Covert Warriors (Presidential Agent 7)

in with your scenario that the whole Ferris business is an SVR plot to get you and the other Russians?” Leverette added.

“‘The other Russians’?” Castillo parroted sarcastically.

“You know what I mean,” Leverette said.

“Uncle Remus, I don’t know how it fits in. I don’t even know if the SVR is really after me and the other Russians. And I can’t explain the business about the Oaxaca State Prison. Truth to tell, I’m flying blind.”

“Okay,” Leverette said. “So now that we know that, what’s the plan?”

Torine laughed.

Castillo then said, “I recently ran into an old acquaintance, Juan Carlos Pena, el jefe of the Policía Federal for the province of Oaxaca. He came to Hacienda Santa Maria—the grapefruit farm—and out of the goodness of his heart told me to get the hell out of Dodge before I got hurt. These drug people, Juan Carlos told me, are very dangerous.”

“And you suspect he might be pals with them?” Leverette asked.

“That thought has run through my mind,” Castillo said. “I think I’d better have another talk with him.”

“A nice talk? Or the other kind?” Leverette asked.

Castillo didn’t reply directly. He instead said, “What I hope I can do is get Juan Carlos, for auld lang syne, to (a) tell me all he knows about the involvement of the Venezuelans—which means the SVR—in this, and (b) keep me up to date on the plans for Señor Abrego at the Oaxaca State Prison.”

“That’s a tall order, Charley,” Torine said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Okay,” Leverette said. “Let’s say that works. You know that Abrego is going to be at the prison at a certain time. Then what?”

“Then I offer whoever was going to let Abrego go more money than the Venezuelans are offering, and grab him. And/or grab Ferris, when they take him to Oaxaca State Prison.”

“And there you are, near this prison in the middle of nowhere, with either or both of them,” Leverette said. “What are you going to do with them?”

“Load them on my Black Hawk,” Castillo said.

Leverette looked askance at Castillo. “Before I ask you where you’re going to take them in your Black Hawk, where in hell are you going to get a Black Hawk?”

“I already have a Black Hawk,” Castillo said. “By now . . . or certainly by tomorrow . . . it will be at Martindale Army Airfield at Fort Sam.”

“The one you stole from the Mexican cops?” Leverette asked.

“The one I bought from the Mexican cops,” Castillo said. “Natalie Cohen didn’t want to embarrass the Mexican ambassador by asking him to explain its miraculous resurrection from the total destruction he said it suffered in the war against the drug cartels—complete with its weaponry and Policía Federal markings intact—so she gave it to Lammelle and asked him to get rid of it. While making up his mind about the best way to go about it, he had it trucked from Norfolk to Fort Sam for storage.”

“Did he just do that, or did you ask him to?” Torine asked.

“I asked him.”

“Then his neck is on the line,” Torine said.

“All of our necks are going to be on the line with this, Jake,” Castillo said. “I’m not going to line everybody up and ask for volunteers to take one step forward, but I’ll understand if—”

“Come on, Charley,” Dick Miller interjected. “You damn well know better than that.”

Castillo met his eyes, then started to say something but apparently couldn’t find his voice. He offered his hand to Miller, who shook it.

Then Castillo stood up and wrapped his arms around Miller. “I’ll let you hug me, too, Charley,” Leverette said. “But if you think I’m going to kiss you, don’t hold your breath.”

[TWO]

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