The Argentine Triangle: A Craig Page Thriller (28 page)

“I’m so angry I want to go down to the exercise room and run on the treadmill so fast that I either break the machine or have a heart attack.”

“After that, you can stick your head under a cold shower. Then we’ll be able to deal with this rationally.”

Bryce entered the Situation Room two steps behind President Treadwell and looked around. In addition to the usual suspects seated around the table, Kent, West, the Secretary of Defense, and General Forbes, he saw Vice President Doug Worth.

The president had told Bryce on his return from Buenos Aires that he wanted to involve Worth in more of his day-to-day activities without any explanation.

Bryce deduced that Treadwell was now worried about his health. Treadwell must have realized he was playing a game of Russian Roulette with his heart condition. If he lost, he didn’t want to leave the country in too much of a mess.

When they were seated, the president turned to Bryce. “It’s your show, Edward.”

Bryce had assigned the factual report on the South American mission to West, who was ready with another PowerPoint presentation, giving a summary of what they saw, which was precisely what Estrada and Schiller had told them. At the end of that, Bryce took over and said, “Our recommendation is that if the Brazilians attack again, the United States should stay out of it.”

“Suppose the Argentines ask for our help?” General Forbes asked.

“They won’t,” Bryce said emphatically. “Estrada and Garcia both emphasized to us that the situation can only be stabilized if they’re free to exercise their own deterrence.”

“But isn’t there a risk of this conflict between Argentina and Brazil developing into a broader war?” Betty asked.

“I don’t see how,” Bryce responded. “Chile and Paraguay are the other two countries in the region with powerful armies. We’ve seen no indication that either of them would become involved.”

Glancing at the president, Bryce observed how wan and pale, almost ashen, he looked, a sheen of sweat across his brow. He is not a well man, Bryce decided. Treadwell winced and sat up straight in his seat, as if he had experienced a sudden pain. Irritably, he said, “I’ve had a long day. Let’s wrap this up. I like Edward’s recommendation. That’s what we’ll do.”

Bryce was convinced that all Treadwell wanted was to get out of this damn meeting to take a nitroglycerine tablet.

Craig was sitting in the outer office of Betty’s suite where Monica was typing away, waiting for the director of the CIA to return from the White House. As soon as he saw her, he stood up. “Sorry, I got a little carried away.”

“Don’t worry about it. You have strong convictions. That’s one of the things I like about you.”

Betty led him into her office and kicked the door shut. “Let’s talk about where we go from here.”

“Somewhere in the middle of a forty-five minute run on the treadmill, I came up with a game plan to beat Estrada.”

“You want to tell me about it?”

“Sure. But first, can I assume that Bryce got what he wanted for Estrada at your White House meeting.”

“That’s right. Treadwell agreed not to intervene.”

“So we now need hard evidence that Estrada fabricated the initial, so-called Brazilian attack like Schiller’s grandfather. We also have to find out precisely when Estrada is planning to mount his major attack. That’s what it will take to turn Treadwell around.”

She nodded. “Agreed. But how can we obtain that information?”

“I have a plan.” His self-confidence had returned and he was sounding rational. “But you have to supply a key component.”

“What’s that?”

“Have your people in research dig back through the archives of our documents from the years of the Dirty War. There must be cables and reports from CIA agents in Argentina as well as original Argentine documents. I want them to put together a complete dossier on Estrada with particular emphasis on his involvement in kidnapping babies. And …” he hesitated. Hell, there was no other way. “Have them prepare a second dossier. This one on Gina’s father, General Miguel Galindo. Call me on my cell phone the minute you have the information.”

He didn’t know what he’d find in the file about Gina’s father, but his instincts, coupled with what he had learned about Estrada and the general’s behavior during the Dirty War, persuaded him that Miguel Galindo could not have been the white knight Gina thought her father was.

Craig needed every possible weapon to turn Gina away from Estrada and to convince her to help him.

“That was a wonderful dinner,” Bryce said to Gina as they returned to her apartment from dinner at the Capital Grille on Pennsylvania Avenue where people had repeatedly stopped by to say hello to Bryce.

