The Shooters (Presidential Agent 4)

"As soon as whatever happens in there is over," he said, nodding at the door to the conference room. "First, I want to hit the commo room."

There were five young men in the small room off Castillo's office, which had been taken over as the commo room. There was something about them that suggested the military despite their civilian clothing-sports jackets and slacks-and their "civilian haircuts."

No one called attention, but the moment Castillo pushed open the door all of them were on their feet and standing tall.

"Good morning, Jamie," Castillo said to the young man closest to him, gesturing for the men to relax.

"Welcome home, Colonel," Sergeant James "Jamie" Neidermeyer said.

Neidermeyer, just imported from the Stockade at Bragg to run the OOA commo room, was a little shorter than Castillo, with wide shoulders, a strong youthful face, and thoughtful eyes.

"Thank you, Jamie. Unfortunately, I won't be staying. Got your bag packed?"

"Yes, sir."

"You don't have to leave our nation's capital, of course, Jamie. You could send one of these guys."

Castillo put out his hand to the next closest of the young men.

"My name is Castillo."

"Yes, sir. Sergeant First Class Pollman, Colonel."

As he repeated the process with the others, Max went to the near corner of the room and lay down, his eyes on Castillo and the room.

"What do you guys think of our new radios?" Castillo asked.

There was a chorus of "Outstanding, sir!" and "First class, sir!"

"We just talked to Colonel Torine, sir," Neidermeyer said. "He was five minutes out of Buenos Aires."

"Mrs. Forbison told me," Castillo said. "I guess Jamie has brought you up to speed on the new radios? And what we're doing here?"

Another chorus of "Yes, sir."

"Anyone got any family problems-girlfriend problems don't count-with working with us-here and elsewhere-for a while?"

Another chorus, this time of "No, sir."

"And everybody is on per diem, right? Which doesn't look like it's going to be enough for Washington?"

This time it was apparent that all of them were reluctant to complain.

"Mrs. Forbison will get you each an American Express credit card," Castillo said. "They will be paid by the Lorimer Charitable amp; Benevolent Fund, which understands the problems of a hardship assignment in W

ashington. Use them for everything-meals, your rooms, laundry-everything but whiskey and wild women. Save your per diem for the whiskey and wild women. There's a threat to go along with that: Make any waves that call any attention whatever to what's going on here and you will shortly afterward find yourself teaching would-be Rangers how to eat snakes, rodents, and insects in the semitropical jungle swamps at Hurlburt. Everybody understand that?"

That produced another chorus, this time with smiles, of "Yes, sir."

"Okay. I'm glad to have you. I know that Vic D'Alessando wouldn't have sent you if you weren't the best." He paused to let that sink in, then asked, "Questions?"

"Sir, what kind of a dog is that?"

"Max is a Bouvier des Flandres," Castillo said. "It has been reliably reported that one of his ancestors bit off one of Adolf Hitler's testicles during the first world war."

That produced more smiles.

"And you, Sergeant Phillips, are herewith appointed his temporary custodian. I've got to go sit around a table with some Washington bureaucrats, and I don't think Max would be welcome. Have we got anything we can use as a leash?"