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"Tell me more about the Congo."
"We know which German companies sold chemicals to it before Iraq fell," Berezovsky offered reluctantly, clearly unhappy, if not uncomfortable, that that chess piece had been put into play. "We know which German companies are selling chemicals to it now. And running it, of course."
"Running it for whom?"
"Who would you think, Colonel?" Berezovsky asked sarcastically.
"Answer that question, Colonel, and any others I might pose, or get the hell out of here."
Berezovsky glared at him for five full seconds.
"Iran, of course," he said.
"Why isn't whatever is being made for the Iranians in this factory in the Congolese jungle--"
"I didn't say it was in the jungle," Berezovsky interrupted.
"--not being made in Iran?" Castillo finished.
"How modest of you," Berezovsky said. "Because if it were, that information would have been in Langley years ago. The CIA is not nearly as inept as they would have us believe."
Castillo had a quick moment to look at Davidson. It was enough to see in his eyes that he, too, believed what they were being told.
"You know where this factory is?" Castillo said.
Berezovsky nodded. "Somewhere between Kisangani and Lake Albert."
"That's a large, empty area."
"That's why it was chosen in the first place."
"Chosen by whom?"
"Some chemical manufacturers in what was then known as East Germany. They said they wanted the land to grow various products for medicinal use."
Castillo looked at Davidson and mimed flipping a coin in the air and then looking to see how it came up.
"You just won, Colonel," he said. "That's the good news. The bad news is that if I find out you've been less than truthful with me, I guarantee that I personally will hand you over to the Federal'naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti."
Berezovsky nodded calmly.
"Like yourself, Colonel," he said, "I am an officer. You have my word."
Jesus Christ, does he believe that? Does he think I will?
"You ever hear that Roman Catholic priests assigned to the Congo--at least in the old days--were excused from their vows of celibacy?" Castillo asked.
Berezovsky looked at his sister and chuckled.
"Is true, Svetlana."
"Well, much the same thing happens to West Pointers such as myself. When they give us jobs like mine, we are perfectly free to lie, cheat, steal, and get to be pals with other people who do."
Berezovsky thought that was amusing. Castillo saw in Svetlana's eyes that she did not.
"Okay, what happens now is that when the train pulls into the Westbahnhof, there will be Wiener Tages Zeitung trucks on each platform."
