Black Ops by W. E. B. Griffin

Author:W. E. B. Griffin
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: War, Thriller
ISBN: 0399155171
Publisher: Putnam Adult
Published: 2008-12-29T10:00:00+00:00

[SIX]

Aeropuerto Internacional Jorge Newbery

Buenos Aires, Argentina

1240 2 January 2006

As Castillo taxied the Aero Commander to the private aircraft tarmac, he saw that there were two Gulfstreams parked side by side.

One was his. The other bore USAF markings and was painted in the paint scheme of the Presidential Flight Detachment.

“Oh, shit,” he said.

He parked the Aero Commander by the USAF Gulfstream.

“I see Davidson,” Munz said. “And there are several of Pevsner’s people, too. And several of Duffy’s.”

“And I see that Gulfstream. Alfredo, can you take Svetlana to that second safe house you mentioned? Golf and Polo, Polo and Golf, whatever?”

“I am going with you,” Svetlana announced.

“You’ll do what I say. Fun-and-games time is over. Got it?”

She nodded.

“What I’m going to do is get out and have a word with the pilot,” Castillo said. “You stay—everybody but Max—in the airplane. If I walk toward Davidson, stay in the plane until we’re gone, then take Svetlana and Lester to the Polo whatever. Got it?”

“What is it, Charley?”

“I suspect it’s very bad news. The only thing that could make it worse is if they see me with Svetlana.”

“You don’t think that’s Montvale?”

“I think it’s either him or his flunky,” Castillo said. “We’ll soon find out. Open the door, please.”

Svetlana didn’t kiss him as he walked, bent nearly double, past her seat. But she stopped him, laid her hand on his cheek, and looked for a long moment into his eyes.

That was at least as intimate as a kiss.

There were two Air Force types in flying suits standing near the nose of the Gulfstream. One drew the attention of the other to Max performing his ritual at the nose gear, and then to the man in khaki trousers and a polo shirt walking toward them.

The taller of them, Castillo saw, was a light colonel wearing command pilot wings, the other a captain wearing ordinary wings.

“You speak English, sir?” the lieutenant colonel asked.

“I try,” Castillo said.

“Nice dog,” the lieutenant colonel said.

“Thank you.”

Max trotted over, sat down, and offered his paw.

The lieutenant colonel squatted and scratched Max’s ears.

“Nice airplane,” Castillo said. “Presidential Flight Detachment, right?”

The lieutenant colonel looked up at him, then stood up, but did not reply.

“I’m the SVR rezident in Buenos Aires, Colonel. We like to keep up on what our American friends are doing.”

He then handed the lieutenant colonel the identification card of Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo, Special Forces, U.S. Army.

The lieutenant colonel, recognizing the card immediately, smiled, then did a double take and examined it carefully.

“I was about to tell you, Colonel,” he said, “as tactfully as I could, that I just can’t talk about the mission of this aircraft. But since you are the mission . . .”

“Excuse me?”

“. . . I will tell you, out of school, that you’re probably in the deep shit.”

“How’s that?”

“Ambassador Montvale just blew his top at the ambassador. You didn’t miss them by five minutes. Ambassador Montvale said, and this is almost verbatim, ‘I just flew five thousand goddamned miles down here to see Lieutenant

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