W. Griffin: The Hostage

"That's what Kensington said. They're pros. So what did we expect?"

"Four Caucasian, two black. I took pictures, of course, but…"

"Okay. Thanks."

"That's the bad news. The good news is an address book from the safe, and these." He wagged a dozen sheets of what looked like stock certificates.

"What are those?"

"These are the certificates of loan. Fifteen point seven million U.S. dollars' worth. Of course, since Lorimer didn't sign them, they can't be cashed, but it proves he has all the money in the banks. Maybe some bank officers can be talked into telling us what they know about Lorimer's activities."

"On the other hand, once they learn he's dead, they'll deny their existence, and they're fifteen point seven million ahead."

"Yeah," Yung agreed.

Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC, came into the kitchen.

"Sergeant Kensington said he's ready to mount up anytime you give the word, sir. The colonel is on his feet."

"Bradley, I owe you. You saved my tail and Colonel Munz's."

"Just doing my job, sir."

"Tell Sergeant Kensington to get the show on the road, Bradley."

"Yes, sir." [FIVE] The Oval Office The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW Washington, D.C. 1825 1 August 2005 The President of the United States was behind his desk. Across the room, Ambassador Charles W. Montvale was sitting next to Secretary of State Natalie Cohen on one of two facing couches. Secretary of Homeland Security Matthew Hall was on the other couch.

Major C. G. Castillo, who was in civilian clothing, was nonetheless standing before the President's desk at a position close to "At Ease."

Or, Secretary Hall thought, like a kid standing in front of the headmaster's desk, waiting for the ax to fall.

For the past ten minutes, Castillo had been delivering his report of what had happened since he had last seen the President in Biloxi, when the President had issued his Presidential Finding aboard Air Force One.

"And so we landed at MacDill, Mr. President," Castillo concluded, "where we turned over Sergeant Kranz's remains to Central Command, and then we came here, arriving at oh-nine-thirty. I took everyone involved to my apartment and told them nothing was to be said to anyone about anything until I had made my report, and that they were to remain there until I got back to them."

"Colonel Torine, too?" the President of the United States asked. "And your cousin, too? How did they respond to your placing them in what amounts to house arrest?"

"Colonel Torine knows how things are done, sir. I didn't order him… And Fernando, my cousin, understands the situation, sir."

"And that's about it, Castillo?" the President asked.

"Yes, sir. Except to say, Mr. President, how deeply I regret the loss of Sergeant Kranz, and how deeply I regret having failed in the mission you assigned."

The President did not immediately respond. He looked into Castillo's eyes a moment as he considered that statement, then said, "How do you figure that you have failed, Castillo?"

"Well, sir, the bottom line is that I am no closer to finding the people who murdered Mr. Masterson and Sergeant Markham than I was before I went looking for Mr. Lorimer. Mr. Lorimer is now dead, and we'll never know what he might have told us if I hadn't botched his…"

"Repatriation?" the President offered.

"Yes, sir. And Sergeant Kranz is dead. I failed you, sir."

"Charles," the President said, "what about the long-term damage resulting from Major Castillo's failure? Just off the top of your head?"

"Mr. President, I don't see it as a failure," Secretary Hall spoke up.

"The director of national intelligence has the floor, Mr. Secretary. Pray let him continue," the President said, coldly.

"Actually, Mr. President, neither do I," Montvale said. "Actually, when I have a moment to think about it, quite the opposite."

"You heard him," the President pursued. "This man Lorimer is dead. We have no proof that Natalie can take to the UN that he was involved in the oil-for-food scandal or anything else. And Castillo himself admits that he's no closer to finding out who killed Masterson and the sergeant than he ever was. Isn't that failure?"

"Mr. President, if I may," Montvale said cautiously. "Let me point out what I think the major-and that small, valiant band of men he had with him-has accomplished."

"What would that be?"

"If we accept the premise that Mr. Lorimer was involved in something sordid, and the proof of that, I submit, is that he sequestered some sixteen million dollars…"

Montvale looked to Castillo for help.

"Fifteen point seven, sir," Castillo offered.

"… Close enough for Washington. Some sixteen million U.S. dollars in Uruguay, and that parties unknown tracked him down to Uruguay and murdered him to keep him from talking. After they abducted Mrs. Masterson and later murdered her husband."

"So what, Charles?" the President demanded.

"I don't seem to be expressing myself very well, Mr. President," Montvale said. "Let me put it this way. These people, whoever they are, now know we're onto them. They have no idea what the major may have learned before he went to South America; they have no idea how much Lorimer may have told him before they were able to murder him. If they hoped to obtain the contents of Lorimer's safe, they failed. And they don't know what it did or did not contain, so they will presume the worst, and that it is now in our possession. Or, possibly worse, in the possession of parties unknown. They sent their assassins in to murder Lorimer, and what we, what the major and his band, gave them was six dead assassins and an empty safe. And now that we know we're onto them, God only knows how soon it will be before someone comes to us…"

"And rats on the rats, you mean?" the President asked.

"Yes, sir, that's precisely what I mean. And I'm not talking only about identifying the Masterson murderers- I think it very likely that the major has already 'rendered them harmless'-but the people who ordered the murders. The masterminds of the oil-for-food scandal, those who have profited from it. Sir, in my judgment, the major has not failed. He has rendered the country a great service, and is to be commended."

"You ever hear, Charles, that great minds run on similar paths? I had just about come to the same conclusion. But one question, Charles: What should we do with the sixteen million dollars? Tell the UN it's there and let them worry about getting it back?"

"Actually, sir, I had an off-the-top-of-my-head thought about that money. According to the major, all it takes is Lorimer's signature on those documents, whateverthey're called, that the major brought back from the hideaway to have that money transferred anywhere."

"But Lorimer's dead," the President said.

"They have some very talented people over in Langley, if the President takes my meaning."

"You mean, forge a dead man's signature and steal the money? For what purpose?"

"Mr. President, I admit that when I first learned what you were asking the major to do, I was something less than enthusiastic. But I was wrong, and I admit it. A small unit like the major's can obviously be very valuable in this new world war. And if sixteen million dollars were available to it, sixteen million untraceable dollars…"

"I take your point, Charles," the President said. "But I'm going to ask you to stop thinking off the top of your head."

"Sir?"

"The next thing you're likely to suggest is that Charley-and that's his name, Charles, not 'the major'- move the Office of Organizational Analysis into the office of the director of national intelligence. And that's not going to happen. Charley works for me, period, not open for comment."

Secretary Hall had a sudden coughing spasm. His face grew red.

Ambassador Montvale did not seem to suspect that Secretary Hall might be concealing a hearty laugh.