By Order of the President (Presidential Agent 1)

“That’s my next stop, sir, the Angolan embassy.”

Hall stood up and put out his hand.

“If you were going as my assistant, I know the Angolan ambassador and could give him a call. But he would ask questions if asked a favor for Wilhelm Whatsisname, a German journalist.”

“I don’t have to go as Karl Wilhelm von und zu Gossinger, sir,” Castillo said. “But I think it makes more sense.”

“So do I,” Hall said. “Have a nice flight, Charley. You know how to reach me; keep me in the loop—quietly. And good luck.”

“Thank you, sir.”

[FIVE]

Embassy of the Republic of Angola 2100-2108 16th Street NW Washington, D.C. 1520 31 May 2005

“It was very good of you to see me, sir, on such short notice,” Castillo said to the very tall, very black man in the consular section.

He was speaking in what he hoped was good enough Portuguese to be understood. His Texican and Castilian Spanish —actually, a combination thereof—had worked for him well enough in São Paulo, Brazil, but this man was from a Portuguese-speaking African country and that was something different.

The black man smiled at him and asked, in English, “How can the Angolan embassy be of service to a Spanish-speaking German journalist?”

“I was afraid my limited experience with your language would be all too transparent, sir,” Castillo said.

“How may I help you?”

“My newspaper wants me to go to Luanda and write a story about the airplane no one seems to be able to find,” Castillo said. “And I need a visa. I have all the documents I understand I need.”

He began to lay documents on the man’s desk.

They included his German passport, and three photocopies thereof; two application forms, properly filled out; a printout of an e-mail he had sent himself from Texas, ostensibly from the Tages Zeitung, ordering him to get to Luanda, Angola, as quickly as he could in order to write about the missing 727, as Herr Schneider is ill and cannot go; his curriculum vitae, stating he had earned a doctorate at Phillip’s University, Marburg an der Lahn, and had been employed by the Tages Zeitung as a writer and lately foreign correspondent for the past nine years; and his White House press credentials.

And a one-hundred-dollar bill, almost hidden by all of the above.

As soon as he had spread the documents out, he found it necessary to blow his nose and politely turned away from the consular official to do so.

When he turned back, approximately twenty seconds later, the consular official was studying the documents. The one-hundred-dollar bill was nowhere in sight.

“There are some documents missing, Mr. Gossinger,” the consular official said, politely. “Your proof of right of residency in the United States, for example.”

“With all respect, sir,” Castillo said, “I thought my White House press credentials might satisfy that requirement. They really wouldn’t let me into the White House if I wasn’t legally in the United States. And you’ll notice, sir, I hope, that my passport bears a multiple-entry visa for the United States.”

The consular officer studied the German passport.

“So it does,” he agreed. “Perhaps that will satisfy that requirement. But there are some others.” He paused. “Will you excuse me a moment, please?”

He walked out of the office. Castillo took another hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and put it in his passport, which concealed all but one edge of the bill. He laid the passport back on the table, mostly—but not completely— under the stack of documents. The numerals “100” were visible.

A minute later, the consular official came back into his office. Castillo felt the need to blow his nose again and did so. When he turned back to the table thirty seconds later, the passport was now on top of the stack of documents but the one-hundred-dollar bill was nowhere in sight.

“Well, you have most of the documents you’ll need,” the consular official said, “except of course for your return ticket, and the written statement that you understand you will have to abide by the laws of the Republic of Angola, and, of course, the Portuguese translations of your curriculum vitae, the e-mail from your newspaper, and— since I find your White House press credentials satisfactory proof that you reside legally in the United States—the Portuguese translation of those.”

“It is here, sir, that I turn to you for understanding and help,” Castillo said.

“And how is that?”

“I don’t have my airline tickets,” Castillo said. “They are electronic tickets and I will pick them up when I get to Heathrow Airport.”

“And when will that be?”