Her brother laughed.
“Who’s Pavel Koslov?” Danton asked.
“The Mexico City rezident,” Delchamps furnished. “I think we ought to whack him, tit for tat, if he hurts Colonel Ferris, but I agree with Charley that snatching him now is not a very good idea.”
Castillo nodded, then looked around and said, “Is that it?”
“What do I tell McNab, Charley?” D’Alessandro asked. “He said he wants to see me the minute I get back.”
“Tell him everything,” Castillo said. “I never lied to him before, I don’t want to start now, and I’m certainly not going to ask you to withhold anything from him.”
“He’s going to ask what you’re going to want from him,” D’Alessandro said. “What do I tell him?”
“I’d like whatever intel he feels he can give me. But aside from that, I’m not going to need anything from the Stockade. Except you, of course.”
“Got it.”
“Uncle Nicolai, you about ready to fly Vic to Mexico City?”
&
nbsp; “No. I’ve been drinking. But one of my pilots is standing by.”
D’Alessandro walked around the table, shaking hands, and then disappeared past the sliding glass doors.
IV
[ONE]
Office of the Commanding General
United States Special Operations Command
Fort Bragg, North Carolina
0830 13 April 2007
A substantial number of liaison officers was attached to the Special Operations Command. Some of them were military—for example, the liaison officers from the Office of the Chief of Naval Operations; the Office of the Chief of Staff, USAF; the commander in chief, Central Command; the Defense Intelligence Agency; and even the XVIII Airborne Corps, which commanded the physical assets of Fort Bragg as well as the 82nd and 101st Airborne divisions.
There were also civilian liaison officers: They included a State Department liaison officer; an FBI liaison officer; and a CIA liaison officer. They all had staffs, some of them as large as a dozen deputies and clerks.
The building in which they were housed was known jocularly as “Foggy Bottom, South.” Others called it “Siberia.” Most liaison officers felt that Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab regarded them as spies for their superiors, and that they were treated accordingly. They rarely saw him in person after their first brief chat with him on their assignment. They dealt with Major General Terrence O’Toole, the SPECOPSCOM deputy commander.
O’Toole had summoned Charles D. Stevens, the FBI liaison officer, to his office two days before.
“This is in connection with Colonel Ferris,” he said, getting right to the point. “You’re aware of the package the general received with Ferris’s photo?”
Stevens had nodded. He knew about the FedEx package. He had learned of it through FBI channels, not from anyone in SPECOPSCOM.
“Neither the CIA nor your laboratory at Quantico was able to learn much—in fact, anything—from it. The fingerprints found on it were useless because it had passed through so many hands.
“The general feels that the next communication from these people will come the same way, that is via either FedEx or UPS. He would like to get his hands on that package before it is handled by everybody and his idiot brother.”
“I understand, General.”
“What the general would like to see the FBI do is to locate that package as soon as it enters the FedEx/UPS process. The package would then be placed, taking care to touch it as little as possible, into another envelope and then sent on its way here. Do you think the FBI can handle that, Mr. Stevens?”
“The FBI will certainly try, General.”