The Hunters (Presidential Agent 3)

“In your account?” Darby asked.

Castillo nodded.

“How’d you manage that?”

“You don’t want to know,” Castillo said. “I spent seven million five of it to buy an airplane. A Gulfstream.”

“You bought a Gulfstream with Lorimer’s money?” Santini asked, incredulously.

Castillo, smiling, nodded.

“A G-III. It’s really nice, Tony, to be able to avoid all that frisking and baggage searching and standing in line at airports. You really ought to get one for yourself.”

“Jesus Christ, Charley! You’re insane!” Darby said. “What’s Montvale going to do when he hears you stole Lorimer’s money and then bought a Gulfstream with it?”

“Actually, taking the money was Montvale’s idea. I think he saw it as a source of unaccountable funds for him. Which, of course, it would be if I didn’t control it. And I haven’t gotten around to telling him about the airplane yet.”

“And when he finds out?”

“All he can do is go to the President and tell him—as he predicted—that I have acted impulsively and unwisely and the airplane is the proof. On the other hand, he may decide it’s a good idea. If he can get the Office of Organizational Analysis under him—which is his announced intention—the airplane would come with it.”

“And what’s the President going to do when he finds out about the money?” Santini asked.

“He knows about the money,” Castillo said. “Which brings us back to that. How do I get the rent money to you, Alex?”

Darby thought that over a moment before replying.

“The black account is in the Banco Galicia. The agency wires money into it from a Swiss account. I suppose you could do the same thing.”

“How long would it take to wire it from the Riggs Bank? Before you could get at the money?”

“I don’t know. Twenty-four hours, I’d guess.”

“You give me the numbers and the routing and I’ll call Dick Miller and have him wire a hundred thousand down here. There’s going to be other expenses, and I’m going to have to give Davidson some walking-around money, too.”

“Is Davidson who I think he is?” Darby asked.

“That would depend on who you think he is.”

“If I’m not mistaken, the last time I saw him was in Kabul. You were both wearing robes and beards. That was when you were in charge of babysitting the eager young men Langley sent over there to win that war in two weeks.”

“Yeah, that was Jack. And he never lost one of those starry-eyed young men, either. I was really glad to see him get out of your car.”

“You didn’t know he was coming?” Santini asked.

Castillo shook his head, then asked, “While we’re waiting for the money to get here, can you rent this house right away—today, maybe—with the money you have?”

“I can,” Darby said. “You sure you don’t want to stash the old man here?”

“His name is Eric Kocian,” Castillo said. “He’s both a very old friend and a good guy. I would love to stash him here but I don

’t think he’d stay. A house in Mayerling might be just what he’s looking for. He thinks—because of the name—that there might be a connection with Austrians or Hungarians involved in the oil-for-food business.”

“I don’t understand,” Darby confessed.

“You don’t know the story? Shame on you, Alex.”

“What story?” Santini asked.