It didn't take you long to tell the ambassador about me, did it, Alex?
And why do I suspect you made that call in his presence?
And that you told him simply that I had identified myself to you, and not that we knew each other in Afghanistan? An American who did not identify himself in any way- making Castillo reasonably confident that he was a CIA agent who worked for Darby-was waiting just outside the fence at the employee entrance to the embassy grounds with Castillo's visitor's pass and Secret Service credentials.
"If you'll come with me, please, Mr. Castillo?" [SIX] The Communications Center The United States Embassy Avenida Colombia 4300 Buenos Aires, Argentina 2230 22 July 2005 There was a "phone booth" in the embassy communications room, too. As the man Castillo now thought of as "Darby's guy" led him to it, most of the eight or ten people in the room looked at him with frank curiosity. One of them was the Oriental FBI agent, Yung.
The guy who looked at me in the brainstorming center with what I thought was a little too much interest. He's either fascinated with my good looks and manly charm, or the Secret Service, or he knows something about me. Or suspects something.
Oh, Jesus! Has there been an FBI back-channel, no copies, burn before reading, "Let us know if a guy named Castillo shows up anywhere and what he's doing. He has embarrassed the director and we would really like to burn his ass"?
Castillo closed the door of the phone booth and sat down before a tiny desk, more of a shelf built into the wall, on which sat the secure telephone. It looked- except for the much thicker than usual cords to the wall, and from the base to the handset-like an ordinary phone. There was also a lined notepad, which had a sheet of aluminum under the top page to keep whatever was written from making an impression on the pages beneath, two sharpened pencils in a water glass, and a red-striped Burn Bag hanging from the wall.
Castillo picked up the telephone.
"Operator," a male voice said.
He sounds young. Probably a soldier.
"My name is Castillo. I need a verified secure line."
"Yes, sir. You have been cleared. The number, please?"
It's a little after ten-thirty here; half past nine in Washington. Hall may or may not be in the office. I'll let the switchboard find him.
Castillo gave the White House switchboard number to the operator.
"Sir, that's the White House," the operator said.
"Yeah, I know."
"Sir, you're not cleared to call the White House."
"Who has to clear me?" Castillo asked, and at the last split second added, "Sergeant."
"Either the ambassador or Mr. Masterson, sir."
Well, he took the Sergeant without any reaction. That may be helpful.
"Well, I don't want to bother Mr. Masterson, Sergeant, so I suppose you'd better get the ambassador on the horn. I need to put this call through."
"Sir, Mr. Darby has the authority to clear calls to the White House. Would he know if you're authorized?"
"Yes, he would. Give him a yell, Sergeant."
Thirty seconds later, "Commercial Attache" Darby gave the operator permission to put Mr. Castillo's call through to the White House switchboard. "White House."
"This is the U.S. Embassy, Buenos Aires," the operator said. "Would you verify the line is secure, please?"
That took about fifteen seconds.
"The line is secure," the White House operator announced.
"This is C. G. Castillo. I need to speak with Secretary Hall. I have no idea where he is."
"Oh, I think we can find him for you. Hold one." "Hall."
"I have a secure call for you, Mr. Secretary, from Mr. Castillo in Buenos Aires."