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“They didn’t have to ask me. They know how I would feel about that.”
“They haven’t asked me either, Aloysius, what I think about it. Nor have they solicited my suggestions vis-à-vis what should be done about it by ‘we people.’ Which is what triggered my line of thought in this area. Have you considered the possibility that those people simply don’t care what we think, Aloysius?”
There was a thirty-second silence which seemed much longer.
“Jesus Christ, Jack,” Casey said finally, “you’re right. I’m ashamed to admit that I never questioned anything those people did, or asked me to do. Well, fuck them!”
“It’s not black-and-white, Aloysius. Those people do more good than harm. But when the harm they’re capable of might be directed at people like Castillo and the Russians, I can’t go along.”
“Didn’t you hear me say ‘Fuck them’?”
“Don’t say that to those people. Let them think they are still on Mount Olympus graciously protecting people like you and me—and of course the United States—from our ignorance.”
“Okay.”
“Do those people know where Castillo is?”
“Yeah. Of course. They have his position indicator on their laptops. So do you. He’s at his grandmother’s place in Mexico.” Casey paused, then added, “Shit! You think maybe somebody already told the CIA?!”
“I have to think that’s possible. Can you devise a spurious position indicator for him?”
“Where do you want him to start moving to in twenty seconds, Jack?”
“Doesn’t he have family in Germany? Do you know where?”
“Yeah. Outside Frankfurt. But what about Budapest?”
“What’s in Budapest?”
“A guy on Charley’s net. He’s sort of like an uncle to him. Billy Kocian?”
“I don’t know the name.”
“Good guy. Trust me.”
“Budapest sounds fine.”
“I can call Billy and tell him what’s happening. And ... what I could do, Jack, is put Charley’s position indicator on one of those boats that sails up and down the Danube between Vienna and Budapest. That would drive those people bonkers wondering what the hell he’s up to.”
“A splendid idea!”
“Anything else I can do for you?”
“Aloysius, do you—or your people—ever work with extremely low temperatures, using gases in the minus two-hundred-degrees Celsius area?”
“All the time. The colder you get something, the faster everything electrical moves. Twice a week, I say, ‘Eureka! This will work!’ and then everything that cold turns brittle and shatters when somebody in Los Angeles or Chicago burps, and we’re back to Step Fucking One.”
“Helium?”
“Of course. It’s a little pricey, but you can go down to about minus two-seventy Celsius with helium.”
“You’ve got a pretty good source of supply for helium?”
“Yeah. Several of them. Where are you going with this, Jack?”
“You could order, say, a thousand liters, two thousand, even more, of helium without attracting much attention?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
