“Yeah, I know. I think you were right about the timing of that call from Pevsner’s man. I was thinking that if I wanted information about somebody in a hotel, I would lay lots of long green on the concierge. I think he’s probably the villain. I’m pretty sure that’s how Kennedy found out that Carlos Castillo was not Karl Gossinger’s boyfriend. And I wouldn’t . . .”
“He thought that?” Miller asked, highly amused.
“Yeah, he did. And I wouldn’t be surprised if someone from the CIA asked him about the guy in 404, either. DCI Powell seemed very curious about me.”
“You really think he would order something like that?” Hall asked.
Castillo nodded. “And either promised money or appealed to his patriotism to have him keep an eye on me. Maybe I’m wrong—I’d like to be wrong—but if I’m right, I sort of like the idea of two pairs of spooks—Powell’s and Pevsner’s—frantically searching through the people getting off the train in Penn Station in New York looking for me and whoever’s with me.”
“What have you got against the DCI?” Hall asked.
“I don’t like the way he handled Dick,” Castillo replied. “He told you he wouldn’t do anything to him and then he had him relieved for cause. Once that happens to an Army officer, he might as well resign and he knew it.”
“I’m dealing with that,” Hall said. “I’m . . .”
The door knocker rapped.
It was a bellman with a large tray of hors d’oeuvres and two pots of coffee.
Fifteen minutes later, there was another rapping of the door knocker.
Castillo opened it. There were two men in business suits. One of them carried a briefcase. When Charley glanced down the corridor, he saw Joel Isaacson coming toward the door from one direction and Tom McGuire coming from the other.
There must be something about these two people they think is fishy.
“Yes?” Castillo said.
“We’re looking for Secretary Hall,” the elder of the two men at the door said.
“Who are you?”
The man who had spoken took a leather folder from his pocket and held it up.
“Oh, my, the FBI!” Castillo said, more loudly than was necessary.
He got a smile from Isaacson before Isaacson stopped at a nearby door, and appeared to be slipping a plastic card into its lock.
“Come in, please,” Castillo said. “The secretary expects you.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Secretary,” the man from the FBI said. “I’m Inspector Doherty from Director Schmidt’s of fice.”
Hall smiled at him and put out his hand.
“Mr. Secretary, we have a dossier for you,” Inspector Doherty said, “but it’s from the director’s personal files and he’d like it back—if possible, he’d like us to take it back now, after you’ve had a chance to read it.”
He handed Hall an expanding cardboard folder. Hall looked at the folder and then at Doherty. The look on his face showed he didn’t like at all hearing that Schmidt wanted his dossier back right away.
“Director Schmidt will have everything xeroxed for you, sir,” Doherty offered.
“In that case, Charley,” Hall said, handing the folder to Castillo, “I think you and Miller had
better have a quick look at the dossier before you go.”
The look on Doherty’s face showed he didn’t like that announcement at all.
“With all respect, sir, do these gentlemen have the proper security clearances?”
Hall didn’t reply. The look on his face was answer enough.