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“I don’t understand why this Kennedy fellow was concerned that the FBI agent saw him,” Montvale said.
“Kennedy is obviously paranoid,” the President said. “He thinks the FBI is still looking for him, despite my specific orders that the search be called off, and that if they find him they will terminate him.”
“That’s absurd!”
“Oh, I agree. For one thing, terminating him would be illegal,” the President said.
“Why would they want to?”
“Well,” Castillo said, “Kennedy thinks—he was a senior agent in the Ethical Standards Division of the FBI before he left—it’s because he knows where all the FBI’s skeletons are buried.”
“Charley,” the President said, “correct me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t the secrecy provisions of the Finding extend to anything connected with what you were doing down there? I mean, even to who any of your people saw anywhere?”
“I made that point to Mr. Yung, sir.”
“Well, that should do it,” the President said. “But since the subject came up, Charles, why don’t you check with the CIA and the FBI to make sure they haven’t forgotten my specific orders? If they have, I’d really like to hear about it.”
“I can’t believe they would ignore any presidential order, Mr. President.”
“Check, Charles, please,” the President said.
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Charley, I didn’t hear you say whether you found anything useful at this fellow’s estancia.”
“Sir, we found an address book, a coded address book. Agent Yung said it looks to him like a fairly simple code and that it should be breakable.”
“That’s underway?”
“No, sir. I came right here from the hotel, sir. And…”
“And what?”
“And frankly, sir, I thought it would be better to see if I still have a job, before going over to Fort Meade to—”
The President cut him off with a raised hand. “All you found at the estancia was this address book?”
“No, sir. We found written confirmation of what Agent Yung believed was the money Mr. Lorimer had in Uruguayan banks.”
“A good deal of money? More than he could reasonably have socked away for a rainy day?”
“Fifteen-point-seven million dollars, Mr. President.”
“What sort of evidence?” Ambassador Montvale asked. “Bankbooks? Certificates of deposit? What?”
The President flashed Montvale a very cold look, then looked at Castillo.
“Sir, what Mr. Lorimer did was in effect loan the banks the money. What we took from the safe…I have them with me.”
“You have what with you?” Montvale asked.
“Let me ask the questions, Charles, please,” the President said and made a Give me whatever you have gesture to Castillo with both hands.
Castillo some what awkwardly took a handful of colorfully printed documents from his briefcase and handed them to the President.
The President glanced at them, then said, “You’re the linguist, Charley. I have no idea what these say.”
“Sir, they’re certificates signed by officers of the banks involved, essentially stating that a payment on demand loan has been made by Mr. Lorimer to their bank and that the bank will honor—pay—these things, like checks, once Mr. Lorimer has endorsed them. Sort of like bearer bonds, Mr. President, but not exactly.”
