Hunters

X

[ONE] Residence of the United States Ambassador Avenida Libertador y Calle John F. Kennedy Palermo, Buenos Aires, Argentina 1505 8 August 2005 The ambassador's residence is a stately century-old mansion two blocks across a park from the rather ugly "modern" building of the embassy. By following Darby's orders to "drive past his office on the way"-which meant approaching the ambassador's office in the embassy from the Place d'Italia-Castillo, with Munz again on the back floor of the Cherokee, came up to the residence on Calle John F. Kennedy, a quiet street, instead of Avenida Libertador, which is eight lanes wide and heavy with traffic.

There was more reason, too, to Darby's orders. Castillo saw Ambassador Juan Manuel Silvio standing on the sidewalk, smoking a cigar, and apparently having a pleasant chat with members of both the Policia Federal and the embassy-hired Argentine rent-a-cops.

When the Cherokee's turn signals indicated Castillo's intention to enter the driveway of the residence, two of the rent-a-cops quickly moved to see who he was.

"?Hola, Carlos!" Ambassador Silvio cried, cheerfully. He moved quickly to the Cherokee, gesturing for Castillo to put the window down. Then he called for one of the Policia Federal to open the gate.

"I've been waiting for you, Carlos," Silvio said through the window opened barely more than a crack. "As soon as they get the gate open, drive right in and around the corner of the building."

No rent-a-cop was going to push the ambassador himself aside to inspect the interior of a vehicle.

The gate opened and Castillo drove into the drive, past the ornate front door, and around the corner of the building. As he did, a service door of some kind opened and a man Castillo recognized as Ken Lowery, the embassy's security officer, appeared and came up to the car.

"Where's your passenger, Colonel?" he asked.

"In the backseat," Castillo said, then raised his voice. "You going to need some help to get out, Alfredo?"

"Just open the door," Munz said.

Lowery opened it, then stood to the side, blocking the view of anyone who might have come around the corner of the building.

Munz, his head ducked, went quickly into the building.

Castillo followed him inside. Lowery then came in, closing the door after him. Castillo saw that they were in a corridor outside of what looked like an unused kitchen.

"Good to see you again, Colonel Munz," Lowery said, in Spanish, and put out his hand. When Munz winced as he shook it, Lowery asked, "What's wrong? Hurt your shoulder?"

"I don't think you want to know, Ken," Castillo said, quickly.

Obviously, Silvio hasn't told him much, if anything.

How much am I going to tell him?

"Sorry!" Lowery said and held up both hands, palms out.

Ambassador Silvio appeared.

"I think we better use the service elevator," he said without further preliminaries and signaled them into the kitchen.

The elevator was small and some what battered.

"In the grand old days, this was used to carry food to the apartment," Silvio volunteered. "About the only use it gets now is when there's a reception. But you can't see who gets on it by peering in the front door."

"Tony Santini's on the way?" Castillo asked.

"He should be here any minute," Silvio said as he pulled open the elevator door and gestured for the others to get off.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, sir," Castillo said. "I was really hoping you would come to see me…Colonel."

"That news got around quick, didn't it?"

"From a very high source," Silvio said. "She also said that the President was very pleased with the way you've been handling things." He paused, smiled wryly, and added: "In diplomacy, that's known as imparting information circuitously."

Castillo smiled at him.

"Congratulations, Colonel," Silvio said. "In my judgment, it's well deserved."

"I can only hope, sir, that you will feel the same way when we've had our conversation," Castillo said.

Silvio led them into the living room of his apartment and waved them into a couch and armchairs.

"Sir, I'd like a moment alone with you, please," Castillo said.

"Why don't we step into my kitchen?" the ambassador said, nodding toward a swinging door.

"Ken," Castillo said, turning to look at Lowery, "years ago, when I was an aide-de-camp to a general officer known for his piquant speech, he told me that telling someone-a good guy-that he did not have the Need to Know of certain information was like telling him that his male member had been measured and judged not to be large enough for the task at hand."

Lowery smiled, but his face showed that he anticipated what he was sure was coming next.

Silvio smiled and shook his head.

"In your case," Castillo went on, "I'm going to tell you that I am operating under the authority of a Presidential Finding and anything you might learn here today is classified Top Secret Presidential. And I'm going to evade my responsibility in this matter by dumping it on the ambassador."

He turned to look at Silvio.

"You, sir, are authorized to tell Mr. Lowery anything you think he should know."

"I understand," the ambassador said, simply.

"And I still need a moment alone with you, sir."

Silvio waved toward the swinging door. "Thank you for that, Charley," Silvio said when they were in the far corner of the kitchen. "Lowery is a good man." He smiled, and added: "He would be hurt to be told his male member had been measured and found wanting."

"I'm not sure it was the right thing to do," Castillo said. "But I'm not thinking too clearly."

"You look exhausted," Silvio said.

"I am, and that's dangerous. That's why I'm grateful you could see me…"

"Secretary Cohen made it clear-if obliquely-that you are calling all the shots."

"…because I need your advice."

"Anything I can do to help, Charley."

"I want to say this before we get started. I don't want to drag you down with me if this whole thing blows up in my face…"

Silvio made a deprecating gesture.

"…which seems more likely every minute," Castillo finished. "So I give you my word that I will swear on a stack of Bibles that I told you little-virtually nothing-about what's happened and what I'm doing or trying to do."

"I very much appreciate that, but why don't we cross that bridge when we get to it? And why do you think it's going to blow up in your face? Everyone else, including me, seems to have a good deal of confidence in you."

"I've got too many balls in the air and I'm not that good a juggler," Castillo said. "So what I'm going to do-with my word that I will deny having ever told you-is tell you what they are and ask for your suggestions."

"Before we get into that, may I ask about Mr. Masterson and the children? Where are they? How are they?"

