W Griffin - Hunters

Yung nodded.

"Well, as soon as possible, take it over to Langley," Castillo said. "That means right now. Something with Lorimer's signature on it, and the bearer bonds or whatever the hell they're called."

"Why?" Yung asked.

"So the agency's finest forgers can put Lorimer's signature on the bearer bonds and we can grab the money. It's now our operating budget."

"Lovely idea," Torine said. "Fifteen-point-seven million is a nice little operating budget. But what are you going to do when Montvale finds out about it? And he will."

"Actually, it was his idea," Castillo said. "Admittedly while he was still thinking he could bring us under his benevolent wing."

"Where am I supposed to put it?" Yung said.

"Good question," Castillo said.

"I've got an account in the Cayman Islands," Yung said. "At the Liechtensteinische Landesbank."

"You've got what?" Castillo asked, incredulously. "A pillar of the FBI, an expert in uncovering money laundering, and you're hiding your own money from the IRS in the Liechtensteinische Landesbank in the Cayman Islands?"

Yung was not amused.

"It was an investigative tool, Major," he said. "I opened the account both to see how that could be done and so that I could be kept abreast of any changes in their banking laws. As a depositor, I could ask questions that I could not ask otherwise."

"That's even better," Castillo said, delightedly. "The FBI has money in the Liechtensteinische Landesbank in the Caymans. Is nothing sacred anymore?"

"What the hell is that?" Britton asked. "Lickten-what?"

"Liechtenstein is a little country-run by a prince-about twenty miles long and five miles wide between Switzerland and Austria," Castillo said. "Landesbank means 'state bank.' The Liechtensteiners make their money growing cows and banking other people's money."

"Actually, the funds in the bank are mine," Yung said. "Using my own money to open the account was easier than trying to get permission-and, of course, the money itself-from the FBI."

"And how much of your own money are you sequestering in your Liechtensteinische Landesbank account?"

"Twenty-five hundred dollars."

"How hard is it to open an account?" Castillo asked.

"Actually, it's quite simple. All they ask is a reference from your home banker and a cashier's check or a wire deposit. They won't take cash deposits," Yung answered.

"Well, then, that's what we'll do. But I want to get that money out of Uruguay before they find out Lorimer is dead."

"Bertrand," Yung corrected him. "The funds are in Bertrand's name."

"Okay. Bertrand," Castillo said. "Are any questions going to be asked when your secret little account suddenly grows by fifteen-point-seven million?"

"I'm not sure I want to do that," Yung said.

"Answer the question," Castillo said. "Is that going to make waves?"

"No questions are ever asked and they have stricter bank secrecy laws than even Switzerland. But, for the obvious reasons, I am uncomfortable transferring Bertrand's funds into my account."

"Then why did you tell us about your account?" Torine asked with a tone of impatience in his voice.

"I was going to suggest that you look into opening an account there. What Castillo's asking me to do is commit a felony. I'm an FBI agent, dammit!"

"Jesus H. Christ!" Torine said. "FBI rule number one: Always cover your ass. Right?"

"What I'm ordering you to do is carry out an order of the President of the United States," Castillo said.

"I don't believe you have the legal authority to give me an order. I'm in the FBI. I don't work for you."

Torine started to say something, then changed his mind and looked at Castillo.

Castillo said, "I suppose that's true, that you don't work for me. Right now, I guess your status is volunteer."

"Major, I thought-still think-you were doing the right thing when you staged that operation to kidnap Lorimer from Estancia Shangri-La. That's why I went with you. But that's not going to go over well at the J. Edgar Hoover Building when they hear about it. The FBI is supposed to investigate kidnappings, not participate in them."

"And you don't want to endanger your FBI career any more than you already have?" Torine asked, sarcastically.

Yung considered that and then nodded.

"Yung," Torine said, evenly, "if you're even thinking of running over to the J. Edgar Hoover Building and repeating even one word of this conversation or one detail of the operation we have just been on into some sympathetic FBI inspector's ear, I suggest you think again. That would constitute the divulgence of material classified Top Secret Presidential to persons not authorized access to such material. And that is a felony."

Castillo added, "And that includes telling anybody you bumped into Howard Kennedy in Buenos Aires."

Yung looked at him coldly.

"Let me be brutal," Castillo said. "Supposing you went to the FBI and confessed all and it was decided for a number of reasons not to try you for unauthorized disclosure, are you really naive enough to think you'd be welcomed back like the prodigal son? Or is it more likely that you'd spend the rest of your FBI career investigating parking ticket corruption in Sioux Falls, South Dakota?"

The look on Yung's face showed that Castillo had struck home.

"Right now, the question seems to be that you don't think I have the authority to give you orders. Is that right?"

"I don't believe you have that legal authority," Yung said.

"What if I got it? Would that change things?"

"How could you do that?"

Castillo sat down on the couch next to Corporal Lester Bradley and picked up the telephone. He punched in a number from memory.

"This is C. G. Castillo," he announced a moment later. "Is Secretary Hall still with the President?

"Can you get him for me, please?

"Charley, sir. Sorry to interrupt.

"Yung would feel more comfortable dealing with that banking business we discussed earlier if he was assigned to the Office of Organizational Analysis and therefore under my orders. Is that going to be a problem?

"The sooner the better, sir. By the time the banks open in the morning. Tonight would be even better.

"He'll be with Miller. Here in my apartment, sir.

"Yes, sir."

There was a sixty-second period of silence.

"Yes, sir. Thank you very much, sir.

"No, sir. I'm going to go to Philadelphia and then to Biloxi. Maybe still tonight if there's a way to get from Philadelphia to Biloxi. In any event, as soon as I can, sir.

"Yes, sir. I'll let you and Secretary Cohen know how that went as soon as I can.

"Yes, sir, I will. Thank you very much, sir."

Castillo put the handset back in the cradle and looked at Yung.

"Secretary Hall tells me the President has put in a call to the director of the FBI. When he gets him, or his deputy, he will order that you be placed on duty with the Office of Organizational Analysis. Either the director or his deputy will call you here and tell you that. That will place you under my orders. Any questions?"

Yung shook his head.

"Let me take this opportunity to welcome you to the Office of Organizational Analysis, Mr. Yung," Castillo said, mock portentously. "We hope your career with us will last as long as the organization itself-in other words, maybe for the next two or three weeks."

Torine laughed. Others chuckled.

A smile-small but unmistakable-crossed Yung's lips.

"Just as soon as I can-within a day or two-I will open another account in the Liechtensteinische Landesbank," Castillo said. "We'll get the money out of your account as soon as possible."

Yung nodded.

"You ever been to Langley, Yung?" Miller asked.

Yung shook his head.

"I'll take you over there," Miller said and then had a second thought: "Better yet, Charley, Tom McGuire knows his way around there better than I do."