The Hunters (Presidential Agent 3)

“I thought this was the briefing,” Castillo said. It was more of a question.

“Right now we have to talk about your eleven-hundred-dollar-a-day love nest in the Mayflower Hotel,” Montvale said.

“Sir?”

“That’s how Pulitzer Prize–winning reporter C. Harry Whelan, Jr., of The Washington Post described it. No. What Harry actually said when he called Secretary Hall and told him he intended to make certain allegations in a story and wanted, in fairness, to get his version before it was published, he was in ‘Motel Monica Lewinsky.’” He paused, then added with a thin smile, “He has a flair for colorful phrases.”

“What sort of allegations?”

“That an Army officer by the name of Castillo who is an agent of the Defense Intelligence Agency is whooping it up on the taxpayer’s dollar in the Mayflower and elsewhere all over the world.”

Oh, shit!

“Where’d that come from? I never was assigned to the DIA.”

“Think about it a moment,” Montvale ordered, “and tell me the first name that comes to mind.”

Three seconds later, Castillo said, “Mr. Patricia Davies Wilson.”

Montvale nodded.

“Goddamn her!”

“Hell hath no fury like the female scorned, I understand. You might want to write that down to think about the next time you experience the sinful lusts of the flesh and are about to throw caution to the winds and, with it, your career, the mission you’ve been given by the President, and the many—all unpleasant to contemplate—manifestations of that.”

“The next time? What next time? I’m blown. The problem now is how to keep the Finding operation from being blown with me. I’m blown, that’s it. The most I can hope for is that I will be allowed to resign for the good of the service and go hide somewhere before this reporter can find me. Once I’m out of the service, I don’t have to even talk to this guy —if he could find me—and I don’t think he’ll be able to do that. All the Army has to do is say they’re way ahead of the reporter, and the guy with the love nest has already been allowed to resign and they have no idea where former Lieutenant Colonel Castillo is. And, by the way, he was never assigned to the DIA.” He paused. “Does General Naylor know about this?”

Montvale nodded.

“He won’t like it, but between him and Schoomaker I can be out of the Army and out of Washington by noon tomorrow.”

Montvale just looked at him.

“Is Edgar Delchamps here yet?” Castillo said.

Montvale nodded.

“Then what I suggest, sir, is that you keep him under wraps until you can recommend to the President that he turn the Finding operation over to him.”

“Why would I want to do that, Colonel?” Montvale asked, softly.

“It’s the only way I can think of to keep the Finding operation from being blown. He’s privy to just about everything, but there’s no way that he can be tied to me, the Finding operation, or anybody else I’ve been working with. Once I’m gone and he’s got the Finding operation, I can meet him someplace and give him everything he doesn’t already have. The Finding operation doesn’t have to go down the toilet with me.”

“And why in the world,” Montvale asked, “knowing what’s happened, would Mr. Delchamps take on that responsibility? If I were he, I’d think I was being set up as the fall guy. He would reason that Mr. Whelan is not going to let this story go just because he can’t find you.”

“He’s a pro, Mr. Ambassador. He knows the risks of doing something that has to be done. He’s been doing it a long time. He’ll take the job. And more than likely do a better job with it than I’ve been doing.”

“Let me get this straight, Castillo. What you are saying you want to do is quietly fold your tent and steal away into anonymity. Pay for your carnal sins with, so to speak, professional suicide?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite that way, Mr. Ambassador, but, yes, I suppose. I disappear and the Finding operation goes on. I don’t have any better ideas.”

“Fortunately, I do.”

“Sir?”

“Fortunately, I do,” Montvale repeated. “More precisely, did.”

“Whatever you want me to do, sir,” Castillo said.