It is as accurate to say the bar is on the floor below the lobby as it is to say it's on the ground floor. Avenida Florida, level for most of its length, takes a steep dip as it pa.s.ses the Plaza on its way to Avenida Libertador and the main railroad station.

It is thus possible to turn off Florida and enter the bar almost directly. It is also possible, fifty feet away, to turn off Florida and enter the hotel lobby. If one elects the latter choice, then one must take the stairs or the elevator and go down one floor to get to the bar.

The director of National Intelligence, the Honorable Charles M. Montvale, and his executive a.s.sistant, the Honorable Truman Ellsworth, entered the bar by coming down the stairs, shortly after being told in the lobby that Roscoe J. Danton was sitting at the bar alone, second stool from the wall.

This information had come to them from Winston Gump, one of the Clandestine Service officers who had arrived in Buenos Aires that morning. Montvale had drafted Gump to attend him-the phrase he used was "work with"-in the belief that one never knew when one might require the skills of a veteran of the Clandestine Service. For his part, Gump was flattered by having been selected to serve-he thought "serve," not "work with"-the most senior person in the American intelligence community and his executive a.s.sistant.

Gump did wonder about Executive a.s.sistant Ellsworth. He didn't look like a male version of a super secretary, nor did he look that way that way, but Gump knew you couldn't always judge a book by its cover, and there were all those stories going around how J. Edgar Hoover and his a.s.sistant could hardly wait to get home to put on dresses.

Anything, Gump had learned in his clandestine service, was possible.

"Well, Truman," Montvale said. "Look who's here!"

Ellsworth took the bar stool closest to the wall; Montvale took the one on the other side.

Roscoe J. Danton raised his voice: "Hey, Pedro, look who's here!"

Oh, s.h.i.t! He's drunk!

On reflection, that might not be entirely a bad thing.

"Friend of yours, Roscoe?" Truman Ellsworth asked as he looked around the bar until he found a man sitting at one of the tables drinking a c.o.ke while trying hard and almost succeeding in pretending he had not heard Danton calling, or seen Danton pointing at Montvale and Ellsworth.

"Not exactly."

"We'll have what our friend is having," Montvale said. "And give him another."

"And maybe one for your not-exactly-a-friend?" Ellsworth asked.

"I'm sure he'd love one, but he's on duty, and from what I've observed, plainclothes officers of the Gendarmeria Nacional do not drink while on duty."

"You're suggesting that you're being surveilled by the Argentines?" Montvale asked.

"It was more a statement than a suggestion, Mr. Amba.s.sador," Danton said. "Either that guy, or one of his cousins, has been with me from the moment I tried to buy a used car."

"You what?"

"A man named Alexander Darby-of whom you may have heard ... No. Of whom I'm sure you have heard; he was in the Clandestine Service of the CIA, like the guy I suspect you sent in here a couple of minutes ago-was retiring from government service ..."

"You saw Alex, did you, Roscoe?" Ellsworth asked.

Danton nodded, then went on: "... and had put his car up for sale. Clever journalist that I am, I got from the offer of sale his address, which the emba.s.sy press officer, Mizz Mizz Sylvia Grunblatt, wouldn't give me, citing federal rules vis-a-vis privacy." Sylvia Grunblatt, wouldn't give me, citing federal rules vis-a-vis privacy."

"So you saw him?" Ellsworth asked.

"Why did you want to see Darby, Roscoe?" Montvale asked.

The conversation was interrupted by the bartender, who delivered three trays with the proper gla.s.ses and other accessories for the whisky-pouring, and a whisky bottle.

"You may have cause to regret your impulsive generosity, Mr. Montvale," Danton said. He pointed to the whisky bottle. "That is The Macallan eighteen-year-old Highland single malt Scotch whisky. Were I not on the expense account-or for your generosity-I would shudder to think of the cost."

"My privilege, Roscoe," Montvale said.

"While he's going through that absolutely marvelous pouring routine, Roscoe, you were about to tell us why you wanted to see Alex Darby," Ellsworth said.

"So I was," Danton said. "So I went to his apartment. He and his wife were there-"

"And how is Julia?" Ellsworth asked.

"Well, now that you mention it, she seemed a little p.i.s.sed with her husband. But I digress. He was there with another CIA dinosaur, a guy named Delchamps. And, and, and and ... an Irishman named Duffy, who had with him three guys. Pedro over there was one of them." ... an Irishman named Duffy, who had with him three guys. Pedro over there was one of them."

