The Shooters (Presidential Agent 4)

"Put it on speaker, Les," Castillo said, as he put the handset to his ear.

"Aye, aye, sir," Bradley said, and when he had pushed the appropriate button, went to the corridor wall and leaned on it.

It was either that or sit on my bed.

"Hello?" Castillo said into the handset.

"Where the hell have you been, Charley?" Major Richard Miller announced. "I've been trying to raise you for two hours."

"What's up?" Castillo replied, and then hurriedly added: "Are we secure?"

"According to my indicators we are."

"Okay, so what's so important?"

"Now you've got me worried, Charley. I therefore will talk in tongues. Four of the birds managed to land where they were going without sinking it. The reason I know this…Oh, to hell with it. I think this may damned well be blown anyway."

"What may be damned well blown?"

"The reason I know they're on the carrier is because a bluesuit-a commander-showed up here to personally deliver to you an Info Copy of an Urgent from the captain to the CNO. It took me five minutes to get the bastard to give it to me."

"What did it say?"

There was a rattling at the door to the hotel room, and it suddenly swung open.

"What the hell?" Castillo said, and then, "Hold one, Dick."

Castillo saw that the manager of the hotel was holding the door open for Pevsner and Janos.

"I don't recall inviting you up here," Castillo said angrily, in Russian.

"We have to talk, friend Charley," Pevsner said, matter-of-factly, also in Russian.

"It won't wait until after dinner?"

Pevsner shook his head, thanked the manager in Spanish, then closed the door on him. He turned to Castillo and, switching back to Russian, asked, "Do you have a weapon?"

"No, but Bradley does," Castillo said, and pointed at Corporal Bradley.

Bradley held his M1911A1.45 pistol in both hands, its hammer back and the muzzle aimed at the floor at Janos's and Pesvner's feet.

He didn't understand a word of the Russian, but he saw the look on my face, and he's taking no chances.

Neither is Max. He's on his feet and inching toward Pevsner and Janos.

"That's the pistol, Janos," Castillo said, almost conversationally, "that Bradley used to take down Colonel Komogorov in the hotel garage in Pilar after Komogorov put a bullet in you."

"We mean you no harm, friend Charley!" Pevsner said.

For some reason, I don't think that tone of anguish is phony.

"Put it away, Lester," Castillo ordered in English. He switched to Hungarian-"Down, Max!"-and then to Russian. "People who come barging into my room are likely to get shot. You might want to write that down, Alek."

"We came to make sure you had a gun in order to do just that," Pevsner said. "Janos, give it him."

Janos-very carefully, using his thumb and index finger-took what looked like a Model 1911 Colt pistol from his jacket's inside pocket and handed it to Castillo.

"That's an Argentine copy of your.45," Pevsner said. "Almost identical. A Ballester Molina stolen, I'm told, from the Argentine Army ten years ago."