The Hunters (Presidential Agent 3)

“I don’t think so, Ed, not so soon,” Castillo said. “Montvale told the President that late yesterday afternoon.”

“Well, I guess they were just happy to get rid of me, period,” Delchamps said. “Truth to tell, I was a little pissed about their eager cooperation.” He paused, and asked: “Can Montvale be trusted to do what he told the President he was going to do?”

“Yeah,” Castillo said. “I trust him to do what he tells the President—in front of witnesses—he’s going to do.”

Castillo went to his desk and picked up a telephone handset.

“We up?” he said into it, and, after there was a reply, he looked at Delchamps and said, “Listen to this, Ed.”

He then pushed the speakerphone button and said, “Open it up.”

A young man’s voice, having made a fifty-four-thousand-mile trip through space, came over the speaker.

“Corporal Bradley speaking, sir.”

“Good morning, Lester,” Castillo said. “How long will it take you to get Mr. Sieno for me?”

“She’s right here, Colonel. She just brought me my breakfast. Hold one, sir.”

“Good morning, Colonel,” Susanna Sieno said. “You made it there, I guess?”

“Good morning, Susanna,” Castillo said. “I’m in my office and so is an old friend of yours. He’d like to say hello.”

He extended the handset to Delchamps.

Delchamps, shaking his head, took it. “Hey, sweetie, how are you?”

“Oh, Ed, it’s good to hear your voice…”

Castillo pushed the button that turned off the speakerphone function.

“Pretty impressive,” Delchamps said, ninety seconds later, after the connection was taken down. “What about the garbling?”

“We twenty-first-century spooks call that ‘encryption,’” Castillo said. “This system uses a logarithm—ours alone—we think even NSA can’t crack.”

“Okay,” Delchamps said. “I’ll hang around long enough to see if I can do you any good. If I can’t, I’m off to my vine-covered cottage by the side of the road. Deal?”

“Agnes, get Mr. Delchamps an American Express card,” Castillo said. “And see that Gossinger Consultants, Inc., provides him with accommodations suitable for someone we really need.”

“Why do I suspect that Gossinger Consultants, Inc., has some sort of connection with the Lorimer Benevolent and Charitable Trust you told me about?” When there was no immediate reply, Delchamps smiled, then asked, “What happens now?”

Castillo said, “The President, at the same meeting, called the director of the FBI and ordered him to send over a senior guy first thing this morning skilled in putting jigsaw puzzles like this one together. I think you’d better stick around and meet him, then get yourself settled in.”

“Inspector Doherty is already here,” Agnes said. “Shall I bring him in?”

“What was that name again?” Miller asked.

“Doherty,” Agnes replied. “Inspector John J. Doherty.”

“Oh, this should be interesting,” Miller said.

“Meaning what?” Castillo asked.

“You don’t remember him, Ace?” Miller asked.

Castillo shook his head.

Miller went on, “He’s the guy they sent to you about the turned FBI agent—Whatshisname—Howard Kennedy, your Russian mafioso’s pal. When he told you—some what peremptorily, I’ll admit—that the FBI expected you to notify them immediately the moment you heard anything about either Pevsner or Kennedy or they contacted you in any way, you told him not to hold his breath.”