W Griffin - Hunters

He got some what awkwardly to his feet and was aware of his awkwardness.

"I thought you'd still be in the hospital," he said.

"I've been out for almost a week," she said. "I'm on what they call 'limited duty.'"

He looked at her carefully and noticed that although she appeared not to be a hundred percent-he thought he heard a catch to her speech, as if it was some what painful to speak-she was, by all appearances, well on the mend now, nearly three weeks after the ambush in Buenos Aires.

He then recalled from his experience in the first desert war and in Afghanistan that It was not uncommon for certain people to rebound some what quickly from trauma, particularly ones who had a young strong body on their side.

And Betty indeed had a young strong body.

Castillo crossed the room to her, thinking she expected to be kissed.

He put his hands on her arms and moved his face close.

She didn't seem at all eager for his kiss, much less the passionate embrace he thought was likely.

That's what's known as a "chaste kiss." As between aunt and dutiful nephew.

Oh, I know.

She's pissed. And has every right to be.

"Baby, I tried to call you. I wanted to call before I went to Paris. I couldn't. There just wasn't time."

I don't want to get into a long explanation of what happened that night, my promotion ceremony and the conversation with Montvale at the Army-Navy Club.

"Not a problem, Charley," Betty said.

She smiled some what awkwardly.

"Congratulations on your promotion."

"Thank you. Undeserved, but deeply appreciated nonetheless."

"If it was undeserved, they wouldn't have given it to you," Betty said.

"Well, I'm glad to see you," he said. "And, oh boy, did you arrive at the right time!"

"Excuse me?"

"You can type, right? We've got a…"

"Charley, I'm not going to work for you. Where'd you get that idea?"

"What's wrong with that idea?"

"A lot, starting with Joel's got me a probationary spot in the protection section."

"I'm not sure what that means."

"It means if I work out and once I get a clear physical, I can be permanently assigned to the protection section. That's what I want to do."

"And you don't want to work for me?"

"Be reasonable. That wouldn't work out and you know it."

"What if I promise to keep my hands off you during business hours and to call you Agent Schneider?"

Agent Schneider visibly did not find that amusing.

She sighed. "Charley, that wouldn't work. I had a lot of time to think and…Well, what happened, happened. But there's no future in it for either of us."

"We can just be friends, right?" he asked, sarcastically.

"Frankly, I don't even think that, Charley. I don't trust myself. Or maybe it's you. I don't know. I'm sorry."

"Have I just been told that I've been dumped? Just because I couldn't get on the horn to tell you I was going to Paris?"

"One of the things I thought of is how often is that going to happen with you? 'Sorry, Betty, the movie's off. I have to catch a plane to Timbuktu and I don't know when I'll be back.'"

"This is what I do for a living. You know that."

"I didn't realize what it meant. Now I know I couldn't live with a situation like that."

"Can we talk about this?" Castillo asked.

"Sure, after I get settled. But there's nothing to really talk about."

"Let's give it a shot. You never know. How do I get in touch with you?"

"When I leave here, I'm going over to Crystal City-near the Pentagon-where another agent is looking for a roommate."

"What's his name?"

Betty made a thin smile. "A female agent. If that works out, I'll call Mr. Forbison and give her the phone number."

Castillo nodded softly.

"Okay, Betty, you do that."

"Congratulations again on your promotion, Colonel," Betty said and offered her hand to shake.

He took it.

She shook it briefly, turned, and walked to the door.

There, she turned again and said, "Take care of yourself, Charley."

And then she was gone.

"Oh, shit," Castillo said, slowly.

He stared at the empty doorway, shook his head, then walked to the conference room.

[ONE] Conference Room Office of the Chief of Operational Analysis Department of Homeland Security Nebraska Avenue Complex Washington, D.C. 1015 11 August 2005 Castillo saw that there were now names and events and dates written all over the three blackboards, most of them marked with symbols, arrows, and question marks and connected by a maze of arrows. Juliet Knowles and the pale-faced girl whose name he didn't know were sitting with their fingers poised on the keyboards of the laptops.

Inspector John J. Doherty turned from the blackboard on which he was writing to see who had entered the conference room.

"I'm beginning to understand, Colonel," Doherty said, "what I originally thought was your overzealous desire for secrecy."

Castillo ignored the remark and looked at Dick Miller.

"I think we'll know something from NSA about where that two million dollars came from by tomorrow morning, maybe even sooner. But we're going to need Yung to make sense out of what they're going to be able to get for us. How about making sure he comes up here just as soon as he can after the funeral?"

Miller nodded and picked up one of the telephones.

"That's Special Agent Yung of the FBI you're talking about?" Doherty asked.

Castillo nodded. "He's an expert in money moving," he said.

"I know," Doherty said.

Castillo didn't like Doherty's tone of voice.

"I understand he also knows where the FBI hides their skeletons."

"That, too," Doherty said. "What two million dollars are we talking about?"

"The two million dollars somebody gave the Aari-Teg mosque in Philadelphia so they could buy a farm in Bucks County in which they are going to hide in old iron mines when someone sets off a suitcase nuke in the City of Brotherly Love," Castillo rattled off.

Doherty considered that for a long moment and then exclaimed, "Jesus Christ, is that credible?"

"Britton doesn't think so and…"

"Britton, the Secret Service agent?" Doherty interrupted, turning to point at Britton's name on one of the blackboards.

Castillo nodded, then said: "When he was a Philadelphia cop, he was undercover in the mosque for more than three years. He doesn't put much credence in the nuke and neither do others-including Edgar here-who know about things like that. But somebody gave these lunatics two million dollars and I'd like to know who and why. Maybe it's two separate things, terrorism and the oil-for-food scandal. And maybe they're connected. I have a gut feeling they are."

Doherty picked up his yellow felt-tip pen and said, "Spell that mosque for me," and, when Castillo had and he'd written it on the blackboard, asked: "Can you tie these people to terrorism?"

"They were involved with the theft of the 727 that terrorists were going to crash into the Liberty Bell."

"You really think they were going to do that?" Doherty asked, his tone making it clear he didn't think that was credible.

"Yeah, I really think they were going to crash it into the Liberty Bell," Castillo said. "When Jake Torine and I stole it back from them, it was about to take off for Philadelphia. The fuselage was loaded with fuel cells hidden under a layer of fresh flowers."

Doherty accepted that but he didn't apologize, not even to the extent of saying "I didn't know that."

"So you're saying these people are skilled terrorists?" Doherty asked after a moment.

"No, I'm not. I go with Britton and Chief Inspector Kramer of the Philadelphia Police, who refer to them as the AAL, which means African American Lunatics, and which means just that. They have been used by terrorists, and they still may be-probably are-being used. I want to know where they got the money and if there is a reason beyond giving them a place to protect themselves from a nuclear explosion, which we don't think is going to happen."