Covert Warriors (Presidential Agent 7)

After a moment, the DCI said, “Charley, do you really believe the Russians are after you and your friends?”

“Absolutely.”

“And where do they plan to do you in?”

“My scenario there is even more vague than anything else. I would suspect that it would happen around the Oaxaca State Prison. But so far my name hasn’t come up, so how do they get me to Oaxaca? Is that a diversion, so that they can whack Aleksandr Pevsner and company here in Argentina?”

“Interesting. So what are you going to do, Charley?”

“Go with what I’ve got. I’m going to put people on the ground near the prison. I’m going to have another talk with an old friend—delete that—old acquaintance who just happens to be the chief of the Federales in Oaxaca State to see what he knows. What I’d like to do is grab either Abrego or Ferris, or both, when they show up at that prison and see who that brings out of the woodwork.”

He paused and then added, “What I really would like to do is get my hands on Sergei Murov.”

When Lammelle didn’t respond, Castillo went on: “And to do any of the foregoing, I’m going to need that Black Hawk.”

“And how would you suggest I let you have that Black Hawk without finding myself in jail?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Castillo said. “What I need is either a set of CIA credentials—better yet, a CIA agent who knows his way around and can be trusted to keep his mouth shut.”

“And what could a CIA agent who knows his way around and can be trusted to keep his mouth shut do?”

“He goes to Martindale Army Airfield at Fort Sam, asks for the rotary-wing maintenance officer, waves his credentials at him, says the U.S. of A. is going to give the Black Hawk to the Mexican cops, and he would really appreciate it if they could fuel it and have an auxiliary power unit standing by when the pilots come to pick it up for a test flight.”

“And then you show up and fly away with it?”

“Dick Miller does. He and a guy named Kiril Koshkov.”

“Who the hell is Koshkov?”

“Ex-Spetsnaz,” Castillo replied. “And when the Black Hawk is at Hacienda Santa Maria, Dick will call you, and then you call your guy and he calls Martindale and tells the maintenance officer it flew so well that they decided there was no point in bringing it back to Fort Sam, so they took it to Mexico. And thanks so much for your courtesy. Since that Black Hawk was destroyed in the war against drugs, and Natalie Cohen told you to get rid of it—”

“What’s Hacienda Whatever-you-said?”

“A grapefruit farm that’s about thirty-five minutes Black Hawk flight time from the Oaxaca State Prison. It belongs to my family.”

“And what makes you think you can—or Miller and your Russian buddy can—fly a Black Hawk across the border and then all the way to your grapefruit farm—Jesus Christ, a grapefruit farm?—without being seen by either the Border Patrol and five thousand Mexicans, many of them wearing police uniforms?”

“Because the flight will be at night and nap-of-the-earth. That means just off the ground, Mr. Director.”

“Miller can do that?”

“Before he dumped his Black Hawk in Afghanistan—actually he didn’t dump it; they took an RPG hit—he was very good at it. And Kiril, with whom I just flew through the Andes at night, is just as good—maybe better.”

“This sounds insane, Charley, even coming from you. You realiz

e that?”

“The other option is Dick and me sneaking onto Martindale at night and just stealing it. The odds against getting caught are better if you have some spook you can loan me. Or, maybe, make up a set of CIA credentials for Miller and me and FedEx them to me—”

“One question, Charley,” Lammelle said, cutting him off. “Have you been talking to Vic D’Alessandro lately?”

“No. Why?”

“Is that the truth?”

“Boy Scout’s honor. Why?”

“Because Vic is in El Paso watching the post office with the help of a Clandestine Service guy named Tomás L. Diaz. General McNab does not know that Vic is there, and I don’t know that Tommy Diaz is there. Getting the picture?”