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“And?”
“Hall and Natalie Cohen,” Castillo said.
“How effusive was the ambassador in his praise for our little undertaking?” Torine said.
Castillo chuckled. “Actually, he called you—us—‘the major and his small, valiant band of men.’”
“No kidding?” Torine said. “Well, I can live with that.”
“He actually tried to take us—the Office of Organizational Analysis—over.”
“Oh, shit!” Torine said.
“He didn’t get away with it,” Castillo said. “The President cut him off in midsentence.”
“Leaving us where?” Miller asked.
“We’re still in business,” Castillo said. “The President was very clear about that.” He looked at Miller. “Colonel Torine’s brought you up to speed on everything, right, Dick?”
Miller nodded.
“David, we have something with Lorimer’s signature on it, don’t we?” Castillo asked.
Yung nodded.
“Well, as soon as possible, take it over to Langley,” Castillo said. “That means right now. Something with Lorimer’s signature on it, and the bearer bonds or whatever the hell they’re called.”
“Why?” Yung asked.
“So the agency’s finest forgers can put Lorimer’s signature on the bearer bonds and we can grab the money. It’s now our operating budget.”
“Lovely idea,” Torine said. “Fifteen-point-seven million is a nice little operating budget. But what are you going to do when Montvale finds out about it? And he will.”
“Actually, it was his idea,” Castillo said. “Admittedly while he was still thinking he could bring us under his benevolent wing.”
“Where am I supposed to put it?” Yung said.
“Good question,” Castillo said.
“I’ve got an account in the Cayman Islands,” Yung said. “At the Liechtensteinische Landesbank.”
“You’ve got what?” Castillo asked, incredulously. “A pillar of the FBI, an expert in uncovering money laundering, and you’re hiding your own money from the IRS in the Liechtensteinische Landesbank in the Cayman Islands?”
Yung was not amused.
“It was an investigative tool, Major,” he said. “I opened the account both to see how that could be done and so that I could be kept abreast of any changes in their banking laws. As a depositor, I could ask questions that I could not ask otherwise.”
“That’s even better,” Castillo said, delightedly. “The FBI has money in the Liechtensteinische Landesbank in the Caymans. Is nothing sacred anymore?”
“What the hell is that?” Britton asked. “Lickten-what?”
“Liechtenstein is a little country—run by a prince—about twenty miles long and five miles wide between Switzerland and Austria,” Castillo said. “Landesbank means ‘state bank.’ The Liechtensteiners make their money growing cows and banking other people’s money.”
“Actually, the funds in the bank are mine,” Yung said. “Using my own money to open the account was easier than trying to get permission—and, of course, the money itself—from the FBI.”
“And how much of your own money are you sequestering in your Liechtensteinische Landesbank account?”
“Twenty-five hundred dollars.”