"They're fine. They're with Mr. Masterson's family on their plantation in Mississippi. Until now, they've had some Delta Force shooters protecting them. Today, or maybe tomorrow, the shooters will be replaced by some retired Special Forces types who are pretty good. I think-and, God, I hope I'm right-that the threat to them has been drastically reduced by Lorimer's death. They no longer need Mr. Masterson to point them to Lorimer."

"That makes sense," Silvio said. "And Special Agent Schneider? How is she?"

"She's in a hospital in Philadelphia with her jaws wired shut. Almost certainly wondering why I haven't been to see her as promised."

Silvio shook his head sympathetically.

"I'm sure she'll understand," he said.

"I hope you're right, sir," Castillo said.

After a long moment, Silvio said, "Tell me what you think I should know, Charley, please."

Castillo took a moment to organize his thoughts and then began, "Just before I came down here the first time to see what I could find out about Mr. Masterson's kidnapping, I called Otto Gorner, the general director of the Tages Zeitung newspapers in Germany, to tell him I was coming down here…"

He saw the question on Silvio's face, stopped, then explained, "I have an alter ego as Karl Gossinger, the Washington correspondent of the Tages Zeitung newspapers. I decided the best way to come down here as the President's fly on the wall was to come as Karl Gossinger."

Castillo stopped again when he saw more unspoken questions on Silvio's face.

"The Tages Zeitung newspapers are owned by Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H. My mother's maiden name was Gossinger."

Silvio's eyebrows rose but he didn't respond directly. Instead, he asked, "And this man knows what you really do for a living?"

"Then, he suspected. Now he knows," Castillo said. "Anyway, I asked him-primarily, so I would have an excuse for being here as Gossinger-if there was anything I should look into for him while I was here. He told me a rich man from Hamburg is planning to raise the Graf Spee from Montevideo harbor…"

Silvio's eyebrows rose again and he said, "That's the first I've heard of that."

"And then, reluctantly, he told me that the newspapers were working on a story that some Germans were sending Iraqi oil-for-food money down here, to hide it, the way the Nazis did in World War Two. Then he said he was sorry that he'd brought the subject up, that people looking into it had been killed, and that I was to leave it alone.

"And then I came down here and things started happening and I forgot what Gorner had said about oil-for-food money while I was getting the Mastersons out of Argentina. And then the President issued the Finding.

"I had absolutely no idea where to start looking for the people who murdered Masterson except that there very probably was a connection between Masterson and his brother-in-law, the missing UN diplomat, so I started there."

Silvio nodded his understanding.

"So I went to Paris. A source told me that Lorimer was the bagman for the oil-for-food-"

"A source?" Silvio interrupted.

"Howard Kennedy, a former FBI hotshot who changed sides and now works for Alek Pevsner."

"I know that name," Silvio said. "Why would Pevsner tell you? I presume Kennedy wouldn't have done that without Pevsner's permission, or, more likely, at Pevsner's orders?"

"Wouldn't you prefer to know as little about Pevsner and/or Kennedy as possible?"

"I presume your offer to deny telling me anything is still open?"

"It is. It will stay open," Castillo said. "Okay. Pevsner has struck a deal with the President. He makes himself useful-I found the missing 727 with his help and I don't think I could have otherwise-and the President orders the FBI, so long as Pevsner doesn't violate any U.S. laws, to stop looking for him-and for Kennedy-and orders the CIA to stop trying to arrange Pevsner's arrest by any other government."

"That's very interesting," Silvio said. "Who else knows about that?"

"Secretary Hall, Secretary Cohen, and Ambassador Montvale know about the deal. The director of the FBI and the DCI know they've been ordered to lay off Pevsner. I don't know how much, if anything, they know about the deal."

Silvio nodded thoughtfully.

Castillo went on: "What Kennedy told me about Lorimer was confirmed by the CIA station chief in Paris, who told me he was sure that Lorimer was now in little pieces in the Seine or the Danube. From Paris, I went to Fulda-to Gorner at the Tages Zeitung-and told him that I needed to have all the information he had about the oil-for-food payoffs. He gave me what he had, on condition I not make it available to the CIA or the FBI or anyone else, and told me that Eric Kocian, the publisher of the Budapester Tages Zeitung, had more information.

"So I went to Budapest and Kocian reluctantly, and with the same caveat that I couldn't share anything with the FBI or the CIA, gave me what he had. Kocian also believed that Lorimer had already been eliminated.

"Then I came back here-actually, to Montevideo-to see what Yung might have in his files about any of it. He had a file on Jean-Paul Bertrand, a Lebanese national and a dealer in antiquities-who was, of course, Lorimer, and who was alive on his estancia. So I set up the operation to grab Lorimer/Bertrand and repatriate him.

"And you know what happened at the estancia. We were bushwhacked. Lorimer and one of my men were killed and Colonel Munz wounded."

"Doesn't 'bushwhacked' imply you walked into a trap?" Silvio asked.

"I've thought about that. It's possible, but I think it was more likely just a coincidence. The people Lorimer was running from-and they're good-found him, and they got to the estancia right after we did."

"There's no one who could have told them about your operation? Where did you get the helicopter?"

"I got the chopper from Pevsner."

"Pevsner's here?" Silvio asked, surprised. "In Argentina?"

"If I don't answer that question, you can swear both that you don't know where Pevsner is and that I refused to tell you where he is."

Silvio nodded. "Consider the question withdrawn."

"I had to threaten Pevsner with the withdrawal of his presidential protection to get the chopper. He doesn't want to lose that. The CIA really would like some other-any other-government to catch him, and either bury him in a prison for the rest of his life or take him out."

"Why?" Silvio asked.

"The CIA used him to move things around, bought weapons from him. They'd like that buried. No, Alek Pevsner didn't set us up. It would not be in his best interests and he never puts anything above his best interests."

Castillo started to say something, then stopped and took out his cigar case. He offered it to Silvio, who nodded his thanks, and they both carefully lit up. It was obvious that both were thinking.

"We took the contents of Lorimer's safe with us," Castillo said, finally. "Among them were sort of cashier's checks for nearly sixteen million dollars that he had in three Uruguayan banks."