Successful was how Gina thought of the evening so far. As Bryce was finishing his large sirloin and the last of the Chateau Haut Brion, following two glasses of scotch before dinner, he had told her what she wanted to know. They had a meeting that afternoon at the White House and President Treadwell had agreed to what Estrada was seeking: a commitment by the United States not to intervene if warfare erupted between Argentina and Brazil. She couldn’t wait for Bryce to leave so she could call Estrada and give him the news he was so anxious to hear.

“The emerald earrings are exquisite on you,” Bryce said.

She was sure Rosie would like them. “They are special. Thank you.”

Bryce would be pressing her now for sex, but she had no intention of submitting tonight. Never again. She was in love with Barry.

“Would you like a Remy Martin?” she asked.

Bryce smiled lasciviously. “Perhaps later. Now I have something else in mind.” He took off his tie and jacket; and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“I can’t tonight,” she said awkwardly.

He scowled. “Why not?”

“It’s that time of the month. You know. I’m really sorry.” She tried to sound sincere so he wouldn’t suspect she had told him a complete lie.

“That doesn’t bother me.”

“Well it does me,” she said with a tone of finality. “You’ll just have to wait a couple of days.”

He persisted. “We could do other things.”

“Please, Edward. Just the cognac.”

He sighed in resignation. “Okay. A Remy Martin then.”

As they sipped the cognac, he said, “Listen, honey, have you ever been to an American football game?”

She shook her head.

“One of my clients has a box for the Redskins. He invited me to attend tomorrow afternoon, provided that I bring you. What do you think?”

Since Estrada wanted her to string Bryce along for a little while longer, she was pleased to do something that didn’t involve sex. “I’d love to,” she said, faking an enthusiasm she didn’t feel.

“Good. Even though it’s Sunday, I have to be at the office for a while in the morning. Catching up from being away in Argentina. I’ll send a car around to pick you up at noon. Now let me tell you a little about the game. It’s much different than your football. To start with, the ball isn’t round, it’s …”

She interrupted. “How can a ball not be round? Balls are always round. That’s what a ball is.”

He laughed. “Well, I guess that’s right, but …”

He was interrupted by her cell phone that was ringing where it rested on an end table. She had constantly left it on and close at hand since returning from Buenos Aires, where she had given Barry the number.

“Don’t answer,” Bryce said.

She glanced at the screen on the phone. The caller’s number wasn’t one she recognized. “I have to,” she responded. “My friend, Rosie, could be in trouble. Don’t worry. I’ll talk fast and call her back later.”

“Hello,” she said.

“This is Barry.”

“Hold on for a minute,” she said into the phone. Then she dashed with it into her bedroom and closed the door.

“Is this a good time for you to talk?” Craig asked.

“When you call, it’s always a good time.”

“I have to be in Southern California. How would you like to fly out tomorrow and spend a couple of days with me? You can bring a bathing suit. We’ll have a good time.”

“Really. I’d love it,” she said impulsively, without thinking about Bryce and how she’d justify it to him.

“That’s great. American Airlines has a three o’clock plane from Dulles Airport to Los Angeles. I’ll arrange for your ticket. All you have to do is show some ID at the ticket counter. When you arrive, I’ll be waiting in the baggage claim area. We’ll have a fabulous time.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Ciao.”

After he hung up, she stared blankly at the phone. What had she done? She had to find some way to handle this with Bryce. Otherwise, Estrada would be furious. Still, she rationalized, he liked Barry. So by seeing Barry, she was advancing Estrada’s agenda. Not certain whether Estrada would see it that way, she decided not to tell him when she called later that night.

As for Bryce, right now, she wouldn’t say a word to him. She put a grim look on her face.

“It’s horrible,” she said when she returned to the living room.

Bryce had been leaning back in a comfortable leather chair, his eyes closed. “What’s horrible?”

“You know I told you that Rosie’s boss has been coming on to her, and she’s been trying to avoid him and not lose her job.”

“Uh-huh,” Bryce said, sounding bored. She was convinced he didn’t have the least bit of interest in Rosie’s travail.

