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"The wheezing, I suspect, reveals a certain indecision," Delchamps said.
"I was thinking that Svetlana probably should hear this," Castillo said.
"Or wondering how you could keep her from hearing it?" Delchamps said.
Svetlana flashed him an icy look.
"I was about to say, 'What the hell, the barn door's open; there's no way to get the cow back in,'" Delchamps went on, which earned him an ever more frigid glare, "but I was afraid she might take it the wrong way."
Davidson chuckled.
"Mr. Lee-Watson, will you excuse us for a few minutes? There's an important call I--we--have to take."
"Of course."
The AFC radio was set up on a small escritoire in a small room off the corridor. There was an interior door. Castillo opened it and saw that it opened on the bedroom of the master suite.
He closed the door, and noticed that Bradley was about to leave the room. "Stay, Lester," Castillo said, and sat down carefully on an elegantly styled and obviously fragile chair.
"Thank you so much, my ever thoughtful Charley," Svetlana said sarcastically.
He started to get up to give her the chair, then changed his mind.
"You're welcome," he said, and checked the LEDs on the AFC. They were all green. One of them indicated the conversation would be conducted with the protection of AFC Class One encryption, which Aloysius Francis Casey had personally informed him that even the master National Security Agency eaves-droppers at Fort Meade, Maryland, could not penetrate.
Castillo pushed the SPEAKERPHONE button.
"How they hanging, Vic? What's up?"
There was no immediate reply, and when a reply did come, it was not in D'Allessando's familiar Brooklynese but rather in the cri
sp diction that immediately and unequivocally identified the other party to Castillo as Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab, Commanding General of the United States Special Operations Command: "Colonel Castillo."
"Good evening, sir."
"I wasn't sure Vic could get through to you, Colonel. I didn't think they would permit you to take one of Aloysius's radios on your terminal leave."
"General, I'm not on terminal leave."
There was a pause.
"But now that I have you, Colonel: Although you have caused me a lot of grief during our long relationship, on balance you were far more useful than I ever thought you would be. Given that, I wanted to tell you personally that I did my best to dissuade General Naylor from going along with Ambassador Montvale. I failed. I'm sorry, and I wanted to tell you that myself."
"Sir, I am not on terminal leave."
"Well, if you're not, you soon will be. Colonel Remley, my G-1, is on his way down there with the appropriate papers for you to sign." He paused. "That presumes, of course, that he can find you. He's not one of us, so that's quite possible. Where are you?"
"Sir, I met briefly with Colonel Remley. And Ambassador Montvale. Several hours ago. They are both by now on their way back to the States. I declined to sign whatever it was he wanted me to sign."
"Did Colonel Remley inform you that I had sent him down there at General Naylor's direction to have you sign your acceptance of the medical board's conclusions?"
"No, sir. Neither your name nor General Naylor's was mentioned. Ambassador Montvale made it quite clear he wanted me to sign whatever Colonel Remley had for me to sign. I declined to do so."
"Charley, if the President has decided it's time for you to go, it's your duty to go. You should know that."
"Sir, the President is unaware of what Ambassador Montvale had planned for me."
This time the pause was longer before McNab spoke again.
