By Order of the President (Presidential Agent 1)

Powell walked to Hall, handed him the file, and put out his hand.

Hall shook Powell’s hand and said, “It was never my intention, John—and, damn it, you should know it—to go to the president with the intention of embarrassing you or the CIA.”

“I know that, Matt,” the DCI said, not very convincingly.

The DCI looked at Castillo—closely, as if trying to figure him out—then nodded at him, but neither spoke nor offered his hand. Then he crossed the room to the door, opened it, and walked out.

The automatic closing mechanism didn’t quite work and Castillo went to the door and pushed it closed.

“Your lady friend called at what I think they call a propitious moment, Charley,” the secretary said. “I really didn’t want Powell to walk out of here marshaling his troops for a turf war.”

“It wasn’t my lady friend, sir,” Castillo said. “It was my boss.”

“Excuse me?”

“My editor, Otto Görner,” Castillo corrected himself.

Hall’s eyebrows showed interest. “What did he want? You said it was interesting.”

“Very interesting,” Castillo said. “He said that he’d heard from Respin/Pevsner or whatever the hell his real name is— the Russian?”

“He heard from him?” Hall asked, sounding as if he was either confused or disbelieving.

“From some guy who said he was speaking for him,” Castillo said. “Otto said he’s made several requests for an interview of Respin/Pevsner and this was the first time there’s been any kind of a response.”

“What was the response?”

“That he will give me—Karl Gossinger—an interview in Vienna.”

“You specifically?”

“Yes, sir. Otto asked me what I wanted him to do.”

“How much does your editor—what’s his name?”

“Otto Görner.”

“How much does Görner know about what you do?”

“That’s a tough question, sir. He’s a highly skilled journalist and very intelligent. That specific question has never come up between us, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a very good idea of what I do.”

“And he won’t talk because why? You own those newspapers? ”

“That’s part of it, sure. But Otto is like an uncle to me. He was very close to my mother.”

“The kind of relationship you have with Allan and Elaine Naylor?”

“Just about, sir. I’ve known Otto all of my life. Even before I met the Naylors.”

“What about your real family?” Hall asked. “What do they think you do for a living?”

“My cousin, Fernando—he’s a Texas Aggie; he won a Silver Star as a tank platoon commander in the first Iraqi war—has got a pretty good idea. Nothing specific, but he knows where I work, for example; that I was at the Carolina White House. He knows how to keep his mouth shut. I’m not close to any of my other relatives in Texas and none of them has any idea. Or, for that matter, is interested.”

Hall thought that over a minute and nodded.

“Why do you suppose this Russian arms dealer suddenly changed his mind about talking to the press?” he asked.

“It probably had something to do with the story I wrote for the Tages Zeitung, sir. Otto gave me a byline.”