“Fort Bragg would be better.”
“Does General McNab know I’m—”
“We’re,” a sultry voice injected.
“. . . know we’re coming?”
“General McNab is with me now. So is Frank.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have answered the damn phone,” Castillo said, and the green LEDs on Secretary Cohen’s phone died.
“And who was the woman who chimed in?” FBI Director Schmidt asked.
“She’s the colonel’s fiancée, Mark,” Lammelle said. “Stunning redhead. In a previous life, she was an SVR lieutenant colonel.”
“You look very thoughtful, General,” Cohen said to McNab. “Is there something you want to say?”
“I was thinking, Madam Secretary, that you and Charley’s abuela are the only people in the world who could get him to come to the States.”
“No, I’m sure he would come if you asked,” she said.
“Not for me?” Lammelle asked.
“Not for you or anyone else,” she said.
She immediately regretted the comment when she saw General Naylor’s face, but it was too late to take the words back, or even try to lamely include Naylor.
And I’m supposed to be a diplomat.
IX
[ONE]
Office of the Secretary of State
The Harry S Truman Building
2201 C Street, N.W.
Washington, D.C.
1425 17 June 2007
When her CaseyBerry vibrated and she looked at it and saw that Charley Castillo was calling, Secretary Cohen’s first reactions were relief and pleasure.
He’s calling to tell me he’s on his way to Fort Bragg.
But even as she pushed the TALK button and put the cellular to her ear, she had second, worrisome thoughts.
If there is one absolutely predictable facet of dealing with Lieutenant Colonel Castillo it is that he is absolutely unpredictable.
“Hello, Charley. I gather you got off all right?”
“Goddamn it, Max! Give Sweaty her shoe back!”
“And that Miss Alekseeva and your adorable dog are with you,” Secretary Cohen added.
“Technically, that’s Mrs. Alekseeva, Madam Secretary. Or the Widow Alekseeva.”