Danton waved at Pedro, who did not respond.

"No sooner did I begin to mention that I wanted to ask Darby about a rumor going around-"

"What kind of a rumor?"

"Why do I think you know what kind of rumor?"

"Because, by your own admission, you are a clever journalist," Montvale said. "But tell me anyway."

"Our late, and not too mourned, President had a Special Operations hotshot working for him. Directly for him. An Army guy, a lieutenant colonel named Castillo. Said Special Operations hotshot ... I have this from a source I almost believe ... is said to have s.n.a.t.c.hed two defecting Russians, big ones-from your your CIA station chief in Vienna, Mr. Amba.s.sador-just as she was about to load them on a CIA airplane and ship them to the States. He and they then disappeared. CIA station chief in Vienna, Mr. Amba.s.sador-just as she was about to load them on a CIA airplane and ship them to the States. He and they then disappeared.

"I also have heard a rumor that the Russian defectors told this hotshot that the Russians, the Iranians, and other people had a biological warfare factory in the Congo, and that he told the President, whereupon we went immediately to DefConTwo, and shortly thereafter a chunk of the Congo was. .h.i.t by everything in the a.r.s.enal of democracy except nukes."

"You told Alex ... and this Irish fellow, Duffy ... all that?" Ellsworth asked.

"I didn't get two words beyond mentioning Costello's ... Castillo's Castillo's ... name when suddenly I was being asked for my identification and being patted down by Pedro over there." ... name when suddenly I was being asked for my identification and being patted down by Pedro over there."

Danton smiled and waved at Pedro again.

He went on: "Duffy then told me there was a question with my papers, but since I was a friend of Mr. Darby, instead of being hauled off to Gendarmeria Nacional headquarters until it could be straightened out, they would allow me to spend the night here in the River Plate Marriott. And they would be happy to drive me there."

"Where do you think Alex is now, Roscoe?"

"Well, he's not in his apartment. The next morning, Duffy showed up here and said that I was free to go. He was sure that I understood the situation and was grateful for my understanding. He also said that if I thought I would need a remise-that's sort of a taxi-to get around Buenos Aires, he knew one he could recommend.

"So, I got in the remise and went back to Darby's apartment. He was gone.

"I still had one card to play. You remember the Secret Service guy on the presidential protection detail who fell off the b.u.mper of the limousine?"

"Tony Santini," Montvale said. "Good man."

"Yes, he is. We have shared a drink or two on occasion. Well, when I knew I was coming down here I remembered that when he got fired from the protection detail, they sent him down here to look for funny money. So, I tried to call him. I got some other Secret Service guy on the phone who told me Tony had retired, but that he thought he was still in Argentina in a country club-that's Argentine for really tightly gated community-outside of town. I remembered the address: the Mayerling Country Club in Pilar. I've got a cousin named Pilar, and Mayerling was the Imperial Austrian hunting lodge where Emperor Franz Josef's son shot his sixteen-year-old girlfriend and then committed suicide.

"So, I got in the remise Duffy suggested, and told the driver to take me out to this place. We go instead to the Gendarmeria Nacional headquarters. Out comes Duffy, now in uniform. He's the generalissimo generalissimo or something of the Gendarmeria Nacional. Duffy says I really don't want to go to Mayerling. Too dangerous. People started out for Mayerling and were never heard from again. I got the message." or something of the Gendarmeria Nacional. Duffy says I really don't want to go to Mayerling. Too dangerous. People started out for Mayerling and were never heard from again. I got the message."

"So, you never got to see Tony," Montvale said. "Pity. I'm sure he would have helped you."

"Yeah, probably."

"Roscoe, we may be in a position to help each other," Montvale said. "Can we go off the record?"

"Yeah, sure. But why bother? You tell me something, I report it, and then you say, 'I never said that,' and Ellsworth says, 'That's right. I was there and the amba.s.sador never said anything like that.'"

"Let me rephrase. What if these rumors you heard were true? What if there was a renegade lieutenant colonel named Castillo who did in fact s.n.a.t.c.h two senior Russian defectors from the CIA station chief in Vienna? What if he's now trying to sell them to the CIA?"

"No s.h.i.t?"

"What if the President sent an unnamed but very senior intelligence official-"

"Who used to be a diplomat, Mr. Amba.s.sador?"

"-down here with orders to find Colonel Castillo and these two Russians and then load them onto an airplane and fly them to the States?"

"You're going to pay the ransom, or whatever?"

