Covert Warriors (Presidential Agent 7)

VIII

[ONE]

The Lobby Lounge

Llao Llao Hotel and Spa

Avenida Ezequiel Bustillo

Bariloche

Río Negro Province, Argentina

1225 18 April 2007

Castillo, Sweaty, Bradley, Tom Barlow, Kiril Koshkov, and Stefan Koussevitzky were sitting around an enormous round table with a wood fire burning in its center when a white-jacketed bellman pointed them out to the four men he’d just brought from the airport.

They were Colonel Jacob Torine, U.S. Air Force (Retired); Major Richard Miller, U.S. Army (Retired); former Captain Richard Spark-man, U.S. Air Force; and CWO5 Colin Leverette, U.S. Army (Retired).

Castillo stood and addressed Torine: “Good afternoon, Colonel, sir. I trust the colonel had a nice flight?”

Torine eyed him suspiciously.

“Why am I afraid of what comes next?” Torine asked, then went to Svetlana and kissed her cheek.

“I believe the colonel knows Colonel Berezovsky,” Castillo went on. “And he may remember Major Koussevitzky . . .”

“Indeed, I do,” Torine said. “How’s the leg, Major?”

“It only hurts when I move, Colonel,” Koussevitzky replied. “Good to see you again, sir.”

“And this is Kiril Koshkov, late captain of the Spetsnaz version of the Night Stalkers,” Castillo went on. “Kiril, Stefan, these distinguished warriors are Colonel Jacob Torine, Captain Richard Spark-man, and Mr. Colin Leverette.”

The men shook hands.

“I’m afraid to ask,” Torine said, “but why are we being so military?”

Max walked to Torine, sat beside him on his haunches, and thrust his paw at Dick Miller until he took it.

“Max, I hate to tell you this,” Miller said, “but as I came through the door there was a sign in at least four languages that says NO DOGS.”

“Not a problem. Max knows the owner,” Castillo said.

“You were telling me, Colonel,” Torine said, “why we are being so military.”

“I spent the morning playing general,” Castillo said. “I gave a PowerPoint presentation of a staff study that I am forced, in all modesty, to admit was brilliant.”

Svetlana shook her head in resignation.

“How so?” Torine asked, smiling.

“Don’t shake your head at me, Podpolkovnik Alekseeva,” Castillo said. “Did I, or didn’t I, convince Ivan the Terrible Junior that his plans for this problem wouldn’t solve it?”

“What were his plans?” Torine asked.

“They did have, I’ll admit, the advantage of simplicity,” Castillo said. “What he wanted to do was whack anyone who he suspected was SVR. I finally managed to convince him that Vladimir Vladimirovich has more SVR operators than we have bullets, and that a wiser, less violent, solution was called for.”