The Outlaws (Presidential Agent 6)

“Would you be surprised, Charles, if I told you that thought has also run through my mind?”

Montvale didn’t reply.

“I want you to set up a meeting here at, say, five,” the President said. “We’ll brainstorm it. You, Natalie, the DCI, the FBI director, the secretary of Defense, the heads of Homeland Security and the DIA. And Colonel Hamilton, too. By then he’ll probably know if this new stuff is more Congo-X or not. In any event, he can bring everybody up to speed on what he does know.”

“Yes, sir. That’s probably a good idea.”

“I thought you might think so,” President Clendennen said.

[SIX]

The Office of the Director of National Intelligence

Eisenhower Executive Office Building

17th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W.

Washington, D.C.

1010 5 February 2007

Truman C. Ellsworth, whose title was “executive assistant to the director of National Intelligence,” learned only after having served in that position for three months that the title was most commonly used by members of the secretarial sorority to denote those women who were more than just secretaries. Those females who had, in other words, their own secretaries to do the typing, filing, and fetching of coffee.

By the time he found out, it was too late to do anything about it.

Ellsworth, a tall, silver-haired, rather elegant man in his fifties, had chosen the title himself when Charles M. Montvale had asked him to again leave his successful, even distinguished law practice in New York to work for him, as his deputy, in the newly created Directorate of National Intelligence.

He wouldn’t have the title of deputy, Montvale explained, because there was already a deputy director of National Intelligence, whom Montvale privately described as “a connected cretin” who had been appointed by the President in the discharge of some political debt.

Montvale said he would make—and he quickly had made—it clear that Truman C. Ellsworth was number two in the Office of the Director of National Intelligence, and that any title would do. Ellsworth chose “executive assistant” because an executive is someone who executes and he was inarguably going to be Montvale’s assistant.

In this role, while Charles M. Montvale sat on his office couch, Truman C. Ellsworth sat behind Montvale’s desk and called first the secretary of State, Natalie Cohen, whom he knew socially well enough to address by her first name, and told her that the President had asked “the boss” to set up a five o’clock meeting at the White House to discuss “a new development in the Congo business.”

She said she would of course be there.

Then Truman called, in turn, Wyatt Vanderpool, the secretary of Defense; John “Jack” Powell, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency; Mark Schmidt, the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation; and Lieutenant General William W. Withers, U.S. Army, the commanding general of the Defense Intelligence Agency. He told them, somewhat more curtly, that “the ambassador” had told him to call them to summon them to a five P.M. brainstorming session at the White House vis-à-vis the new development in the Congo affair. He wasn’t able to reach the secretary of Homeland Security, but he did get through to Assistant Secretary of Homeland Security Mason Andrews.

Ellsworth returned the telephone receiver to its cradle and reported as much to Ambassador Montvale: “I got through to everybody but DHS, Charles. I had to settle for Mason Andrews.”

“I wish I had thought of this when you had Jack Powell on the line,” Montvale said.

“Thought of what, Charles?”

“Castillo may be involved in this—probably is, in some way—and I have no idea where he is.”

Ellsworth’s eyebrows rose.

“I daresay that the colonel, retired, in compliance with his orders, has dropped off the face of the earth.”

“I want to know where he is,” Montvale said. “I forgot that the President told me the next time he asked, he expected me t

o be able to tell him where Castillo is.”

“Well, you can tell Jack Powell to start looking for him when you see him at the White House.”

“That’s seven hours from now,” Montvale said. “Get him on a secure line, please, Truman. I will speak with him.”

Ellsworth reached for a red telephone on the desk, and said into it, “White House, will you please get DCI Powell on a secure line for Ambassador Montvale?”