The Hunters (Presidential Agent 3)

“Yes, sir,” Castillo said, as the realization dawned, Jesus Christ, he knows about that, too. And he asked the question in absolutely fluent German.

Montvale switched back to English.

“Goddamn, he is good, isn’t he, General?” Montvale asked.

Naylor didn’t reply. Instead, he asked, “Am I permitted to ask, ‘What money?’”

“You can ask, of course,” Montvale said, smiling. “But getting an answer would depend on the colonel, as he correctly pointed out he and the President are the only ones with the key to the Finding. It would be a felony for me to tell you.”

What’s he doing now? Playing with me? With General Naylor? With both of us?

“General,” Castillo said. “Lorimer had nearly sixteen million dollars in several banks in Uruguay. We took it over. It is now the operating fund for the Office of Organizational Analysis.”

“How did you manage to do that?” Naylor asked.

“He doesn’t need to know that, does he, Colonel?” Montvale asked.

“No, I don’t,” Naylor answered for him. “And I don’t think I want to.”

“I have access to business jets in Europe and in Brazil,” Montvale said. “Would it facilitate your travel if I made them available to you?”

“It would probably draw attention to me,” Castillo replied.

“They’re agency assets, actually,” Montvale said. “The agency owns two charter companies in Europe and one in Brazil. Sort of an aerial version of the Town Car limos that prowl the streets of Manhattan. I don’t think taking a ride in one would draw undue attention to you. All I would really be doing—unless you needed a plane for more than carrying you from point A to point B—would be ensuring you went to the head of the line.”

“Can I have a rain check?”

“When we shook hands, you got your rain check,” Montvale said. “Good for as long as you hold up your end of our deal.”

&n

bsp; He took a large wallet from his jacket, took a card from it, and laid the card on the table. Then he took an electronic notebook from another pocket, consulted it, and wrote several numbers on the card. He handed the card to Castillo.

“By the time you get to France, the aerial limo services will understand that when you call, you go to the head of the line. The bottom number on there is mine. Use it if you ever need anything you think I can provide and can’t get through to me through the White House switchboard.”

“Thank you,” Castillo said.

“Can you think of anything else I can do for you?” Montvale asked.

“Mr. Wilson is a now a senior analyst in the agency’s South American Division’s Southern Cone Section,” Castillo said.

Montvale pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“I knew she managed not to get fired, but I didn’t know that,” he said. “We can’t have that, can we?”

“Miller and I ran into her in the lobby of the Mayflower earlier tonight,” Castillo said. “She called me a miserable sonofabitch.”

“Well, I can see how she might feel that way,” Montvale said. “I’ll deal with it first thing tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything else?”

“No, sir, I can’t think of anything else.”

“Well, in that case, I’m afraid I’m going to have to be going,” Montvale said.

He stood up, drained his drink, and offered his hand to Naylor, who had risen to his feet.