo saw what had caused him to get to his feet so slowly and carefully.

And why Ricardo had called him "Pegleg."

Lorimer's right trouser leg had been pulled up. Rising from his stockinged ankle was a dully shining metal tube.

Titanium, Castillo thought. They now make those things out of titanium. How do I know that?

"What happened to your leg?" Castillo asked gently.

"RPG," Lorimer said.

"Where?"

"Afghanistan. We got bushwhacked on the way to Mazar. On Highway A76."

Castillo knew well the Mazar airfield-and, for that matter, Highway A76, the road to it from Kabul. The next to last time he had been there, he had "borrowed" a Black Hawk helicopter to make an extraction of the crew of another Black Hawk that had been shot down. Far senior officers had reluctantly concluded that the weather was so bad that making such an attempt would have been suicidal.

The last time he'd been at Mazar was to board a USAF C-5 Galaxy for the States, which carried him home with a vaguely phrased letter of reprimand for "knowingly and flagrantly violating flight safety rules."

The letter of reprimand was the compromise reached between several very senior officers who wished to recommend him for the Distinguished Service Cross-or perhaps even The Medal-and other very senior officers who wished to bring the crazy Special Forces sonofabitch before a General Court-Martial for willful disobedience of orders.

"How far up does that thing go?" Castillo asked.

"To the knee. Actually, the knee's part of it. All titanium."

"What were you doing in Afghanistan?"

"I thought I was winning their hearts and minds until this happened."

"You were Special Forces?"

Lorimer nodded. "Was. Now I'm Intelligence. DIA."

"How did that happen?"

"Well, for a while I thought I could do a Freddy Franks, but that didn't work."

General Frederick M. Franks Jr., then an Army major, lost a leg to wounds suffered in the Cambodian Incursion during the Vietnam War. He managed to stay in the Army by proving he could pass any physical test required of any officer. He became both the first one-legged general since the Civil War and, as a four-star general, the commander of ground forces in the First Desert War. Franks served as an inspiration to all-particularly to amputees.

"Why not?"

"It hurt too much."

"Okay. Who told you about this place?" Castillo asked.

"I asked around, sir."

"I asked who, Lieutenant."

Castillo looked at Ricardo Solez, who proclaimed his innocence by shaking his head and wagging both hands palms outward.

Lorimer said, "A lot people, sir. I just put it together."

"Among them Solez?"

"He was one of them, but he wouldn't tell me anything. But he's how I found out where you were."

Castillo glanced at Solez, who motioned to maintain his innocence, then looked back at Lorimer.

"He told you where we were?" Castillo said.

Lorimer shook his head. "I followed him and that kid with the.45 out here from the embassy."

Solez and Bradley, who had been posted to the embassy before they had been drafted by Castillo, had been assigned to make daily-sometimes twice-daily-errand runs from Nuestra Pequena Casa to the embassy specifically and to Buenos Aires generally. The theory was they were familiar faces and would attract the least attention.

Castillo looked at Solez, whose face now showed pain.

Castillo was tempted to let it go, but changed his mind. Getting followed was inexcusable.

"No rearview mirrors on the Trafic, right, Ricardo?" Castillo asked.

"Jesus Christ, Carlos, I'm sorry."

His embarrassment-shame-was clear in his voice.

"He's pretty good, Colonel," Lorimer said. "He led me up and down every back street between here and Palermo."

"But you're better, right?"

"Yes, sir. I guess I am."

"Okay. So you're here. Why?"

"A friend of mine, a DEA agent, got kidnapped about a week ago. I need some help to get him back. I figured you were the guy who could help, maybe the only one," Lorimer said.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because you got the bad guys who kidnapped Jack the Stack's wife and whacked him."

"What if I told you I have no idea what you're talking about?"

"Sir, I would expect you to say just that," Lorimer said. "But, sir, with respect, you better get used to the idea that the cat's out of the bag. I even heard of what went down and I'm pretty low down on the pay scale. And in Paraguay."

Castillo looked at Delchamps.

"Write this down, Ace," Delchamps said. "There's no such thing as a secret."

"Oh, shit!" Castillo said, and shook his head. Then he turned to Lorimer.

"Lieutenant Lorimer, I am Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo, Special Forces, U.S. Army."

"Yes, sir."

"I inform you herewith that I am here operating on the authority of a Presidential Finding…"

"Yes, sir."

"Close your mouth until I'm finished, Lieutenant. You are advised herewith that each and every aspect of this operation is classified Top Secret Presidential. From this moment on, you will not discuss with anyone what you think you may have learned, or what you think you may have surmised, about anything connected with this operation. That includes the names of personnel, and the location of personnel or facilities, and what I or anyone connected with this operation may or may not have done. Any breach of these instructions will result in your trial by General Court-Martial-at which, trust me, you will be found guilty-and being placed in solitary confinement at probably Leavenworth until the details of this operation are no longer of interest to anyone. You run off at the mouth, and you'll wish the RPG had got all of you. Got it?"