The Hunters (Presidential Agent 3)

“Thanks, Dick,” Davidson said, simply. “He’ll accept that. It won’t be the first time the general has sent me to try to keep a tight rein on him.”

“How do you think we should handle Corporal Big Mouth?” Miller asked, looking at Bradley.

“Hide him in plain sight,” Davidson said. “At the embassy in Buenos Aires.”

“One of the reasons Castillo brought him here was because he knew the gunnery sergeant of the guard detachment there was going to want to know what he’s been up to and wasn’t going to back off until Bradley told him.”

“I know a master gunnery sergeant named MacNamara at Eighth and Eye—Marine Corps Headquarters?”

“I know where it is,” Miller said.

“He’s a heavy hitter in Force Recon. Lester said if he got on the horn to the gunnery sergeant in Argentina and told him to ask no questions, he would ask no questions.”

“What are you going to tell your friend about why you want him to make that call?”

“I’ll tell him I can’t tell him. He’ll go along.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Let’s not cross that bridge until we get there.”

“See if you can get him on the horn now. If you can, tell him to come here. We’ll dazzle him with Charley’s office and my Class A uniform and see what happens.”

Davidson nodded.

“You pack a suitcase?” Miller asked.

Davidson nodded again.

“Okay. If your master gunnery sergeant will go along, we’ll get you both on a flight out of Miami tomorrow night.”

[THREE]

Danubius Hotel Gellért

Szent Gellért tér 1

Budapest, Hungary

0125 7 August 2005

Lieutenant Colonel Castillo—half asleep—became aware that something wet and cold was pressing against his face. The first thing he thought was that he had drooled on his pillow, then rolled over onto the wet spot.

This happened to him every once in a while and he hated it. Telling himself that he couldn’t be held responsible for drooling while he was asleep didn’t help any more than applying the same logic to what was euphemistically known as nocturnal emissions. It was embarrassing, annoying, and even shameful. Age seemed to have dealt with the nocturnal emission problem, but drooling remained a real pain in the ass.

He put his

hand out to push himself away from the wet spot—and suddenly was wide awake, his heart jumping.

There was something warm, firm, and hairy in bed with him.

In the same split instant, he became aware of a deep growl.

“Max, you sonofabitch! How did you get in bed?”

Max growled again—but not at Castillo.

He had left Max in Billy Kocian’s bedroom, presuming Max would prefer sleeping in there—on a huge, fluffy dog bed on the floor next to Kocian’s enormous, antique canopied bed—instead of here, in another bedroom.