"That's the point. I'm trusting your discretion on this, Roscoe. I know you're a patriotic American. No. The United States of America will not ransom the Russians. But they will be returned to the States and turned over to the CIA."

"Kidnap them back, you mean?"

"The Russians will be returned to the United States and turned over to the CIA. And Colonel Castillo will be returned to the United States and the United States Army for what is euphemistically known as 'disciplinary action.'"

"Jesus!"

"My search for these people has met with more success than yours, Roscoe," Montvale said.

"You know where they are?"

"I'm in a position to offer you confirmation of those rumors you heard. I'm further in a position to give exclusive rights to-what shall I say?-'the repatriation process' and to the Russians, and to Colonel Castillo."

"If I what?"

"How do I put this? If, splendid journalist that you are, you nevertheless failed to notice any unpleasantness that may occur during the repatriation process, any minor violations of Argentine law-or, for that matter, of American law. Do you take my meaning?"

Roscoe J. Danton thought: f.u.c.k you, Montvale. f.u.c.k you, Montvale.

Once I'm back in the States, I'll write whatever the h.e.l.l I feel like writing about anything I see.

Roscoe J. Danton said: "Deal. When does this come down?"

"Now. Truman, please call that Air Force colonel and have the plane ready by time we get to the airport."

Truman Ellsworth said, "Yes, sir."

Truman Ellsworth thought: If I thought there was any chance at all of Castillo, the Russians, or even Alex Darby actually being in Ushuaia, I would at this moment be experiencing shortness of breath, excruciating pain in my chest, and numbness of my left arm and waiting for the ambulance to haul me off to whatever hospital the emba.s.sy sends visiting VIPs suffering a heart attack. If I thought there was any chance at all of Castillo, the Russians, or even Alex Darby actually being in Ushuaia, I would at this moment be experiencing shortness of breath, excruciating pain in my chest, and numbness of my left arm and waiting for the ambulance to haul me off to whatever hospital the emba.s.sy sends visiting VIPs suffering a heart attack.

But since I'm sure that all he's going to find down there-at best-is Alex Darby suffering a midlife crisis in the arms of a girl young enough to be his daughter, I'm going to pretend I believe this idiocy.

For one thing, I simply have to see how Charles tries to talk himself out of this fiasco once it comes tumbling down around him. I would never forgive myself if I didn't.

[ONE].

The Oval Office The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W.

Washington, D.C.

1405 8 February 2007

Secretary of State Natalie Cohen, Director of the Central Intelligence Agency John Powell, Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation Mark Schmidt, and General Allan B. Naylor, the commanding general of the United States Central Command, were all in the reception area of the Oval Office when the President of the United States, having returned from his trip to Chicago, entered.

They all rose to their feet when they saw the President. He acknowledged none of them.

Instead, Joshua Ezekiel Clendennen continued walking into his office, sat in the leather chair behind his desk, and issued two orders: "Get me some coffee. And then let them in."

Three minutes later, Cohen, Powell, Schmidt, and Naylor filed into the Oval Office.

"I'm glad you weren't in Timbuktu, General," Clendennen said.

Thinking that the President was joking, Naylor replied in kind: "That's next Thursday, Mr. President."

"You're not going anywhere, General, until this business is finished," the President snapped.

"Yes, sir," General Naylor said.

"Sit down," the President said, gesturing to all of them.

"General, C. Harry Whelan, Jr., and Andy McClarren were talking about you on Wolf News last night. Are you aware of that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Whelan told McClarren that the chief of staff of the Army no longer runs it-he's just in charge of administering it-and that since Central Command controls more troops, more airplanes, more ships, and more military a.s.sets in more places all around the world than any other headquarters, then that makes you, as its commanding general, the most important general in the Army. Did you see the program, by any chance?"

"It was brought to my attention, Mr. President."

General Naylor did not think he should get into the details of how the Wolf News program had come to his attention. He had been reading in his living room, and ignoring the television. His wife, Elaine, and their son, Major Allan B. Naylor, Jr., and his family, who had come for supper, were watching the Wolf News program The Straight Scoop The Straight Scoop.

When the Whelan-McClarren exchange concluded, General Naylor's wife and son went to him on their knees, called him "Oh, Great One!" and mimed kissing his West Point ring, then backed out of his presence into the kitchen convulsed with laughter and to the applause of his daughter-in-law and grandchildren.

He actually had had to demand to be told what the h.e.l.l was going on.

What was so funny?