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“Dick’s going with me. Jake is in Charleston.”
“Is that going to work? Dick’s leg…”
“He’ll navigate. I’ll steer,” Castillo said. “It’ll work.”
Again her eyes asked for clarification.
“This is what Edgar Delchamps has come up with,” he said. “Let me know what you think…”
“This may be the dumbest thing I’ve said all week,” Agnes said when he had finished, “but it just may be the answer. I haven’t heard anything that makes more sense.”
“I really hope so,” Castillo said.
“You really like Delchamps, don’t you?” she asked.
“He’s the one who should be sitting behind that desk,” Castillo said, nodding toward his office. “He’s the only one around here who really knows what he’s doing.”
“No, he’s not,” Agnes said. “And he doesn’t enjoy the confidence of the President.”
“That’s because the President doesn’t know him—yet.”
“I wonder how Ambassador Montvale is going to take this,” Agnes said and, when she saw the look on Castillo’s face, added: “You weren’t going to tell him, were you? Charley, you have to.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Castillo said. “And, yeah, I do.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Colonel,” Ambassador Charles W. Montvale, the director of National Intelligence, said, “but you are suggesting I go to the President and say, in effect, ‘Not to worry, Mr. President. There is no threat of a nuclear detonation in Philadelphia. All the Russian suitcase nuclear devices are still in the Soviet Union. It seems President Putin has been playing a little joke on us.’”
“I’m not suggesting you do anything, Mr. Ambassador,” Castillo said.
“‘The source of this rather interesting theory is a veteran—some might even say ‘burned-out’—CIA field officer by the name of Delchamps, who does not, I’m afraid, enjoy the full confidence of his superiors in Langley,” Montvale went on.
“Why do I suspect the people you talked to at Langley cannot be counted among his legion of admirers?” Castillo asked. “For the record, I like him very much. You can find him in my dictionary under both ‘highly competent’ or ‘widely experienced.’”
“Not for the record, the people I spoke with seem to feel that not only does he regret the Cold War is over, but that he is both a Francophobe and—am I coining a phrase?—a UNphobe.”
“Maybe that’s because he’s been dealing with the French and the United Nations for a longtime.”
“They asked me if he might be considering retirement when his temporary duty with me is concluded.”
“With all respect, Mr. Ambassador, his temporary duty is with me. And if they ask that question, tell them not to hold their breath.”
“You’re fond of that expression, aren’t you?” Montvale said, then finished his original comment: “‘And no, Mr. President, there is no firm intelligence to confirm this fascinating theory. Colonel Castillo is going on a hunch.’”
Castillo said nothing.
“No comment, Colonel?”
“Mr. Ambassador, I told you I would keep you abreast of what I’m doing and plan to do. I’ve just done that.”
“Does the FBI expert, Inspector Doherty, whom you told not to hold his breath when he said he expected you to tell him if you had any contact with Pevsner or former FBI agent Kennedy—”
“You knew about that, and still sent him to me?”
“You asked for their best man and that’s who I sent you,” Montvale replied. “Does Doherty know about this fascinating theory that Putin is playing games with us?”
“He does, and I’d say he shares your opinion of it, sir.”
“Well, while you’re off in Texas and Argentina would it be possible for him to come see me and tell me what he thinks of the situation?”