"Can I say something?" Silvio asked.

"Please."

"Ambassador McGrory knows about that money. It's the basis of his theory that Lorimer was a drug dealer. You're saying you have it?"

Castillo nodded.

He puffed his cigar, exhaled, then said, "I will deny telling you this: Ambassador Montvale suggested, and the President went along with him, that we should take the money and use it to fund the Office of Organizational Analysis. Most of it is in a bank in the Cayman Islands. I call it the 'Lorimer Charitable and Benevolent Fund.'"

Silvio smiled and shook his head.

"That's why I sent Yung back down here, to cover our tracks," Castillo said.

"You've heard he's been shot?"

Castillo nodded.

"First, I flew to Paris, for a look at Lorimer's apartment," Castillo said. "It had been previously searched by the Deuxieme Bureau, the UN, and our CIA guy. Nothing there. Then I went to Fulda, and cleared things up with Otto Gorner. I told him what I was doing-and on whose authority-and that I wanted to be released from my promise not to share his files with the FBI and the CIA. He agreed and gave me all his files. Then I went to Budapest to get Eric Kocian to release me from my promise.

"He was perfectly willing to do so, primarily because parties unknown had tried to stick a needle in him on the Franz Josef Bridge and, when that failed, shot him twice…"

"My God!"

"…at one o'clock the next morning…" Castillo's voice trailed off, then he exclaimed, "My God, that was yesterday morning!"

"You were in Budapest yesterday morning?" Silvio asked in surprise, if not disbelief.

Castillo nodded.

"And at one o'clock yesterday morning, these people-this time, two bad guys-made another attempt to murder Kocian and to burn his apartment and whatever files he might have there."

"You said 'attempt'?" Silvio questioned.

"Eric was still in the hospital," Castillo explained. "I was sleeping in the guest bedroom in his apartment. Eric's dog woke me up. Instead of Kocian, they got me and a suppressed.22 that I had the foresight to get from the CIA armory at our embassy. Neither body had any identification on it, but the garrote they used on one of Kocian's security men was a twin of the garrote used on Sergeant Kranz at the estancia. So it seems pretty evident we're dealing with the same people."

"Who are?"

"I'm beginning to think they're either ex-East German Stasi or ex-Hungarian Allamvedelmi Hatosag-AVH-but I'm not sure of that and have no idea who they're working for."

"So Mr. Kocian and his files are all right? In your possession?"

"One copy of the files, sent in the diplomatic pouch from Budapest, should be in Washington by now. I've got another copy here. Eric Kocian is in the apartment on Avenida Arribenos."

"You brought him with you? How did you get here so quickly?"

"Him and his dog and his bodyguard, an ex-Hungarian cop who did a tour in the French Foreign Legion." Castillo chuckled. "I guess I didn't get around to telling you that the Lorimer Trust was burning a hole in my pocket, so I bought a Gulfstream III with seven and a half million of it. Colonel Torine and my cousin Fernando flew it from Washington, spent about six hours in Budapest and then we flew here. Which may explain why I do feel a tinge of fatigue."

"I'm surprised you're able to walk around," Silvio said.

"But not surprised I'm not making much sense?"

"You're doing fine, Charley. So what are your plans here?"

"Alex Darby is right now renting a house for us at Mayerling in Pilar. The Lorimer Trust will reimburse him. Kocian thinks there's a connection with Mayerling and German-or, more likely, Austrian and Hungarian-oil-for-food money. I don't know, but Eric is right more often than he's wrong.

"The idea was that I would put Kocian in the house and have Yung and him compare notes. They sent me a replacement for Sergeant Kranz-a friend of mine, Sergeant Major Jack Davidson-who has a lot of experience protecting people. We served in Afghanistan together.

"He brought with him Corporal Lester Bradley and I don't know what the hell to do with him. Just put him out there with Davidson, I suppose. Darby will move Sergeant Kensington and his radio out to Mayerling as soon as he can. Somebody will have to sit on that around the clock. Lester can help with that."

"And Colonel Munz?" Silvio said. "He'll work with Yung and Mr. Kocian?"

"Now that he's been shot, I don't think Yung will want to be out there. And that brings up Colonel Munz." He paused. "You beginning to understand why this inept juggler is worried about all the balls he has in the air?"

"So far, so good, Charley. You haven't dropped any yet."

"Stick around. It won't be long," Castillo said. "They call that the 'Law of Inevitability.'"

"Tell me about Colonel Munz," Silvio said, smiling.

"Well, he thinks people are following him around. He doesn't know who they are, but he's worried about his family-a wife and two daughters-and I don't think he's paranoid.

"He suspects-but doesn't know-that the people following him, or at least some of them, may work for Pevsner. And he knows enough about Pevsner to know that Pevsner's policy for people who know too much about him is to give them a beauty mark in the forehead."

It took a moment for Silvio to understand. Then he grimaced.

"Since Munz took a bullet for us," Castillo said, "I told him I would take him and his family to the States until we find out who these people are and stop them. They'll need visas."

"Not a problem," Silvio said. "The bureaucrats in Foggy Bottom keep whittling away at an ambassador's authority, but I'm still the man with the last word on who gets a visa."

"That'll have to be done today and I haven't quite figured out how to do it."

"It can be done."

"Munz doesn't want to go. He wants to stay here and help find out who these bastards are."

"How badly is he hurt?"

"His shoulder. I don't know if he can use a weapon or not."

"Why does it have to be today?" Silvio asked.

"Because (a) I have still more balls to juggle in the States and (b) I need to talk to Ambassador Montvale as soon as I can."

"He said the same about you. There's a secure line here, if you want to use it."

"Thank you. A little later," Castillo said, and then asked: "Do you think Santini's out there by now?"

"I'd be surprised if he's not."

"Thank you very much, sir."

"For what?"

"This is probably one more manifestation of exhaustion, but I really feel a hell of a lot better than when we walked in here. Almost euphoric."

