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Britton exchanged a glance with Charley Castillo, then unfolded a thin leather wallet.
The Secret Service Agent failed to uphold the traditions of his service. Surprise, even disbelief, was written all over his face as he stepped out of the way.
The President was not in the Oval Office. Secretary of State Natalie Cohen and Secretary of Homeland Security Matthew Hall
were. They were seated side by side on one of the pair of matching couches that faced each other across a coffee table.
Hall got to his feet and offered his hand to them each in turn.
Then he asked Britton, “I don’t believe you know Secretary Cohen, do you, Jack?”
“No, sir,” Britton said.
The secretary of state stood up and offered her hand to Britton.
“Secretary Hall has been telling me what you did before joining the Secret Service,” she said. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, Madam Secretary,” Britton said.
She walked to Castillo, kissed his cheek, and said, “Hello, Charley. How are we doing with the repatriation of Mr. Lorimer’s remains?”
“They’re in a funeral home in New Orleans, Madam Secretary,” Castillo said. “Special Agent Yung accompanied them from Uruguay. I spoke with him a couple of hours ago.” He paused, then went on, “He’s got an out-of-channels message for you from Ambassador McGrory. He’s supposed to deliver it personally…”
“That’s odd, Charley,” she said. “Do you know what it is?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Let’s have it.”
“Ambassador McGrory believes Mr. Lorimer was a drug dealer—in his alter ego as Jean-Paul Bertrand, antiquities dealer—and that a drug deal went bad at his estancia and he was murdered and the sixteen million dollars stolen.”
“My God, where did he get that?” she exclaimed.
“He apparently figured that out all by himself. He confided his theory in Ambassador Silvio.”
She shook her head in disbelief.
“Unfortunately,” Castillo went on, “there’s a clever Uruguayan cop, Chief Inspector Ordóñez of the Policía Nacional, who’s pretty close to figuring out what really happened.”
That got everyone’s attention.
Castillo continued, “And he’s also positively identified one of the Ninjas we killed as Major Alejandro Vincenzo of the Cuban Dirección General de Inteligencia—”
“One of the what, Charley?” the President of the United States asked as he came into the room. “Did you say ‘Ninjas’?”
“Sir, that’s what we’re calling the people who bushwhacked us at Estancia Shangri-La.”
The President looked at him strangely.
“Sir, they were wearing balaclava masks and black coveralls,” Castillo added, some what lamely. “Ninjas—that’s what they looked like.”
“Well, I want to hear about that, of course,” the President said. “But first things first.”
He walked to Britton and offered him his hand.
“You’re Special Agent Britton, right?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President.”
