Covert Warriors (Presidential Agent 7)

“Hand me the wine, my dear, and spare me your comments,” Castillo ordered.

Svetlana complied docilely.

“Colonel Castillo,” Murov called.

Castillo looked. Murov and Janos were at the door. Janos had his arms wrapped around the struggling naked man.

Castillo made the sign of the cross.

“Bless you, my son,” he called. “Go in peace, and sin no more. Amen.”

“Carlos!” Svetlana said, in almost a whine.

“It’s Clemens McCarthy, Colonel Castillo,” Murov said. “And a Secret Service agent named Douglas.”

[THREE]

The President’s Study

The White House

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W.

Washington, D.C.

0805 21 April 2007

Secret Service Special Agent Mark Douglas pushed the door open and announced, “Mr. President, the secretary of State.”

“Well, show her in,” President Clendennen ordered.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” Secretary Cohen said.

“Dare I hope, Madam Secretary, that you have heard from that miserable sonofabitch Martinez?” Clendennen asked.

“Actually, Mr. President, I’ve just spoken with Ambassador McCann,” she replied. “President Martinez called him with the information we’ve been waiting for. I took the call from the ambassador just now in my car.”

“And?”

“Mr. D’Alessandro is to meet with a Mexican deputy attorney general, a man named Manuel José Guzmán, at one o’clock this afternoon in the Camino Real Acapulco Diamante in Acapulco. Señor Guzmán will have the police chief, Pena, with him.”

“The where?”

“The Camino Real Acapulco Diamante, Mr. President. The literal translation is ‘Royal Road Acapulco Diamond.’ What it is is one of the better hotels in Acapulco.”

“Does this man D’Alessandro know how to find it? Where is he? How’s he going to get from where he is to Acapulco?”

Secretary Cohen said: “I understand that Mr. D’Alessandro is with General Naylor in the El Paso Marriott.”

“You heard that, Douglas,” the President ordered. “Get this man or General Naylor on the phone.”

“D’Alessandro may be registered as José Gomez, Mr. Douglas,” the secretary of State said.

“What the hell is that all about?” the President demanded.

“I don’t know, sir,” she said.

“Well, goddammit, don’t you think you should?”