"I'm glad," Silvio said. "But I strongly recommend that, as soon as we're finished with Lowery and Santini, you get some rest. A lot of rest."

"I just don't have the time right now. Maybe I can get some sleep in the Gulfstream on the way to the States."

Silvio looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "You said you wanted my advice. Still want it?"

"Yes, sir."

"You've been talking about juggling balls and being an inept juggler."

Castillo nodded.

"I think you're a very good juggler, Charley. If you start dropping balls, it will be because you're exhausted, not because you're inept. Stop pushing yourself. You have limits, even if you don't like to admit it."

"I readily admit it. Physical limits, mental limits, and half a dozen other kinds."

"Once everyone is set up in the safe house in Mayerling and you get Colonel Munz's family to the States, I can see no reason why you can't take forty-eight hours off. Can you?"

"I have to go see Ambassador Montvale as soon as I get to the States and I don't think I can put that off for forty-eight hours."

"There's my proof that you're exhausted and need rest. Even I can think of a way to get around that."

"How?"

"Don't let him know you're going to the States tomorrow. Tell him you're going the day after tomorrow. Better yet, the day after that."

"You mean stay here another forty-eight hours? I can't do that. I want to get Munz's family out of here as quickly as possible."

"I didn't suggest that you stay here for another forty-eight hours," Silvio said.

Castillo met his eyes.

"You are a friend, aren't you?" Castillo said after a moment.

"My advice is to go to Philadelphia and see Special Agent Schneider. From what I've seen of you two, she's the only person in the world who can get your mind off this and that's what you really have to do. Get your mind off everything about this for forty-eight hours so that when you go back to work you'll be running on all eight cylinders."

"It would be very nice to be running on all eight cylinders when I go to see Montvale. And almost suicidal not to be." He paused, then met Silvio's eyes again. "Thank you very much."

Silvio nodded and waved at the swinging door leading to his living room. [TWO] Tony Santini was standing by the large picture window of the simply but richly appointed living room of the ambassador's residence when Castillo and Silvio entered.

"Before we get into this, Charley," Santini said, evenly, "where do you want Solez to sit on Yung? You were a little vague about that."

"Where are they now?"

"He called two minutes ago. They're riding around in the park near the waterworks," Santini said, gesturing toward the river Plate.

The Buenos Aires potable-water plant was near the river not far from the Jorge Newbery airfield, five minutes or so from the ambassador's residence.

When Castillo didn't immediately reply, Santini added, "Yung's anxious to see you. And he's got another FBI agent with him."

"What's that about?" Castillo wondered aloud, then went on immediately, "Is he in a black car?"

Santini shook his head. "An embassy BMW. We don't have much of a fleet of black cars, Charley."

"Mr. Ambassador, can I bring them here?" Castillo asked.

Silvio nodded and picked up a telephone from a side table and punched a button.

"This is Ambassador Silvio," he said into the handset. "Mr. Solez and two others will be at the gate in a few minutes. Please see they are sent to my apartment."

Castillo wondered aloud: "I hope his having somebody with him doesn't mean that he's hurt worse than we've heard."

No one replied.

Santini was already on his cellular.

"Ricardo, come to the residence. You're expected," he said without any preliminaries, then broke the connection. Yung, Solez, and "Legal Attache" Julio Artigas came into Silvio's living room ten minutes later.

They made their manners to Ambassador Silvio, Santini, and Lowery, then Yung walked to Castillo.

Artigas was surprised at seeing Castillo: Jesus Christ, he's not any older than I am. And he's calling all the shots?

"You all right, Dave?" Castillo asked.

"I'm in much better shape than my Blazer, Major," Yung said. "It has at least a half dozen double-aught buckshot holes in it."

Castillo picked up on Yung's attitude.

He's not sullen.

I was afraid he would be. He didn't want to come down here and, when he did, he got shot.

I thought I would really be on his shit list.

But he's almost cheerful. Is he a little high on painkillers?

"And this is?" Castillo asked, indicating Artigas.

"Julio Artigas, Major," Artigas answered. "I'm a legal attache in Montevideo."

Castillo took the offered hand.

"And what brings you to Buenos Aires, Mr. Artigas?"

Their eyes met, causing Artigas to conclude, This is one tough, intelligent character.

"I asked him to come, Major," Yung said.

Castillo looked questioningly at him.

"Artigas has pretty well figured out what's going on, Major," Yung said.

"Figured out what that's going on?" Castillo asked.

"Colonel…" Ambassador Silvio began.

Castillo saw that Yung had picked up on the rank.

"…Mr. Artigas was taken to the estancia by the Uruguayan National Police," Silvio continued. "He's…been around…this situation practically from the beginning."

"And he was with Chief Inspector Ordonez when Ordonez took Lowery and me to the estancia," Yung said.

"And how much did you-and/or Lowery-tell him?"

"Nothing he hadn't already pretty well figured out for himself, Maj…did the ambassador call you 'Colonel'?"

"Yes, I did," Silvio said.

"Well, congratulations," Yung said. "Well deserved."

He is high, Castillo thought. There's no other explanation for that. He seems genuinely pleased.

"Thank you," Castillo said as Yung enthusiastically pumped his hand.

"What did they give you for the pain, Dave?" Castillo asked.

"Nothing. I took a couple of aspirin."

I'll be damned!

"Artigas, you're a problem I didn't expect," Castillo said. "Mr. Ambassador, may I use your secure line?"

"Of course," Silvio said. "It's in a small closet euphemistically referred to as my office." [THREE] "Sir," Castillo told Silvio, "if you'll get a secure line to the White House switchboard no one in the embassy will know I'm here."

"I'll have to go through the State Department switchboard."

"They'll switch you over."

Silvio picked up the heavily corded handset.

"This is Silvio. Would you get me a secure line to the department switchboard, please?" That took about twenty seconds and then the ambassador said, "This is Ambassador Silvio. Please get me a secure connection to the White House switchboard."

