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Well, it’s not as if I’ve been sprawled in a chair watching TV and sucking on a beer.
I’ll call her the first chance I get and explain. As soon as I get to the hotel. She’ll understand.
He turned his attention to the Micro Uzi and took it from its box. It looked almost brand-new.
Castillo had had a lot of experience with the Uzi in the three common variants—Standard, Mini, and Micro—which all fired the 9mm Luger Parabellum cartridge, which was a much better cartridge than the 9mm Kurz .380 ACP.
The Standard Uzi, with a full magazine, weighed about eight pounds, just about what the standard M-16 rifle weighed. The Mini Uzi weighed just under six pounds, about half a pound more than the Car-4 version of the M-16. The Micro weighed about three and a half pounds. There was no equivalent version of the M-16.
Which was one of the reasons why the Micro was a favored weapon of special operators. Another was that it had a much higher rate of fire, 1,250 rounds per minute, double that of the Standard and 300 rpm more than the Micro. In Castillo’s mind, using the Micro was like having a shotgun in your hand, with nowhere near the bulk, weight, or recoil of a 12-gauge shotgun.
“At the risk of repeating myself,” Castillo said, “just what the doctor ordered.”
Franklin looked at him uncomfortably but didn’t say anything.
“Let’s go get you off hook and get the ambassador on the horn,” Castillo said.
“Why don’t we?” Franklin said, and added, “Let me carry those for you, Mr. Castillo.”
Does he think I’m going to grab them and run out of the embassy?
“Thank you,” Castillo said. “And I’ll need ammunition. A couple of boxes of 9mm Parabellum and a box of .22 Long Rifle, please.”
Franklin nodded, went into a cabinet inside the locker, and came out with the ammunition.
A fat man in a white shirt limp with sweat was coming heavily down the stairwell as they went up.
“There’s a call from the White House switchboard for Colonel Castillo, Mr. Franklin,” he announced in awe.
“Come into the phone room with me, please, Mr. Franklin,” Castillo said. “If that’s who I think it is, maybe we won’t have to bother the ambassador.”
“We have Colonel Castillo on a secure line for you, Director Montvale,” the White House operator announced.
“Director Montvale is ready for the colonel,” Montvale said.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Castillo said.
“I’m glad I caught you, Colonel. We seem to be having communications problems.”
“It seems that way, sir. Sir, before we get into this, I have Mr. Franklin with me…”
“Who?”
“He’s the CIA station chief, sir.”
“What’s that about?”
“I need a weapon—weapons—sir, and he seems uncomfortable giving them to me.”
“Why do you need a weapon?”
Castillo didn’t reply. After ten seconds, which seemed much longer, Ambassador Montvale said, a touch of resignation in his voice, “‘Put him on the line.”
“Is there a speakerphone on this?” Castillo asked Franklin.
“There’s a switch on the wall,” Franklin said, then went to it and pushed a button.
“Nathaniel Franklin, sir,” he announced.
