“They have parrillas in Mother Russia, do they, Sweaty?” Delchamps said as he pushed himself off his chaise lounge.
“We have everything in Mother Russia, Edgar,” Svetlana said. “I’m surprised you don’t know that.”
“I think everybody should have a look at these tapes before we send them to Casey,” Castillo said. “Logical conclusion: Let Sweaty get the grills going.” He gave in to the temptation, and added innocently, “Aleksandr can help her.”
Surprising him, Pevsner went immediately to the grills and politely asked for, and was given, Lester’s chef hat. He put it on, then tested the heat coming from the no-longer-flaming lava briquettes by holding his hand, palm down, over them.
“Another seven minutes, I would estimate,” he said. “While you’re showing the tapes, I will ensure the fish have been properly filleted.” And then he smiled at Castillo and added, “Never underestimate people, friend Charley. You might want to write that down.”
“Two-Gun, get your laptop,” Castillo ordered as Lester hooked up cables from Casey’s radio to the television. “I’m going to offer a running commentary as the tapes run, identifying the players, et cetera. We’ll then edit the tape and the commentary to make sure the CIA can’t identify or locate the airfield or all the players.”
“Two questions,” Yung replied. “This is going to the CIA? And why shouldn’t they locate the airport?”
“Pevsner has a connection with the airport. I don’t want them to start linking things.”
“Make that three questions,” Yung said. “How are you getting it to the CIA? Through Casey?”
“I’d rather slip it under the door, but I haven’t figured out how to do that.”
“Lester,” Edgar Delchamps said, “can you send these tapes to the house in Alexandria?”
“Yes, sir. No problem.”
“And can you get me a number in Arlington, Virginia, without it coming to the attention of those nosy people at Fort Meade?”
“According to Dr. Casey, all they will hear at Fort Meade is what sounds like static on the line. And I can make it sound as if the call was made from anywhere.”
“Who do you want to receive the tapes, Ace?” Delchamps asked.
“Either the DCI or Frank Lammelle.”
“If I have one of the dinosaurs call on Madam Darby and pick up the tape and commentary, and then he slips that under the door addressed to Lammelle, and you also send it to Casey, he will probably send it to the DCI. He’s close to those people, right? Then we’d be sure both the DCI and Lammelle got it.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Castillo agreed.
“Let’s see the tapes, Lester,” Delchamps said.
“So our scenario wasn’t far off the mark,” Edgar Delchamps said, when the tapes had been played. “They did use the Tupolev Tu-934A to move that stuff. The question then is, from where did they move it? From a warehouse full of the stuff in Mother Russia or ...?”
“Sweaty says they wouldn’t have Congo-X in Russia,” Castillo said. “Too dangerous.”
“That would tie in with what Tarasov heard happened at that airport—El Obeid—in Sudan,” Delchamps said. “Okay, they picked it up in Africa and flew it here.... Nonstop?”
“They probably stopped in Cuba,” Castillo said. “Probably at Ciego de Ávila. They wouldn’t want the Tu-934A to be seen at José Martí.”
“And from Ciego de Ávila to this dry-lake airfield?” Alex Darby asked.
Castillo nodded.
“And then where? Back to Cuba?” Darby asked.
“Venezuela,” Castillo said. “Tom says the price for getting the Cubans to do more than fuel the Tu-934A would be too high. Chávez, on the other hand, is not half so smart as the Brothers Castro. Sweaty thinks it’s probably at La Orchila ... that island air base.”
“What is that, another proof you can’t judge a book by its cover?” Delchamps asked.
“What the hell does that mean?” Castillo asked.
“You never heard, Ace, that ‘the true test of another’s intelligence is how much he—in this case she—agrees with you’? I think your girlfriend’s right on the money. Hidden inside that gorgeous body is an unquestionable genius.”