He handed off the handset to Castillo and said, "I'll leave you alone."

"Please stay," Castillo said.

Silvio nodded. "White House."

"Colonel Castillo. I need Ambassador Montvale on a secure line." "Ambassador Montvale's secure line," a familiar voice said.

"This is Colonel Castillo, Mr. Ellsworth. Put the ambassador on, please."

Ten seconds passed before Montvale came on the telephone.

"Hello, Charley," he said, cordially. "I've been hoping to hear from you. How's things going?"

"A lot has happened, Mr. Ambassador. Can I give you a quick rundown, then fill you in completely when I'm in Washington?"

"When do you think that will be, Charley?"

Castillo met Silvio's eyes.

"I hope to get out of here late in the afternoon the day after tomorrow. It may be twenty-four hours after that."

"You must be very busy."

"I've been pretty busy," Castillo said. "An attempt to kidnap my source in Budapest was made. When the kidnapping didn't go off, they tried to kill him. They wounded him twice. The next morning, they tried again, this time to assassinate him in his apartment, then burn the apartment and whatever information he might have had in it. That attempt also failed."

"He's all right, I hope?"

"He's all right. And his files are either en route to Washington or already there."

"And when am I going to get to see them?"

"As soon as they get there, if you like. But I'm afraid in the form they're in that I'm going to have to translate them. And I can't do that, obviously, until I'm in Washington."

"And that will not be for several days, right?"

"Just as soon as I can get there, Mr. Ambassador."

"Is your source safe in Budapest?"

"I brought him to Argentina with me."

"Personal jets are really nice things to have, aren't they?"

"Oh, you heard about that, did you?"

"I hear things, Charley, as you know. That one I heard from Major Miller. I had to remind him you had given me your word that I would be in the loop. He did not, however, tell me where you had gone from Budapest. I had to learn that myself."

"Learn it? Or make a guess?"

"I made a guess and then sought confirmation. Have you by any chance been in touch with Ambassador Silvio? Or Mr. Darby?"

"I'm calling from the residence, sir. Ambassador Silvio is with me. Mr. Darby is just outside."

"And how is Mr. Yung? Was he able to accomplish what you sent him down there to do before that horrifying carjacking incident?"

"You heard about that, did you?"

"Secretary Cohen was good enough to call and tell me what Ambassador McGrory had called to tell her. Crime seems almost out of control down there, doesn't it?"

"Yung's here with me, too. He wasn't badly hurt. I presume he did what I sent him to do or otherwise he would have said something. I'm probably going to bring him to the States with me."

"To do what?"

"To see what sense he can make of all the files we now have to work with."

"Are you also going to bring your source?"

"What I'm going to do is put my source in a safe house here that the Lorimer Charitable Fund has rented and he will work with his files, Yung's files, and whatever else I can get him."

"The Lorimer Charitable Fund? I rather like that," Montvale said. "I don't want to appear to be looking for praise, Charley, but you do remember my contribution to setting up the fund, don't you?"

"And I shall be forever grateful to you, sir."

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Charley?"

"Now that you mention it, there's an FBI agent, a 'legal attache,' in the Montevideo embassy, one Julio Artigas, who I think would be of far more use to Ambassador Silvio than he is to Ambassador McGrory. Could you arrange his transfer?"

"What's that all about?"

"He's come up-on his own-with answers to questions Ambassador McGrory may ask him."

"Is anyone else liable to do that?"

"I hope not. I don't think so."

"I'll have a word with Director Schmidt the first chance I have."

"Today would be nice, sir. As soon as we get off the phone would be even better."

"That important, eh? Consider it done. Will you spell that name for me, please?"

Castillo did so.

"Got it," Montvale said.

"That's all I have, sir, until I can get to Washington and brief you fully."

"The sooner you can do that, the better."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

"We still have the matter of exploding briefcases to deal with, you know. I find that quite worrisome."

"Yes, sir. So do I. And I'll get on that as soon as I can."

"Good to hear from you, Charley."

"Always a pleasure to talk to you, sir," Castillo said and clicked the phone. When the operator came on, he told her, "Break it down," then hung up.

He looked at Ambassador Silvio.

"Ambassador Montvale gave me everything I asked for," Castillo said. "And no static. Why does that make me very nervous?"

Ambassador Silvio smiled but didn't reply directly.

"They're waiting for us in the living room," he said. [FOUR] Artigas, Solez, Munz, Santini, and Yung, talking quietly among themselves while cooling their heels on two of the couches, got to their feet as Castillo and Ambassador Silva came into the room. The look on Artigas's face reminded Castillo of what he'd said about him being "an unexpected problem" just before getting on the secure line to Montvale.

He knows I was talking to someone about him. But the look on his face is concern, not fear. He is concerned about what the great and all-powerful Colonel Castillo has had to say about him-but not afraid.

He knows he's done nothing wrong, so why should he be afraid?

I think I like this guy. Let's see how smart he is.

"Okay, Artigas," Castillo said, "why don't you tell me what you think you have figured out about what may have happened down here?"

Artigas was visibly unhappy about being ordered to do that.

"It's all right, Mr. Artigas," Ambassador Silvio said. "What you say will get no further than this room, and it's important to Colonel Castillo and myself to know how much highly classified information may have been deduced or intuited by you."

"Yes, sir," Artigas said and proceeded to clearly outline his suspicions and the conclusions he had drawn from them and why.

Castillo was very impressed with how much Artigas had "deduced or intuited."

This guy is very smart. He's figured out just about everything that went down-except, of course, who the Ninjas were or where they came from. And nobody knows that.

The downside of that, of course, is that if he's figured this out, some of the other FBI agents have probably done the same thing.

"How much of this have you discussed with anyone else?" Castillo asked. "With other FBI agents? Or anyone else?"

"No one, sir."

"You're sure?" Castillo pursued.

"Yes, sir."

"Artigas, you're being transferred from the Montevideo embassy to the embassy here," Castillo said.

