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“What does he think, do you know? Or can you guess?” Howell asked.
“I know he’s fascinated with several things,” Artigas said. “First, that he can’t identify the Ninjas at the estancia. If they were Uruguayans, Argentines, or Brazilians, by now he would have. Second, that National Match cartridge case. And the cleaning out of Lorimer’s bank accounts. He’s trying to tie those unknowns together. If he can, he’ll know what really happened at Estancia Shangri-La.”
“What do you know about Presidential Findings, Julio?” Howell asked.
“Jesus,” Yung muttered.
Howell looked at him and shrugged, as if to say, What choice do we have?
“Not much,” Artigas admitted. “I’ve heard the term.”
“Well—just talking, you understand—what I’ve heard about Presidential Findings is that they are classified Top Secret Presidential. The only persons cleared to know any details of a Presidential Finding are those cleared by the President himself or by the officer the President has named to do whatever the Presidential Finding calls for.”
“You’ve got my attention,” Artigas said.
“So hypothetically speaking, of course,” Howell went on, obviously choosing his words carefully, “if there were people privy to a Presidential Finding and it happened that a professional associate of theirs—an FBI agent, for example, or an ambassador for that matter, someone with all the standard security clearances—became interested in something touching on the details of the Finding and went
to one of these people and asked them about it, they just couldn’t tell him no matter how much they might like to, not even if telling that person would facilitate their execution of their assignment.”
“That would apply to an ambassador, too? I mean, there’s the rule that nothing is supposed to happen in a foreign country that the ambassador doesn’t know about and approves of.”
“That’s my understanding,” Howell said. “Is that your understanding, too, of how a Presidential Finding works, Yung?”
“From what I’ve heard,” Yung said.
“And from what I understand,” Howell went on, “it would be a serious breach of security for someone privy to a Presidential Finding to even admit his knowledge of any detail of a Presidential Finding. He couldn’t say, for example, ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Ambassador, but that touches on a Presidential Finding for which you are not cleared.’ He would have to completely deny any knowledge of even knowing there was a Presidential Finding.”
“Fascinating,” Artigas said. “Can I ask a question?”
“You can ask anything you want,” Yung said.
“But I may not get an answer? Is that it?”
“Ask your question,” Howell said.
“Just between us, hypothetically speaking, where do you suppose Lorimer got sixteen million dollars?”
“The ambassador thinks it was from drugs. I’m not about to question the ambassador’s judgment,” Howell said. “But, hypothetically speaking of course, it could have come from somewhere else. Embezzlement comes to mind. It could even, I suppose, have something to do with the oil-for-food scandal. I heard somewhere there was really a lot of money involved in that.”
“You know, that thought occurred to me, too.”
“Did it?” Howell asked.
“One more question?” Artigas asked.
“Shoot.”
“Monahan just now told me I was to tell him everywhere Yung went, who he talked to, what he said—everything.”
“How interesting,” Howell said. “The ambassador told me to do exactly that about Yung.”
“I’m wondering whether that would mean I should tell him about this little discussion of ours.”
“What discussion was that?”
“About Presidential Findings.”
“I don’t remember any discussion of Presidential Findings, do you, Yung?” Howell asked.
