W Griffin - Hunters

He compared what came onto his monitor with the second page-the first page was blank-of the sheaf of papers. They appeared to be identical. He started to read what was on the screen: SYNOPSIS: IT ALMOST IMMEDIATELY BECAME APPARENT THAT A NUMBER OF ENTITIES HAVE AN INTEREST IN CERTAIN ACTIVITIES OF THE CALEDONIAN BANK amp; TRUST LIMITED. (SEE APPENDIX 3)

SOME OF THE FILTER KEYS USED TO DEVELOP INFORMATION FOR THESE ENTITIES ARE IDENTICAL TO THOSE PROVIDED BY YOU. (SEE APPENDIX 4) INFORMATION DEVELOPED FROM YOUR FILTERS MAY BE FOUND IN APPENDIX 1, AND INFORMATION WHICH YOU MAY FIND OF INTEREST MAY BE FOUND IN APPENDIX 2.

Castillo picked up the sheaf of papers and found Appendix 3. Among the entities listed were the Central Intelligence Agency, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and the Internal Revenue Service.

That was interesting. Maybe-probably-there was something in files somewhere that would be useful.

He turned back to the laptop and scrolled down to Appendix 1.

Appendix 1 was five pages of data, dates, amounts, and account numbers. It made no sense to Castillo at all.

He went into his office. Miller was behind Castillo's desk, studying his laptop computer screen, his stiff leg resting on an open drawer.

"Where's Yung?" Castillo asked.

Miller shrugged. "You told him to come in at eight."

"Where's he staying? I need him now."

Miller shrugged again.

"What have you got?" Miller asked.

Castillo handed him the sheaf of papers. Miller glanced through it, then said, "Yeah, you're right. You do need him." He paused. "He'll be here in an hour, give or take."

"You're a lot of goddamned help!"

"It is not nice to be cruel to a cripple," Miller said, piously.

Inspector Doherty came into the office at seven twenty-five.

"Good morning," he said without much enthusiasm.

"We've heard from NSA," Castillo said and handed him the sheaf of papers.

Doherty examined them.

"It's gibberish to me," he announced. "You need an expert, like Yung. I thought you sent for him." He looked at Castillo for a moment, his face suggesting he didn't like what he saw, then said, "Well, back to work," and went into the conference room.

Castillo motioned for Miller to go with him. Miller nodded, lifted his bad leg off the open drawer with both hands, and got to his feet. Mr. Agnes Forbison came to work at seven-forty. She knew where Yung was staying-"at the Marriott by the Press Club. He and Mr. Delchamps are both there."

"Could you call him and tell him I need him now?"

"Well, if you want me to, I will. But you told him to be here at eight and he's probably already on his way here."

"He might have overslept," Castillo said. "Call him."

Mr. Forbison was still on the telephone when both David W. Yung, Jr., and Edgar Delchamps walked in together.

She gave Castillo a What did I tell you? expression, then exclaimed, "Look at your hand!"

She was making reference to the bloody damage on Yung's hand.

"Ol' Dave," Delchamps volunteered, cheerfully, "ever the gentleman, tried to hold the elevator door for me. It got him. No good deed ever goes unpunished."

"We'll have to get you to a doctor," Agnes said.

"There's no time for that," Castillo said, earning him a dirty look from Mr. Forbison.

"I could use a fresh bandage," Yung said, "but I don't need a doctor. All the damned door did was crack the scab."

"You're sure?" Agnes asked and, when he had nodded, said, "I'll get the first-aid kit." "I didn't know you two knew each other," Castillo said as he watched Agnes tenderly wrap Yung's hand with a sterile bandage.

"We met in the Round Robin," Yung said, referring to the ground-floor bar in the Willard Hotel, which is across the street from the Marriott.

"Whence I had gone separately for a little liquid sustenance," Delchamps said, "the Marriott bar being full of road warriors and ladies offering them solace for a price…"

"I thought you were going to get on the horn to the retired dinosaurs association?" Castillo interrupted.

"…after I had conversed with several gentlemen whose advanced age has fortunately not dimmed their memories," Delchamps went on. "And there was this Asiatic gentleman, with a bandaged wing, extolling the virtues of Argentine beef to a tootsie at the bar. It could have been a coincidence, but I didn't think so. I thought I was looking at Two-Gun Yung, the wounded hero of the Battle of the River Plate, whose exploits so shocked Doherty yesterday. So what I did was borrow a sheet of paper from the bartender and sent him a note."

"You sonofabitch," Yung said. "You really got me!"

"The note read 'Colonel C thought you would probably talk too much. Leave immediately. Go to your hotel and wait for instructions,'" Delchamps went on, pleased with himself. "My reasoning being that if Confucius had never heard of Colonel C. no harm would be done. But if I was right…and I was…"

"You bastard," Yung said, good-naturedly.

"He read the note and became scrute…"

"Became what?" Agnes asked.

"As in 'inscrutable,'" Delchamps explained. "Nervously licking his lips, he looked frantically around the bar, searching for counterintel types, and…"

"He didn't make you?" Castillo said, laughing.

Delchamps shook his head. "I carry with me this often helpful aura of bemused innocence," he said. "So what Dave did was hurriedly pay his bill, say good-bye to the tootsie, and head for the door. At that point, I took pity on him and bought him a drink."

"We had a couple," Yung admitted.

"I hope your mind is clear, Dave. I've got a bunch of stuff from NSA I need you to translate and, after that, you can tell me about the funeral."

Castillo was not unaware that Delchamps's attitude had done a one-eighty from that of the previous morning.

Maybe because he's working?

Or maybe because he's working and he senses that he's not going to be ignored now after breaking his ass trying to do a good job. "Good morning, Inspector Doherty," Yung said politely as he walked into the conference room.

"How are you, Yung?" Doherty replied.

And ice filled the room, Castillo thought. So far as Doherty's concerned, Yung has betrayed his beloved FBI, and there's not much of a difference between him and Howard Kennedy.

And Yung not only knows this, but probably-almost certainly-has to feel uncomfortable about that, maybe even a little ashamed of himself.

Is that going to fuck things up? Is Dave going to backslide and become a good little FBI agent again?

The answer came immediately.

"Well, aside from this," Yung said, raising his bandaged hand, "I'm fine, Inspector. How about you?"

"I heard about that," Doherty said.

"Colonel Castillo told you?"

Doherty nodded.

"I thought he would probably have to have told you-Edgar Delchamps told me what you're doing here. So I guess he also told you that you can't go back to the J. Edgar Hoover Building and tell them, 'Guess what? We were right all along about Yung. He can't be trusted any more than Howard Kennedy can. Wait till I tell you what he's been up to.'"

"Colonel Castillo has made it clear that your activities, Yung, are protected by the security classification of the Presidential Finding."

"I'm almost sorry they are. I wish I could tell the bastards in Professional Ethics that I'm not ashamed of anything I've done since I got involved in this and that I like being trusted by Castillo and the people around him. That's more than I can say for the bureau. They found me guilty by association-'We can't trust him anymore; send him to Uruguay or someplace'-with no more justification than a determination to cover their own asses."

Doherty paled and looked as if he was about to say something.

"Well," Delchamps said, breaking the silence, "now that the air is cleared and we're all pals united in a common cause, can we get back to work? I've got a lot of paleontological data for your blackboards, Jack."