What? Jesus Christ! Artigas thought, then asked: "When's that going to happen?"

Castillo thought: Not "I am?" Or "Why?" Or "Don't I have anything to say about that?" Or even "Says who?"

Just "When?"

"It's happening now," Castillo said. "Ambassador McGrory will be told only that you're being transferred. If anyone asks you, you will say you have no idea why that's happening."

"That's easy," Artigas said, "because I don't have any idea why that's happening."

"Did Yung or Howell mention anything about a Presidential Finding?" Castillo asked.

"Yeah," Artigas said and smiled and shook his head. "But only 'hypothetically,' Colonel. And then they said they would deny ever discussing even a hypothetical Presidential Finding with me."

Castillo chuckled. Ambassador Silviosmiled.

"Everyone take your seat," Castillo said. "Get comfortable."

When they had, Castillo went on: "Okay, this is not hypothetical, Artigas. From now on, anything I-or anybody connected in any way with this operation-tells you is classified Top Secret Presidential."

"Yes, sir."

"There has been a Presidential Finding. It established the Office of Organizational Analysis, a covert and clandestine unit within the Department of Homeland Security. I am the chief. The mission is to…"

Ten minutes later, Castillo ended his uninterrupted lecture: "…until you hear otherwise from me-me, not from anyone else-you are on detached duty with OOA." He smiled, and added, "This is the point where the lecturer invariably says, 'Are there any questions?' I'm not going to do that."

I've got several hundred questions, Artigas thought, then said: "Not even one question?"

"One," Castillo said.

"What am I going to do?"

"Good question. The answer is, until I figure that out, you are going to contribute whatever you can from your vast fund of professional knowledge to the solving of a number of little problems OOA faces."

"Like what?" Artigas said, smiling.

"You got one question. You spent it," Castillo said, meeting Artigas's eyes.

Castillo then looked at the others and went on, "The priority problem is how to get Colonel Munz's family out of here as safely, as quickly, and as secretly as possible." He paused. "Mr. Ambassador, may I respectfully suggest that this would be a splendid time for you to find something else to do?"

"I think not, Colonel," Silvio said. "I really decided a while back that this is one of those 'in for a penny, in for a pound' situations. Maybe I can be helpful."

"You're sure, sir?"

Silvio nodded.

Castillo shrugged.

"Tony, did Alfredo tell you about the people surveilling him?" Castillo asked.

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, then let's do this the military way, by seniority. I think you're senior, Tony, so tell us how we're going to do that."

"I need all the facts, Charley, and I don't think I have them," Santini said.

"What are you missing?"

"That friend of yours who speaks Russian," Santini said. "What's his role in this?"

"And a half dozen other languages," Castillo offered. "Alek Pevsner."

"The Russian arms dealer, mafioso?" Ken Lowery asked. "Jesus, I saw a new Interpol warrant for him-smuggling, I think-just a couple of days ago. He's involved in this?"

I saw that Interpol warrant, too, Artigas thought. And a dozen others on him. That guy's a real badass. And he's Castillo's friend?

Castillo nodded. "The question is, how is he involved?"

"He's here? In Argentina?" Yung asked.

"I am going to say as little about Pevsner as I can," Castillo said. "As a matter of fact, from this moment on he is code-named 'Putin' and all references to him will be by his code name. Clear?"

There were nods and yes sirs.

"What about Putin's friend, Colonel?" Yung asked. "My ex-friend? Do we need a code name for him?"

"I think we do," Castillo said. "How does 'Schmidt' strike you?"

Artigas's eyebrows rose at hearing the name of the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

"Now that I've burned my bureau bridges," Yung said, "that's fine with me."

Artigas wondered: Now, what the hell does that mean?

"Okay. Kennedy is now Schmidt," Castillo said.

There's an FBI back-channel locate-report-but-do-not-detain out on a former agent named Howard Kennedy, Artigas thought, then said so aloud, adding, "Did you know that?"

"I suspected it," Castillo said.

"Same guy?"

Castillo nodded.

"You used to work with him, right, Yung?" Artigas asked.

Yung nodded uncomfortably.

"Dave, when did you decide your bureau bridges were burned?" Castillo asked.

"Couple of days ago," Yung said. "I'm still not sure if I burned them or you burned them for me, but when I looked they were gloriously aflame."

"How do you feel about that?"

"The question is, how do you feel about it?"

"I'm glad to have you, if that's what you're asking."

"Then I feel fine about it, Colonel," Yung said.

If he's not high on painkillers, or anything else, what the hell happened to make him change his mind?

Castillo gave him a double thumbs-up gesture.

"Okay," Santini said. "Alfredo thinks it's likely that some of the people after him are Putin's guys. I think we have to accept that. I think we have to presume that the Ninjas are on him, too. And he thinks SIDE may also be on him."

"Let's talk about that," Castillo said. "Why do you think SIDE is surveilling you, Alfredo?"

"What the Argentine government wants to do is forget-have everyone forget-what happened to Mr. Masterson," Munz replied. "And they've heard what happened in Uruguay and don't want to be surprised by any developments in the matter. They don't know what my relationship with Ale…Putin really was or is. Officially, I was keeping an eye on Putin for SIDE."

"They know he's here, Colonel?" Ambassador Silvio said.

"I found him," Munz said, simply.

"Then why didn't they act on one or more of the Interpol warrants out on him? Do you know?"

Munz answered that with the gesture of rubbing the thumb and index finger of his right hand together.

"All I was told was to keep him under surveillance," he said. "And that a decision about what to do with him would come later."

"Is there a chance he will be arrested?" Silvio asked.

Munz shook his head and said, "If he has been as generous as I suspect he has, if the decision to act on one or more of the Interpol warrants is made, he'll be given sufficient warning before the order to go arrest him is given." He paused and looked at Castillo. "But to answer your question, Karl, they're watching me so they won't be surprised by anything that might happen."

"Okay. Makes sense," Castillo said, thought a long moment, then asked, "If somebody tried to grab you or whack you-or your family-and SIDE was watching, what would happen?"