“Well, anyhow, when she was in the supply room he snuck up behind her and stuck his hand up under her skirt.” Gina was getting carried away with the story she was creating. “I mean like before she had a chance to react, he was inside her pants with one hand and grabbing her breast with the other. He stuck two fingers inside of her … yuck … then she managed to slip away and run out of the supply room.”

“That is horrible.”

“I told her you were here, and I’d call her back when you went home.”

“But what can you do about it in Washington?”

That stopped her for a minute. “Well, I can listen and maybe give her some ideas. That’s what friends are for.”

“She’s lucky to have you for a friend,” he said, as he gathered up his jacket and tie.

When Bryce left, she was feeling quite pleased with herself. That was a good story and fun making it up. Maybe she should try her hand at writing a romance novel when this was over. If Rosie wasn’t involved, Gina could have made up a much juicier ending. “And then her boss forced her back against the boxes of copying paper. As they tumbled to the floor, she felt his hard member jutting out …”

What’s happening to me, she wondered. She had sex on her brain all the time. Barry. It must be Barry. She couldn’t wait for California.

Northern Argentina

G
eneral Estrada’s northern headquarters, from which he was directing the Brazilian operation, was in an old castle built by the Spanish overlooking the Falls at Iguazu. The stone structure had two floors. On the first, Estrada and Schiller each had a large office. Upstairs were bedrooms for Estrada and Schiller in one wing. The other held half a dozen prison cells the Spanish had constructed, knowing that in all of their activities in South America there were always people to kill—others to incarcerate and torture. A barbed-wire-topped chain-link fence surrounded the property on three sides. On the fourth was the river. Armed soldiers manned the gatehouse at the end of the only access road in front.

It was early morning; the sun was shining. More rain would come later in the day.

Past the gatehouse drove a van carrying four Argentine generals, longtime friends and colleagues of Estrada, who would be in the field directing the attack.

The four assembled around a table in Estrada’s office with Schiller and Estrada. The mood of the six was jovial, pleasing Estrada, and matching the bright spring day. For decades, the Argentine military had been maligned and regarded with contempt by one incompetent civilian ruler after another. Well, those days were over. The military would rule again in Argentina. This time they wouldn’t have to fight their way in. On the heels of a smashing victory against those illiterate Brazilians, the people would sweep Estrada into power. It would be a great day for the Argentine military. A great day for the Argentine nation.

“We have two items of good news,” a beaming Estrada announced with a lit cigar in his hand.

All eyes were looking at him, waiting expectantly.

“First, I personally spoke with General Sanchez in Porte Allegre. He assured me that most of the key Brazilian army commanders in their southern sector are on board. In that region, they despise the federal government. They will order their soldiers not to resist. Sanchez is worried about casualties from our weapons. I promised that we would only fire if fired upon. Is everybody clear with that?”

In unison, all four generals replied, “Yes.”

“Excellent. The second bit of good news is that the Americans will not intervene. The decision was made by President Treadwell. That’s the last piece that had to fall into place. So now we can finalize our plans.”

He paused to puff on his cigar. He had been a happy man since Gina had called last night to tell him about Treadwell’s decision. “Now let’s talk about logistics.”

Estrada picked up a pointer resting on the table. With long purposeful strides, he walked over to a large map of the area taped to the wall. Then he targeted four specific points along the Argentine Brazilian border. He assigned each of them to one of the generals in the room.

“At first light, 600 hours, Wednesday,” he said, “four days from now, our planes will bomb the Brazilian air bases and eliminate their air force as a factor. An hour later, each of your units will smash across the border. If Sanchez proves to be wrong, and you encounter resistance on the ground, then I’ll call for air support. Regardless, you push your tanks and troops eastward as fast as you can. And you don’t stop moving until you’ve reached the Atlantic Ocean.” He paused for a minute. “Now are there any questions?”

One of the generals raised his hand. “You said that the Americans won’t intervene.”

Estrada nodded.

“But how can you be sure of this?”

“Our secret weapon. Thanks to a friend in Washington I have complete control over Treadwell. He’ll do whatever I want.”