"Can you tell me with whom?"
There was a long pause, then:
"The secretary of State, Ambassador Montvale, and the directors of the CIA and the FBI. However, the President's given special instructions should someone call about you, sir."
There was another long pause, then Castillo heard the President's voice snap, "Yes, what is it?"
"Are you free to speak with Colonel Castillo, Mr. President?"
"Oh, am I ever. Are you on here, Castillo?"
"Yes, Mr. President."
"Hang on a minute. I'm going to the little office."
"Yes, Mr. President."
Castillo quickly formed a mental picture of what was happening. The President of the United States was rising from his desk in the Oval Office--or from an armchair or a couch--and marching into the smaller office just off the Oval Office, officially known as "the President's working office," leaving behind him Secretary of State Natalie Cohen, FBI Director Mark Schmidt, Director of Central Intelligence John Powell, and Director of National Intelligence Charles W. Montvale, all of whom had just come to the same conclusion: that the President didn't want any one of them to hear what he was going to say to a lowly lieutenant colonel, and that they were going to be furious to varying degrees, none of them minor.
"Okay, Charley, I'm in here."
"Yes, Mr. President."
"I think you'd agree that Mark Schmidt is not given to colorful speech," the President said.
"Sir?"
"He just came up with something very colorful. He said, 'As far as out-of-control loose-cannons rolling around are concerned, Castillo by comparison makes Oliver North look like the Rock of Gibraltar.' "
The President let that sink in.
"Of course, that may be because he is just a little humiliated that the FBI can't find you or those two Russians you stole from the CIA."
Castillo didn't reply.
"Why did you steal those defectors from the CIA, Charley?"
"Sir, the CIA never had them."
"Then there is another side to this horror story I have just heard?"
"Yes, sir, there is."
"Did you tell the DCI that you refused to turn over the stolen Russians to him?"
"Sir, they were not stolen. I told him that the Russians did not wish to turn themselves over to the CIA."
"And also that the CIA was nothing more than a very few very good people, or words to that effect, trying to stay afloat in a sea of left-wing bureaucrats?"
"Yes, sir. I'm afraid I did."
"What are you doing in Las Vegas?"
"Sir, I'm not in Las Vegas."
"Charles Montvale says you are."
"Ambassador Montvale has been wrong before, too, sir."