Covert Warriors (Presidential Agent 7)

“Who the hell is he?” Castillo said.

“Warden of Florence ADMAX.”

“Why did he tell you?”

“One of the three DEA guys Abrego shot was his nephew.”

“Did he know why Abrego was being transferred?”

“No.”

“Roscoe, when the White House calls, you can get on your journalist’s high horse and refuse to divulge your source. Let’s keep them guessing.”

“Yes, sir,” Danton said sarcastically.

“That’s more like it,” Castillo said. “Once you take the king’s shilling, you’re supposed to ‘yes, sir’ to the man in charge.”

“King’s shilling? What the hell are you talking about?”

“You took a lot more than a shilling, Roscoe,” Edgar Delchamps said. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

Danton looked at Delchamps and thought, Jesus Christ!

When he and Two-Gun waltzed in here, past the famed impenetrable security of the Watergate the day of the presidential press conference at Langley, they said I was going to get a million dollars in combat pay for going to the island with them.

I thought it was more of their bullshit, and then completely forgot about it.

How the fuck could I forget a million dollars?

No wonder they’re pissed.

“Would you believe I completely forgot about that?”

“That would be a stretch for me,” Castillo said.

“For me, too,” Delchamps said, “even though I’m willing to believe just about anything about someone in your line of work.”

“I believe him,” Two-Gun said.

“Tell me why,” Castillo said.

“There was a stack of mail on a little table by the door when he came in. My FBI training took over. One envelope, which Roscoe had not yet opened, was his bank statement.”

“And there’s a million-dollar deposit?” Danton asked.

“It shows that deposit and a wire transfer to the IRS of three hundred ninety-five thousand dollars. Taxes. I thought it best to take care of that for him. Prompt payment of one’s taxes tends to keep the IRS off one’s back.”

“Your call, Edgar,” Castillo said. “Do we scratch up Roscoe’s initial lack of cooperation to his being an ungrateful prick, or consider him a bona fide outlaw with a mind-boggling disdain for a million dollars?”

After what Roscoe considered a very long moment, Delchamps said, “My sainted mother always told me even the worst scoundrel deserves a second chance.”

“Okay, stick around until the White House, or Crenshaw calls, and then let me know how he handled it.”

“You got it, Ace,” Delchamps said as he looked at the passed-out Porky Parker, then glanced at his watch. “We’ve even got time to order a couple more pizzas. Porky’s no doubt going to wake up more than a little groggy and hungry.”

[ELEVEN]

The President’s Study