"That's what worries me, Karl," Munz said. "I'd like to think that SIDE was told to protect me-us-and that I left enough friends behind in SIDE, many of whom know my family, so they would protect us, orders or not. But that may not be the case. That's why I'm so grateful for your offer to get them out of here."

"With that-and SIDE-in mind, Charley," Santini said, "SIDE runs a computer scan of people passing through immigration."

"How hard would it be to smuggle them into Uruguay?" Castillo asked. "If that's possible, we could pick them up at Carrasco with the Gulfstream. I don't think SIDE is scanning Uruguayan immigration, are they, Alfredo?"

Artigas thought: Gulfstream? Jesus Christ, has he got his own airplane?

"We have…excuse me, SIDE has," Munz corrected himself, as he no longer was chief of SIDE, "an arrangement where Uruguayan immigration checks a list of names SIDE gives them against people coming in or out and lets SIDE know if anybody shows up. I don't think my name is on that list."

"I don't know if it's smuggling or not, Colonel," Artigas said, "but they wouldn't have to go through immigration to get to Uruguay. All they need is their National Identity Card to get on an airplane or the Buquebus ferry. They don't take names."

"He's right, Charley," Santini said.

"The Buquebus would be better," Munz said.

"Okay, we'll do that," Castillo said. "First we get their passports stamped, very quietly, with a…"

"…five-year, multivisit visa," Ambassador Silvio furnished. "You get me the passports, Colonel Munz, and I'll take care of that."

"Thank you," Munz said.

"First we get them visas and then on the Buquebus," Castillo said. "Then what?"

"I've got to go back to Uruguay," Yung said. "And so, come to think of it, does Artigas, so he can look very surprised when McGrory tells him he's been transferred over here. One or both of us could go on the Buquebus with them."

"Why do you have to go back to Uruguay?" Castillo asked.

"I've got to get Lorimer and his casket from the undertakers and out to the airport."

"Jesus, I forgot all about him," Castillo said, then heard what he had said and smiled and shook his head. "Mr. Ambassador, there's another example that I'm playing with far fewer than fifty-two cards in my deck."

Silvio said, "That's only proof, Colonel, that you forgot the details of the repatriation of Mr. Lorimer's remains."

Castillo raised an eyebrow, then turned to Yung. "Tell me about those, Dave," he said.

"The casket will go on American Airlines flight 6002 at five after nine tomorrow night. It could have gone tonight, but the body wasn't ready."

"'The body wasn't ready'?" Castillo parroted.

"I was afraid the bastard's father might insist on opening the casket. When I saw the body in the English hospital, it looked awful. So I took some clothes from the estancia and told the undertaker to dress him, and to do a better job of sewing him up than the hospital did after the autopsy."

"That was a very nice thing for you to do, Mr. Yung," Ambassador Silvio said.

"And it would have been even nicer if you hadn't called the deceased 'the bastard,'" Castillo said.

Yung looked at him, ignored the comment, and continued: "The airplane stops at Ezeiza, then goes to Miami. Then the casket'll be transferred to an American Airlines flight…I've got the number somewhere if that detail's important…to New Orleans."

"And you have to go with it," Castillo said.

"I wanted to talk to you about that," Yung said. "I'd much rather stay here."

Jesus Christ, Castillo thought, he's really done a one-eighty!

"If you're not on that airplane with the body," Castillo said, "Ambassador McGrory-and others-are going to suspect you didn't come down here to repatriate the remains. So you will be on it."

"Yes, sir."

He's really disappointed.

"And you will stay through the funeral. There's no telling who might show up for that." He paused, then looked at Santini. "Tony, could we get the Secret Service to make the plates of the cars at that funeral? Maybe the people themselves?"

"Not a problem. Who are we looking for?" Santini said.

"Names and addresses-and photographs, if that can be done discreetly-to feed to our database," Castillo said. "Anything. Right now all we have is the database."

"I'll get on the horn," Santini said.

"After that, Dave," Castillo said, "if you still want to come back here, we'll see what can be worked out."

He saw that Yung was pleased with that.

Congratulations, Second Lieutenant Castillo. You remembered that from Leadership 101: "If at all possible, do not discourage enthusiasm."

"Okay, so where does that leave us?" Santini said. "The passports and what else?"

"The pancake flour and maple syrup," Castillo said.

Artigas thought, The what?

"I got it," Santini said. "What's that all about?"

"Where is it right now?" Castillo asked.

"In the trunk of the embassy BMW," Solez said.

"It's for Putin," Castillo said. "I promised it to him."

Artigas thought, incredulously: He promised pancake flour and maple syrup to Aleksandr Pevsner, international thug?

"I'd love to know what that's all about, Charley," Santini said.

"Alfredo," Castillo said, "is there any way you can communicate with your wife without using your home phone?"

Munz nodded. "I can call her and give her a message, something innocuous, that tells her to go to the phone in the kiosk around the corner from the house."

"How is she about taking orders without question?"

"Ordinarily, not good at all," Munz said, smiling. "But under these circumstances…" He paused. "She knows I didn't shoot myself cleaning my pistol. And she's seen the cars."

"What about your daughters?"

"They'll do what their mother tells them to do."

"How do you think this would work?" Castillo began. "You get her on the kiosk phone and tell her to pick up your daughters and their passports-and nothing else, that's important-and take a taxi to Unicenter. Is there a place you could meet her there?"

"In the food court," Munz said. "Or, for that matter, the garage."

"The food court would probably be better," Castillo said. "I'll drive you back there and we'll sneak you in the way we sneaked you out. You will meet them in the food court. I'll follow you up there and so will Ricardo, Yung, and Artigas. You will point us all out to them so they understand we're the good guys. You get the passports…"

Munz held up his hand and Castillo stopped.

Munz thought for a long moment, then said, "Okay so far, Karl. Go on."

"You tell them to go shopping," Castillo continued. "Underwear, maybe dresses, whatever else they'll need for two, three days. No luggage. Shopping bags only."

