“Oh, that’s right,” Castillo said. “You haven’t met my fiancée, have you, Frank? Sweetheart, say hello to Frank Lammelle. He used to be a friend of mine. Frank, the lady is former Lieutenant Colonel Svetlana Alekseeva of the SVR. And sitting next to her is her brother, former Colonel Dmitri Berezovsky of the SVR. I know you’ve been anxious to meet them.”
There was a moment’s silence.
“Lester, if Frank doesn’t say ‘Pleased to meet you’ or ‘How do you do?’ in the next three seconds, dart him.”
Lammelle very hastily said, “Pleased to meet you.”
The special operators and Allan Junior now laughed.
“Colonel, regarding the Code of Honor,” General Naylor said.
Goddamn it, I’m smiling! What the hell is happening to me?
“Yes, sir?”
“I don’t know what your intentions are here, but I think I should tell you that when I am no longer constrained by my parole, I will feel free to relate to the proper authorities anything I see or hear here.”
“Yes, sir. That’s understood. It’s not a problem, sir, as you remain here—in other words, not in a position to tell anyone anything—until this operation concludes.”
Castillo looked around the room.
“I think I should make it clear before I start that—as much as I know I could have used his wise counsel—I did not ask General McNab for any assistance in coming up with this plan. The Code of Honor would have precluded him giving me any assistance.”
“You’re wrong about that, Charley,” McNab said.
Naylor glared at him.
“On the other hand,” Castillo, ignoring the comment, went on, “I have been privileged over the years to watch General McNab plan and execute maybe two dozen operations such as this one. What I’m doing now is praying that enough of his expertise has rubbed off on me so that this one will work.”
He looked at Svetlana.
“And I meant that, Sweaty, about praying. That wasn’t a figure of speech.”
“I know, my Carlitos,” Svetlana said.
“Okay, here we go,” Castillo said. “Statement of the Problem: We have to interrogate General Yakov Sirinov to determine how much Congo-X the Russians have. To do this, we have to bring the general, plus whatever Congo-X he has in his possession, here.
“We know from satellite imagery that General Sirinov went from here to the airfield on La Orchila, the island off the coast of Venezuela. The latest satellite imagery we have, as of oh-six-hundred today, no longer shows the Tu-934A aircraft, but does show half a dozen of the Spetsnaz operators near what appears to be one of those canvas-and-poles, throw-it-up-overnight hangars. It is therefore reasonable to presume the Tu-934A is in the hangar; it is unlikely that Sirinov would leave the Spetsnaz in Venezuela. . . .”
“Colonel,” Roscoe Danton said, “you never said where are you getting the satellite imagery ...”
Castillo nodded. “That’s another of those questions, Roscoe, that I’d like to answer, but . . .”
“I know,” Danton said. “You’d have to kill me if you did.”
“Right,” Castillo said. “Now, as far as personnel go, we’re going to use as few Americans as possible. Colonel Berezovsky said that we stand a good chance, if we have the element of surprise on our side and use our ex-Spetsnaz people, to confuse Sirinov’s Spetsnaz to the point where their efficiency will be substantially reduced.”
“Explain that to me, Charley,” General McNab said softly.
“Dmitri and our Spetsnaz get off the plane, the chopper, whatever we wind up using. Dmitri points to the nearest of Sirinov’s Spetsnaz and says, ‘I am Colonel Berezovsky. Take me to General Sirinov.’ Dmitri thinks, and Sweaty thinks, and I agree, there’s a good chance we can get away with that. If we do, we stick a pistol up Sirinov’s nose. . . .”
“And if you don’t?” McNab asked.
“Then we can probably disarm Sirinov’s Spetsnaz. Or, if necessary, take them out.”
“You don’t want to start by taking them out?” McNab said.
“We’re trying to avoid taking anybody out,” Castillo said.