The Hunters (Presidential Agent 3)

“Christ, we forgot to eat!” Torine said.

“Is there some place, a McDonald’s or something—better yet, a Wendy’s—on the way to the airport?” Castillo asked.

“I suppose a shave and a shower is out of the question?” Torine said, drily.

“I want to get to Washington and a secure telephone as quickly as I can, Jake,” Castillo said. “I need to talk to Yung and see what’s going on before Jack and I go see the dragon.”

“The last thing I had to eat was a stringy, cold Ecuadorian chicken leg somewhere over the Pacific Ocean,” Torine said. “And that was so long ago, I forget when.”

“Well, that’s the Air Force for you,” Castillo said. “Unless they’re being fed a steak by some long-legged blond stewardess with a dazzling smile, they think they’re suffering.”

“The Air Force teaches that an officer should never be rude to an officer junior to them in rank,” Torine said. “In your case, I’m going to make an exception: Fuck you, Colonel. I want more for breakfast than a goddamned hamburger.”

Castillo laughed.

“You’re right, Jake,” he said. “So do I. And since Montvale is sending a taxi for us, we’d better have that shave and a shower.”

“My sole remaining clean shirt and fresh undies are on the airplane,” Torine said.

“We can change on the way to Baltimore,” Castillo said.

“If you have to talk to your guy, Yung, in New Orleans,” Swanson said, “and we’re sitting on him there, then once we get to the hotel I can get the number of a pay phone to our guys and Yung can call you on it. It won’t be a secure line, but that’s how the bad guys communicate and it works for them.”

“You’re a good man, Mr. Swanson.”

“So they tell me,” Swanson said.

[THREE]

Baltimore/Washington International Thurgood Marshall Airport

Baltimore, Maryland

1350 10 August 2005

There was a Secret Service Yukon XL waiting for them at the Signature Flight Support building.

True to the traditions of the Secret Service, there was no change of expression on the agent’s face when he came onto the Gulfstream and saw Castillo on his knees in the passenger compartment removing an Uzi, a Micro Uzi, and a suppressed Ruger .22 caliber pistol from the compartment under one of the couches and then carefully handing them one at a time to Torine and Britton.

When Castillo climbed into the front seat of the truck, beside the agent, he was just about to ask “Where are we headed?” when the Secret Service agent spoke into his lapel microphone.

“Leaving Thurgood for the OEOB,” he said, “with Don Juan, Lindbergh, and English aboard. Advise Big Eye ETA 1515.”

“Charley,” Torine said, “why do I think there is something derisive in your code name but that English really fits Britton and Lindbergh is absolutely appropriate for me?”

“Because you are modesty-impaired, Jake. I understand that’s fairly common in the Air Force.”

“What do you want me to do when you and Jack are with Montvale?”

“Pay close attention, you might learn something.”

“I have to be there?”

“You have to be there,” Castillo said.

[FOUR]

The Office of the Director of National Intelligence