Covert Warriors (Presidential Agent 7)

There was another pause, and then Naylor said, “You said something before . . .”

“What?”

“You suggested the President was insane.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, that was a figure of speech, and you know it.”

Naylor didn’t reply.

“I have, Allan, on many occasions, going all the way back to our unhappy days at Hudson High, called you chickenshit. You knew I didn’t think you were really fecal matter excreted from the anus of a Gallus domesticus. When I accused our lunatic President of being crazy, I was—”

“What if he is, Bruce?” Naylor asked softly.

McNab took a long time to reply.

“Well, that would certainly explain a hell of a lot, wouldn’t it?”

“Jesus H. Christ!” Colonel Caruthers said softly. “If you think about it . . .”

“Not only this coup d’état nonsense,” McNab said. “But . . .”

“I think we had all better stop right here,” Naylor said.

“That won’t work, I’m afraid, Allan,” McNab said. “You’ve let a very ugly genie out of your bottle. He’s not going to go back in.”

There was another long pause, and then McNab said, “Allan, I don’t think I’d mention this part of our conversation to Secretary Beiderman.”

“What I think we should all do is wipe the last ninety seconds of this conversation from our minds,” Naylor said.

“That won’t work, either, I’m afraid,” McNab said. “For two reasons. First, I don’t think any of us could. Second, we’ve all taken an oath to defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. And I think a President who has done what this one has done—is doing—can be fairly characterized as a threat to the Constitution.”

Another long pause ensued before Naylor asked, “For the time being, can we agree this conversation goes no further than it has?”

“Yes, sir,” McNab said.

“Yes, sir,” Caruthers said.

“Thank you,” Naylor said.

The red LED stopped blinking.

VI

[ONE]

Hacienda Santa Maria

Oaxaca Province, Mexico

1515 16 April 2007

As soon as Castillo took off his headset, Lester Bradley, who was sitting with Max in the backseat of the Cessna Mustang, handed him the headset from Castillo’s Brick. Castillo put it to his ear.

“Yeah, Frank?”

“Something wrong with the net? The new net?” Lammelle asked. “It took me almost four minutes to get you to answer.”

“I try not to talk on a cell phone when I’m flying fifteen feet above the ocean,” Castillo said. “It tends to distract me.”