McNab nodded and then said, “I gave him ninety seconds in the belief that would be sufficient time for him to recover from his fit of hysterical laughter, and called back. Sweaty took the call—”
“‘Sweaty’?” Naylor parroted. “Oh, the Russian woman.”
“Yes, sir. Former Lieutenant Colonel Svetlana Alekseeva of the SVR. Now known as Susanna Barlow. Colonel Castillo’s fiancée.”
“His what? He’s going to marry her?” Naylor asked incredulously.
“Yes, sir. Just as soon as they can somehow get the government of the Russian Federation to declare her former husband, SVR Polkovnik Evgeny Alekseev to be deceased. Colonel Castillo is a gentleman, and gentlemen feel an obligation to marry women carrying their unborn children.”
“She’s pregnant?”
“Yes, sir, I understand that to be the case.”
“McNab, I have the feeling you’re mocking me,” Naylor said furiously.
“As you well know, since our plebe year at Hudson High, just being in the same room with you has induced an uncontrollable urge in me to mock you, even when you’re not in your Self-Righteous Mode, as you are now. But if you can bring yourself to call me Bruce, I will stop doing so now and we can see about solving the problem at hand as two old soldiers and classmates should do.”
Naylor glared at him for a long moment, and finally said, “Please do.” And then, after another pause, added, “Bruce.”
“Allan, I would not have violated Charley’s privacy by telling you that Sweaty’s in the family way, except that it’s obviously a fact bearing on our problem.”
“Understood. Thank you,” Naylor replied, and again added “Bruce” after a pause.
“When Sweaty came on the line, I gathered that she was less than enthusiastic about Charley doing what the President wants him to do. She said if I ever brought the subject up again, she would castrate me with a rusty otxokee mecto nanara.”
“With a what?”
“Latrine shovel.”
“Have you any suggestions on how we can solve our problem?” Naylor asked.
“As a matter of fact… Natalie says the last thing we can afford to happen is for C. Harry Whelan, Junior, or Andy McClarren to wonder what the hell you’re doing in Argentina and start asking questions—”
“I’ve been ordered to go down there,” Naylor interrupted.
“. . . so you can’t go down there.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“You want it step by step, or all at once?”
“All at once.”
“We’re all agreed on this, Allan. Frank, Natalie, and me.”
“Understood. Let’s hear it.”
“Frank’s Gulfstream comes here and picks up Vic D’Alessandro—”
“I think I see where you’re headed,” Naylor said.
“Stop interrupting me, for Christ’s sake, Allan!”
“Sorry.”
“And picks up Vic D’Alessandro, who is Charley’s oldest friend in Special Operations except for me. When Charley was flying me around in Desert One, Master Sergeant D’Alessandro was on the Gatling gun in the back.”
“I wasn’t aware of that.”