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The thing to do is find this Castillo character and talk to him; see if he has any idea why Meryl Streep and the other disgruntled whistleblower, whose thigh “accidentally” pressed against mine twice in the Old Ebbitt, are saying all these terrible things about him.
But only after I talk to Good Ol’ Meryl and her pal, to see what else I can get out of them.
He tapped keys on his laptop, opened a new folder, named it “Castillo,” and downloaded Porky’s e-mail into it. Then he found the piece of paper on which Good Ol’ Meryl had given him her phone number. He put this into the “Castillo” folder and entered it into his BlackBerry.
Then he pushed the CALL key.
[ONE]
La Casa en el Bosque
San Carlos de Bariloche
Patagonia
Río Negro Province, Argentina
1300 3 February 2007
“I believe in a democratic approach when having a meeting like this,” Lieutenant Colonel Carlos G. Castillo, USA (Retired), announced. “And the way that will work is that I will tell you what’s going to happen, and then everybody says ‘Yes, sir.’”
It was summer in Argentina, and Castillo, a well-muscled, six-foot-two, one-hundred-ninety-pound, blue-eyed thirty-six-year-old with a full head of thick light brown hair, was wearing tennis whites.
There were groans from some of those gathered around an enormous circular table in the center of a huge hall. It could have been a movie set for a motion picture about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. When this thought had occurred to Sandra Britton, Ph.D., Dr. Britton had thought Castillo could play Sir Lancelot.
Two people, one of each gender, gave Castillo the finger.
“We told quote unquote those people in Las Vegas that we would give them an answer in three weeks,” Castillo said. “Three weeks is tomorrow.”
“Go ahead, Ace. Let’s get it over with,” Edgar Delchamps said. He was a nondescript man in his late fifties. The oldest man in the room, he was wearing slacks with the cuffs rolled up and a dress shirt with the collar open.
“I would like to suggest that we appoint a chairman for this, and a secretary, and I recommend Mr. Yung for that,” Castillo said.
“Cut the crap, Ace,” Delchamps said. “Everyone knows you’re calling the shots, but if you’re going to make Two-Gun something, I more or less respectfully suggest you make him secretary-treasurer.”
Men who have spent more than three decades in the Clandestine Service of the Central Intelligence Agency tend not to be impressed with Army officers who had yet to make it even to West Point while they themselves were matching wits with the KGB in Berlin and Vienna.
“Two-Gun, you’re the secretary-treasurer,” Castillo said to David William Yung, Jr.
Yung was a round-faced, five-foot-eight, thirty-six-year-old, hundred-fifty-pound Chinese-American whose family had immigrated to the United States in the 1840s. In addition to a law degree, he held a master’s degree in business administration from the University of Pennsylvania, and was fluent in four languages, none of them Asian.
Before he had become a member of the OOA, he had been an FBI agent with a nearly legendary reputation for being able to trace the path of money around the world no matter how often it had been laundered.
Before his association with OOA, Yung had never—except at the Quantico FBI base pistol range—taken his service pistol from its holster. Within days of being drafted into the OOA, he had been in a gun battle and killed his first man.
But the “Two-Gun” appellation had nothing to do with that. That had come after Delchamps, who was not authorized at the time to be in possession of a firearm in Argentina, had Yung, whose diplomatic status at the time made him immune to Argentine law, smuggle his pistol across the border. Yung thus had two guns and was thereafter Two-Gun.
Two-Gun Yung signified his acceptance of his appointment by raising his balled fist thumbs up, and then opening up his laptop computer.
“First things first, Mr. Secretary-Treasurer,” Castillo said. “Give us a thumb-nail picture of the assets of the Lorimer Charitable and Benevolent Fund.”
Two-Gun looked at his computer screen.
“This is all ballpark, you understand,” he said. “You want the history?”
“Please,” Castillo said.
“We started out with those sixteen million in bearer bonds from Shangri-La,” Yung said.
