W. Griffin - The Hostage

The front passenger window was down, but the door remained closed. Castillo leaned down, put his hands on the opening, and looked inside.

"Hello, handsome," he said to Kennedy, who was sitting behind the wheel. "Looking for a little action?"

"Goddamn you, Charley, get in the fucking car!"

Castillo opened the door and got in. Kennedy, with another squeal of tires, took off and then turned right onto the Champs-Elysees.

"Where are we going, Howard?"

"Unless you know someplace we can talk without being overheard, we're just going to drive around."

"You think my room in the Crillon is bugged?"

"I don't know for sure that it's not."

"Why all the concern?"

"How much do you know about Lorimer?"

"A little more than I knew when I first talked to you," Castillo replied. "There are people looking for him. They killed Masterson to make the point that they are willing to kill to find him."

"And do you know who these people are?"

"No. That's why I'm hunting Lorimer."

"Would it surprise you that some Russians are doing the same?"

"Nothing would surprise me."

"Or some Germans?"

"Same answer."

"Or some French? Or some former members of Saddam Hussein's regime? Or, for that matter, some people from Houston, Texas?"

"Get to the point, please, Howard. I'm not good at riddles."

"Your friend Lorimer was a bagman-maybe the head bagman-for that noble program called Oil for Food. Which means that he knows who got paid off. That's enough for any of the aforementioned people to take the appropriate steps to make him dead."

"Give me a minute to think that over."

A traffic cop stepped into the street and with a shrill burst from his whistle and an arrogant wave of his stiff arm stopped traffic. Kennedy, with a heavy foot, brought the Mercedes to a stop at the crosswalk. As Castillo watched the trickle of early-morning commuters making their way to cafes and then to work, he considered how Kennedy might-or might not-be trying to play him.

"In addition to his knowing too much, Charley, there are those who think he skimmed the payoff money. To the tune of some-depending on who you talk to- twelve to sixteen million dollars."

"Jesus!"

"Yeah, Jesus. And one more little item. This gets uncomfortably close to Alex."

"How Alex?"

"How do you think you move that kind of money around? By wire transfer? By UPS?"

"You tell me."

"One hundred thousand U.S. dollars fresh from the mint comes in a neatly wrapped plastic package about so big," Kennedy said, taking his hands off the wheel to demonstrate the size. He could have been mimicking a stubby shoe box.

The traffic cop blew another burst of his whistle and waved traffic forward.

"And Alex moves freight, right?" Castillo said. "No questions asked?"

"You don't really expect me to answer that, do you?"

"So why are you telling me what you did?"

"Alex thinks you're a lot smarter than I do," Kennedy said. "He thinks it's possible you'll find this sonofabitch before anybody else does, and that you'll share that information with him."

"Tell Alex, sorry, no. I want this sonofabitch alive, not with a beauty mark in the center of his forehead."

"Why? So he can tell you who's after him?"

"Exactly."

"You really are a virgin, aren't you? These people are untouchable. Believe me."

"The answer is no, Howard. Tell Alex that."

"I told him that's what you would probably decide," Kennedy said.

They were now almost to the Arc de Triomphe de L'etoile. Kennedy made an abrupt left turn onto Rue Pierre Charron and stopped.

"Get out, Charley. Conversation over."

Without another word, Castillo got out of the car. Kennedy drove quickly off.

Castillo walked back to the Champs-Elysees, and then down it, toward the Crillon.

[ONE] Suite 301 Hotel de Crillon 10 Place de la Concorde Paris, France 0730 27 July 2005 There was a knock at the door, and Castillo, still chewing on a piece of toast, stood up from the breakfast table and went to open the door.

A nondescript man in his late fifties-maybe a little older-was standing there in a somewhat rumpled suit.

"Mr. Castillo?"

"Right. You're Mr. Delchamps?"

The man nodded.

"Come on in. Would you like some breakfast?"

"No, thanks."

"Maybe some coffee?"

Delchamps shook his head, and looked at Fernando and Torine.

"I wasn't told about anybody else," Delchamps said.

"This is Colonel Torine and Mr. Lopez," Castillo said. "And this is Mr. Edgar Delchamps, the CIA station chief."

"Not only wasn't I told about anyone else, but, Mr. Castillo, as you may or may not know, the identity of the CIA station chief, whoever that might be, is classified."

"Not a problem, Mr. Delchamps. Both the colonel and Mr. Lopez have the necessary clearances."

"How do I know that?"

"Someone from the office of the director of national intelligence was supposed to have given you a heads-up about what we're doing here."

"Someone did. But only your name was mentioned."

"It looks to me that there is some sort of a communications problem," Castillo said. "Before we go any further with this, why don't we go next door to the embassy, get on a secure line to the director of national intelligence, and clear this up?"

"It's half past one in the morning in Washington," Delchamps said.

"I know. But I don't have time to waste playing the classified game with you, Mr. Delchamps."

"Maybe later," Delchamps said. "I was told you were interested in a man named Jean-Paul Lorimer. What do you want to know about him?"

"Everything you know about him."

"The phrase used was 'tell him anything you think you should,'" Delchamps said.

"Then there is a communications problem between Ambassador Montvale and whoever you spoke with," Castillo said. "What he was supposed to tell you was to tell me whatever I wanted to know, and what I want to know is everything."

"It was Montvale who called me," Delchamps said.

"And the phraseology he used was you were to tell me what 'you think you should'?"

"That's what he said."

"In that case, Mr. Delchamps, when we go next door and get on the secure phone, we're going to talk to the President, and you are going to tell him what Ambassador Montvale told you."

Delchamps didn't reply.

"For what it's worth, Mr. Delchamps," Colonel Torine said, "I was with Mr. Castillo-on Air Force One-when the President told Ambassador Montvale that Mr. Castillo was to have anything he asked for."

"Why should I believe that?" Delchamps asked.

"No reason," Torine said. "Except it's the truth."

Delchamps considered that for a moment, then said, "Fuck it."

"Excuse me?" Castillo said.

"I said 'fuck it.' Don't tell me you never heard that phrase before. Montvale said you're really an Army officer. A major."

"Guilty."

"Who was given more authority than he clearly will be able to handle, and won't have it long."

"That sonofabitch!" Torine exploded.

"Yeah," Delchamps said.

"You're going to have to go to the President, Charley," Torine said.

"Before you do that, let me tell you where I'm coming from," Delchamps said. "And we'll see how this plays out."

"Go ahead," Castillo said.

"I've been in this business a long time," Delchamps said. "Long enough to be able to retire tomorrow, if I want to. I have been around long enough to see a lot of hard work blown-and, for that matter, people killed- because some hotshot with political power and a personal agenda stuck his nose in what was being developed and blew it. I've been working on this scum Lorimer for a long time, years. And it hasn't been easy."

"How so?" Castillo asked.

"Have you got any clue what he's been up to?"