The Outlaws (Presidential Agent 6)

The President made an impatient gesture giving her permission to do so.

“Mr. President, I respectfully suggest that this whole business could be put behind us by sending either DCI Powell or—probably preferably—DDCI Lammelle back to Sergei Murov with this tape. And this time, Frank delivers the ultimatum: ‘Turn over whatever Congo-X you have, give us a written statement that you neither have control of nor have knowledge of any more of this substance, or we’ll call an emergency session of the United Nations and play this tape for the world.’”

The President didn’t respond for a moment, then he asked, more or less courteously, “Are you through, Madam Secretary?”

“Yes. For the moment.”

“The female is really the deadlier of the species, isn’t it?” the President asked rhetorically. “Natalie, do you know what would happen while we’re calling the Russian bluff? We’d be right back where we were when my impulsive predecessor sent the bombers to take out the Fish Farm: at the edge of a nuclear exchange.”

“With respect, Mr. President, I don’t think so,” Cohen said.

“What you think doesn’t really matter, does it, Natalie? I’m the President.”

“With respect, Mr. President, I associate myself with the position of the secretary of State,” Powell said.

The President ignored him.

“Now, what’s going to happen is that nothing will be done with these tapes until I say so,” the President said. “What I intend to do is find those Russians and put them on a plane to Moscow. Once we have done that, we’ll evaluate the Russian reaction, and go from there.

“And since the way to find the Russians is to find Colonel Castillo, that is the priority. When I get back from Chicago this afternoon—somewhere around three, I would guess—I want you both back here. Plus the secretary of Defense and the director of the FBI.”

“The secretary of Defense is in India, Mr. President,” Cohen said.

“I was about to say, Madam Secretary, ‘Then his deputy,’ but when I think about it, when I think about who that is, I don’t want to do that. Have General Naylor here, and if Naylor is in Timbuktu or someplace, get word to him to return immediately. When I walk back in this office this afternoon, I want to see Naylor, or you holding the general’s estimated time of arrival in your hand, Madam Secretary.

“This meeting is concluded. Thank you for coming,” the President said.

And then he walked out of the Oval Office without shaking hands with either Powell or Cohen.

[THREE]

Aboard Cessna Mustang N0099S

Bahías de Huatulco International Airport

Near Pochutla, Mexico

1015 8 February 2007

“Huatulco, Mustang Double Zero Double Nine Sugar,” Castillo called in Spanish. “Will you close out my VFR flight plan from Cancún, please? We just decided to stop for lunch.”

“Double Zero Double Nine, are you on the ground?”

“No. I’m on final to a dirt strip next to a marvelous restaurant on Route 200 near Bajos de Chila.”

“I know the place. Report when on the ground. Have a nice lunch.”

Castillo passed over the coastline and made a slow, sweeping descent over the Pacific Ocean. Although there was a marvelous restaurant near Bajos de Chila, he had no intention of landing on the dirt strip behind it.

When he had dropped almost to the surface of the sea—and had thus, he hoped, dropped off the Huatulco radar—he touched his throat microphone again.

“Huatulco, Double Zero Double Nine on the ground at one seven past the hour.”

“Double Zero Double Nine, Huatulco closing you out as of ten-seventeen.”

“Thank you.”

Two minutes later, having spotted the pier he was looking for, he picked up enough altitude to pass over a small hill on the coastline. At the peak of the climb, he spotted the landing strip he was looking for, dropped the nose, made a straight-in approach, and greased the landing.