W. E. B. Griffin - Presidential Agent 07 Read Online Free Page A

get to choose who gets thrown off the balcony first.”
    Delchamps and Tom Barlow chuckled. Yung smiled.
    Casey shook his head and walked toward the head of the curving staircase leading to the lower level. Max trotted after him, then turned to look at Castillo as if expecting an order to “stay.” When that did not come, he went down the stairs ahead of Casey, headed directly for a coffee table laden with hors d’oeuvres, and with great delicacy helped himself to a caviar-topped cracker.
    “Careful, Max,” Castillo called. “They’re probably poisoned.”
    “Enough, Carlito!” Señorita Barlow ordered.
    She then started down the stairs. Everyone followed, Casey last, after Castillo, as if to ensure that Castillo didn’t get away.
    “Annapolis,” as Castillo thought of him, waited at the foot of the stairs and put out his right hand.
    “Thank you for coming,” he said. “We have to get this straightened out between us.”
    Castillo took the hand with visible reluctance.
    “For the good of the country,” Annapolis added.
    “We don’t seem to agree on what’s good for the country, do we?” Castillo replied.
    “I thought champagne would be in order,” “Hotelier” said, “to toast the success of the latest operation. What was it called?”
    He snapped his fingers, and two waiters moved to coolers and began to open bottles of champagne.
    “I understand some people called it March Hare,” Edgar Delchamps offered.
    “Well, whatever it was called, it was one hell of a success,” “Radio and TV Stations” said.
    The waiters quickly poured the champagne, and then walked around, offering it on trays to everyone.
    “I give you . . .” Hotelier said, raising his glass.
    “Whoa!” Castillo said. “Two things before we do that, if you please. One, why are we talking about such things with these fellows in here passing the champagne?”
    “They work for me,” “Investment Banker” said. “They are trustworthy.”
    “Somewhat reluctantly—I’m paranoid on the subject of who gets to hear what—I’ll give you a pass on that.”
    “Thank you,” Investment Banker said. “Anything else, Colonel?”
    “One more thing,” Castillo said. “Two-Gun, give the nice man the envelope.”
    David W. Yung had earned the moniker “Two-Gun” when he and Edgar Delchamps were about to pass through customs into Argentina. Yung was at the time a legal attaché—the euphemism for FBI agent—accredited to both Argentina and Uruguay, and thus immune to laws regarding the carrying of firearms. Delchamps enjoyed no such immunity; if found in possession of a weapon, he would have been arrested. The problem had been solved by his giving Yung his Colt Officer’s Model .45 ACP pistol to carry through customs—thus resulting in Yung’s immediately being dubbed “Two-Gun.”
    Yung walked to Investment Banker and handed him a large manila envelope. It was fully stuffed and held together with thick rubber bands.
    “And this is?” Investment Banker said.
    “I’ve been told it contains two hundred thousand dollars in circulated currency,” Castillo said. “I never opened it.”
    “The funds we sent to you?”
    “Correct. I wanted you to have them in case you were thinking your money had anything to do with the success of Operation March Hare.”
    “Did you really think you could put my Carlos in your pocket for a miserable two hundred thousand dollars?” Señorita Barlow demanded.
    “Señorita Barlow,” Annapolis said reasonably, “that was all that Colonel Castillo asked for.”
    “Score one for the Navy, Sweaty,” Castillo said.
    During her association with the Merry Outlaws, “Svetlana” had quickly morphed first to “Svet” and then even more quickly to “Sweaty.”
    Annapolis pressed his advantage.
    “We stood willing to provide whatever was asked for,” he said.
    “Yeah,” Aloysius Casey said, “but you thought you were buying something that wasn’t for sale.”
    “It seems to me,”