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"Who told you that?" Montvale snapped.
"I have some Russian friends, you know. They tell me all kinds of interesting things."
They heard Ellsworth trying to mask his voice in the background, then Montvale said into the phone, "What the hell are you doing in Las Vegas?"
Casey smiled again and gave Castillo a thumbs-up.
"Who told you I was in Las Vegas?"
"I'm beginning to think Miss Dillworth and a growing number of other people, including General McNab, are right."
"About what?"
"That you really have lost it."
"No. That's just a story you cooked up to convince C. Harry Whelan, Jr., of The Washington Post that a fruitcake like me could not possibly have stolen two Russian defectors from her, as Miss Dillworth alleges. Remember?"
"I think I should tell you that Miss Dillworth has told the Vienna police, the State Department, and of course Mr. Whelan, that if they are looking for the persons responsible for the Demidov murder, they should start with you and your crony Mr. Edgar Delchamps."
"Is that what they call loyalty to your co-workers? I thought agency types never ratted on one another."
"I don't suppose you know where that dinosaur is, do you?"
"He could be in Budapest, I suppose--"
"Budapest?"
"--Or Buenos Aires. Or just about any place in between."
"He's not with you in Las Vegas?"
"I never said I was in Vegas. You did."
"Wherever you are, the FBI will inevitably find you."
"I'll bet there'll be a lot of volunteers to look for me in Las Vegas. Who did you say told you I was here--I mean, there?"
Casey and Berezovsky grinned widely.
"All right, Castillo, enough. I have told the DCI I want a separate investigation of the allegations your Russian friends have made about a secret factory in the Congo. You have accomplished that much, if they are not making a fool of you. And now, it seems to me, it's time for you to put up or shut up."
"Meaning what?"
"Berezovsky and Alekseeva should step forward and tell the agency what they know."
"That's unlikely. They trust the agency a little less than even I do."
"Charley, I don't care where in the world you have them hidden. You tell me where, and I'll have a plane there in a matter of hours."
"Which will transport them to one of those nice houses the agency has in Maryland? I don't think so, Mr. Ambassador. But I'll tell you what I will do: In a couple of days, when I get it all together, I will send you everything they have told me about what the agency thinks is a harmless fish farm. Plus what I've managed to dig up myself."
Montvale didn't reply for a long moment.
"I'm surprised. I thought there was nothing you could do that would surprise me. But I should have thought that you would be doing something like this."
"Something like what?"
"You still want to go over there yourself, don't you, John Wayne? Jump on your goddamn horse and gallop off to fight the fucking Indians. You think if you can put before the President enough of your bullshit, mixed with the bullshit your fucking Russian friends are feeding you, the President will say, 'Sure, hotshot. Go over there and show up the agency. Have Montvale set it up.' All the while ignoring whatever damage you can do to the President if you fuck it up--when you fuck it
