Covert Warriors (Presidential Agent 7)

“SVR?”

“Who else? Mexican intelligence is an oxymoron. Maybe Cuban, maybe even some of Chavez’s people. But I’d go with SVR.”

“Castillo thinks this whole thing is an SVR operation,” Lammelle said, and then asked, “Tommy, did the FBI make you?”

“No. They were too busy falling all over each other to look for something like that.”

“I’d love to know what was in that envelope,” Lammelle said.

“So would I,” D’Alessandro said. “But once it went into the slot, it was firmly in the clutch of the FBI; we couldn’t get close, and I didn’t think I should ask for a look. Can you find out?”

“I’ll try. Where are things now?”

Diaz said: “Vic’s got half a dozen guys standing by in Juárez—”

“Who, Vic?” Lammelle interrupted.

“China Post. On Castillo’s dime. He—we—didn’t want to use anybody from the Stockade.”

Lammelle knew that American Legion China Post #1 in Exile enjoyed among its membership certain retired special operators. And he knew that Castillo often hired the highly skilled warriors.

“And what are they doing now?”

“Things that I could not do without getting my cover blown,” Diaz said. “And now we have both the dip license plate and the photos of the people—all of the people, not just the letter dropper. If we can get a positive ID on any of them—”

Lammelle put in: “The dip plate—I got this just now—goes on a Venezuelan-embassy Toyota Camry assigned to their consulate in Juárez.”

“That’s where it was,” Diaz said. “So we will—because we don’t have anything better—radio the code word ‘Hugo’ to the China Post guys, and they will start sitting on the Venezuelan consulate. Two questions.”

“Shoot.”

“How soon can you ID the letter dropper?”

“Those pics are being run through comparison now. No more than an hour; probably less.”

“My work would be a lot easier if I had some better radios.”

“We’re trying to keep McNab out of this, so that means no equipment from the Stockade, and you’ll understand, Tommy, that it would be just a little awkward for me to walk into domestic operations here and check out something you could use.”

“I can hear the chorus of whistles blowing,” Diaz said. “Well, then, how about a couple of Bricks like Vic’s?”

r /> “Castillo’s working on getting you something—it won’t be Bricks, but maybe CaseyBerrys. As soon as we can get them to you, we will.”

“I’d really like to have a Brick, Mr. Director, sir.”

“Talk to Castillo. I’ll call you as soon as I have a positive ID on the letter dropper.”

[FIVE]

Office of the Director

Federal Bureau of Investigation

The J. Edgar Hoover Building

935 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W.

Washington, D.C.