"I don't think he would telegraph his moves, sir. He would simply have sent somebody to eliminate me in Fulda. I think we ought to see what he wants."

"What could he want?"

"I don't know, but I don't think he's really going to give an interview as the first step to getting on Larry King Live. He wants something."

Hall smiled again.

"But what could he want, Charley?"

"We'll never know, sir, unless you tell me to get on the next plane to Vienna."

"I don't know," Hall said, doubtfully.

"Sir, I also respectfully suggest that having me out of town for the next few days might be a good idea."

"Because of our encounter with the DCI just now?" Hall asked.

Castillo nodded, then said, "I had the feeling he thinks killing the messenger is probably a very good way to handle something like this."

"I don't think he'd go that far, Charley, but he didn't seem to be taken very much with your charm and good looks, did he?"

"No, sir. I didn't think so."

Hall looked at Castillo thoughtfully for fifteen seconds and then said, "Okay, Charley. Bring me a Sacher torte. And I mean bring me,. I don't want it shipped here with your body."

"Yes, sir. White or dark chocolate, sir?"

Hall shook his head, touched Castillo affectionately on the shoulder, and walked out of the apartment.

[THREE]

The Mayflower Hotel

1127 Connecticut Avenue MW

Washington, D.C.

1925 6 June 2005

The leading security officer accompanying the DCI-the trailing security officer was following the DCI-glanced through the plate-glass door leading from the Mayflower lobby, saw the Yukon was where he expected it to be and that there was nothing suspicious on the street, and pushed the door open.

Then he turned and found the DCI was nowhere in sight.

Jesus Christ!

He hurried back into the lobby.

The trailing security officer was standing, his hands folded in front of him, near the front desk. He made a small gesture indicating what looked like the entrance to a hallway near the end of the front desk and smiled at his colleague.

The sonofabitch thinks it's funny!

The leading security officer started into what he thought was a corridor.

It was instead an alcove, holding four house telephones and two pay telephones. The DCI was using one of the pay phones.

The leading security officer sort of backed out of the alcove and took up a position facing the trailing security officer, who smiled at him and said, "Vigilance, Pete. Constant vigilance!"

The leading security officer mouthed, Fuck you!

The DCI was on the pay phone for almost twenty minutes. In that time he had spoken with the CIA's regional director for Africa and the deputy director for Personnel, both of whom were in their homes.

The regional director for Africa told him that he had not seen either a satburst or a filing suggesting that a Russian arms dealer had stolen the Boeing 727 missing in Angola.

"Get on the horn, and right now, to whoever is directly responsible for Angola:"

"That would be the regional director for Southwest Africa, Mr. Director."

"Whatever. And find out what he knows about this. I'll call you back in ten minutes. Have a number where I can reach him."

"It's a her, Mr. Director. Mrs. Patricia Davies Wilson."

"All right, when I call you back have a number where I can reach her."

"She's over there, Mr. Director."

"In Luanda?"

"Yes, sir. Actually, sir, she's on her way back. By now, I think she'd probably be in either London or Paris."

"Find out," the DCI said. "If there's time to make contact with her in London or Paris, get word to her that she is to come directly to my office from the airplane and is to speak to no one but you or me about anything."

"Has something come up, Mr. Director?"

"That's pretty obvious, wouldn't you say? And if you can't contact her before her plane takes off, have someone-you, if that's possible-meet her plane when it lands and bring her directly to my office."

"I don't have an ETA on her plane, Mr. Director."

"Well, get one!"

"If I have to contact you, Mr. Director, will you be at home?"

"I'll be at the White House. I don't want you calling me there about this. I'll get back to you later."

"Whatever you wish, Mr. Director."

The deputy director for Personnel, when asked "Who is this man Miller we have in Luanda?" didn't know off the top of his head, but he called his duty officer in Langley, who got the information.

The station chief in Luanda was an H. Richard Miller, Jr. His cover was assignment as the assistant military attache.

"Where did he come from? How long has he been with us? What do we know about him?"

It took another ten minutes to get the answers: H. Richard Miller, Jr., had come to the agency from the Army, that he was a major in the Army, that he had been on temporary duty with the agency for seventeen months, five months as an instructor at the Farm, and since then in Luanda. Since he had been in Luanda, he had received two letters of official reprimand from the regional director for Southwest Africa, one for exceeding his authority and the other for exceeding the limits of his discretionary operating funds.

"He's relieved, as of now," the DCI said. "His security clearances are suspended as of now. I want him out of Angola in twenty-four hours or less. I want somebody-somebody good; somebody we wouldn't ordinarily send someplace like Angola-on his way there within four hours to replace him."

"Gregory Leese is in Johannesburg, Mr. Director."

"I don't think I know him."

"Good man, sir. He was in Caracas until recently. Did a fine job there."

"Okay, if you say so. Send him. Tell him I ordered it and I'll be in touch with him."

"Yes, sir. May I ask what this is all about?"

"Not right now."

"Should I have this man Miller report to Langley, Mr. Director? If so, to whom? If he asks why he's being relieved, what may I tell him?"

"You don't know, to answer that first. No. I don't want him in Langley until I have a chance to chat with this Mrs. Wilson."

"Yes, sir?"

"If he's on temporary duty to us, that must be from someplace. Where do military people like that come from?"

"Usually either from the Pentagon, Mr. Director, or from Central Command. In this case-I'll have to check-I should think it would be Central Command. Major Miller is Special Forces."

Why am I not surprised to hear that?

"Well, find out and send him back where he came from. Say that he's under investigation."

"Yes, sir. Investigation concerning what?"

"Don't say."

"Yes, sir. Anything else, Mr. Director?"

"Secretary Hall of Homeland Security has an assistant named Castillo. I want to know about him. If we don't have anything, make inquiry-very discreet inquiry-of the Civil Service Commission. They should have the results of his background investigation. If that doesn't work, ask somebody we know we can trust in the FBI."

"You have a first name on this fellow, Mr. Director?"

Hall called him "Charley. "

"It's probably 'Charles.'"

"I'll get right on it, Mr. Director."

"Thank you," the DCI said and hung up.

Then he pulled his head out of the translucent shell over the pay phone and looked down the alcove to the lobby.

The security guys were waiting for him.

The DCI made a gesture toward the Connecticut Avenue entrance and the lead security man started to move in that direction.

[FOUR]

Apartment 6-B

Rua Madre Dios 128

Luanda, Angola

0515 7 June 2005

The peculiar tinkle of the telephone that came with the apartment woke Major H. Richard Miller, Jr., quickly more as a strange sound than as a telephone. He rarely used the French-manufactured dial instrument. The cellular phone system was far more efficient.