"They won't be going back to the apartment?" Munz asked.

"No. They'll take a cab to the Buquebus terminal, arriving no more than ten minutes before they have to…"

"There's a ferry leaving at nine-thirty," Munz said. "It gets to Montevideo about one in the morning. Which means they would have to be there at nine-fifteen. Considering the traffic, they'd have to leave Unicenter no later than eight-thirty." He looked at his watch. "It's now ten to six. It'll be tight but that much can be done. What's the rest?"

"Artigas will have taken a cab to Buquebus right after you point out him and Yung to your family. That's (a) so he can buy the tickets and (b) in case Yung, who will stay in Unicenter with your family-and follow them in another taxi to Buquebus-somehow gets separated from them. In other words, Artigas'll be at the terminal with their tickets and passports when your family gets there. That should reassure them a little. And they'll stay with them as long as they're in Uruguay."

"I'm not going to drive them?" Ricardo Solez asked.

"You're going to take the passports, bring them here, have them stamped, and then take them to Artigas at the Buquebus terminal."

"Got it."

Castillo went on: "Alfredo is going to get in his car-he left it in the Unicenter parking lot-and take Putin the pancake flour and maple syrup…"

Artigas decided, Pancake flour and maple syrup have to be code names for something-something they don't want me to know about. But what?

"…And he's going to tell Putin that I called him, had him meet me at Unicenter, and gave him the flour and syrup, then asked him to take it to him. He will also cleverly drop into their conversation that I told him I was going to the States either tonight or tomorrow."

Munz nodded.

"I'm going to follow him out there-and I think I better have a weapon-Tony?"

"I just happen to have a spare Glock in my briefcase," Santini said.

"I'm going to wait for Alfredo in the supermarket parking lot near where Putin's holed up. You know where I mean, Alfredo?"

Munz nodded.

"When Munz comes back from delivering the flour and syrup to Putin, he will drive to his apartment with me following him. There he will put his car in the garage, go to his apartment, and turn on the lights, then turn them off again and go out of the apartment and to the kiosk around the corner. Somehow, during this time, he will get into the backseat of the Cherokee without being noticed and I'll take him to the apartment on Arribenos."

"What's that?" Munz asked.

"It's where you'll spend tonight," Castillo said. "Tomorrow, presuming nothing went wrong with renting it, you-and Eric Kocian, Max, and Kocian's bodyguard-will as quietly as possible be moved to a safe house in the Mayerling Country Club in Pilar."

"Who are those people?" Munz asked.

"One is a man named Eric Kocian. He's a journalist. He's got a lot of material I want you to go through to see if we can make a connection."

"I don't like journalists much myself," Munz said. "But he needs a bodyguard?"

Castillo nodded. "They tried to kill him twice in the last week. They also tried to stick a needle full of phenothiazine in him. You'll like the bodyguard. He used to be an inspector in the Budapest police department, and, before that, a hitch in the French Foreign Legion."

"They speak Spanish?"

"German and Hungarian."

"And the third one? Max Something, you said?"

"Max Bouvier," Castillo said. "He doesn't talk much."

"Another bodyguard, Karl?"

"Oh, yes," Castillo said.

"Jesus Christ, Charley!" Santini said, shaking his head. "Alfredo, he's pulling your leg. Max is a dog. An enormous dog."

Munz looked at Castillo.

"True," Castillo said. "Which just made me think of something. I was planning to move Kocian to the master bedroom in the suite in the Four Seasons. He's in his eighties, has two 9mm holes in him, and just flew from Budapest. But I can't do that, obviously, with Max. He's going to have to stay in that apartment. And won't like it."

"Leave the dog in the apartment," Solez said.

"Not an option. Where Kocian goes, so does Max. He even had him in his hospital room in Budapest."

"Which just made me think of something," Santini said. "What do we do with Familia Munz in Montevideo until you can pick them up with the Gulfstream?"

"Alfredo took me to a first-rate hotel in Carrasco…" Castillo began.

"I sent you there," Ambassador Silvio said. "The Belmont House. I'll call over, and get them a suite."

"No," Castillo said. "That would involve you personally. I don't want that. I'll call. We'll have to get them to hold the room anyway if that boat doesn't get over there until one o'clock in the morning."

"And where is Familia Munz going in the States?" Santini asked. "Washington?"

Jesus, I didn't even think about that! Castillo thought.

He then said, "Not at first. At first, we need something in the boonies."

"Carlos," Solez said. "The ranch?"

"My first thought just now was to take them to the plantation-there's people already there sitting on the Masterson family-but obviously that wasn't one of my brighter ideas."

"When Dona Alicia sent me the e-mail about you getting promoted, she said she had just been up to the ranch and it was so hot she wasn't going back until November."

Castillo chuckled. "It does get a bit warm in Midland in August, doesn't it? Okay, I'll give Abuela a call and ask her to stay away until further notice. Tony, can we get some Secret Service people to go to Midland until I can make better arrangements for Alfredo's family?"

"You can, Charley," Santini said and pointed in the general direction of the secure telephone.

Artigas thought: The Ranch? The Plantation? Dona Alicia? Abuela?

For Christ's sake, abuela is Spanish for "grandmother."

Does everything these people do come with a code name?

And how I am supposed to figure out what they mean?

"Okay," Castillo said, "I'll do that. I'll call Dona Alicia and Miller right now. And while I'm doing that, make sure everybody has everybody else's number on their cellulars. And when you use them, remember to use the code names. Which reminds me, we'll need one for Familia Munz. How about 'Mother'?"

"That's easy to remember," Santini said, drily. "Give me your cellular, Charley, and I'll make sure you have all the numbers."

Castillo handed it to him, then looked at Ambassador Silvio, wordlessly asking permission to use the secure telephone.

Silvio nodded and said, "Of course." "That was a hell of a lot easier than I thought it would be," Castillo announced when he came back into the room several minutes later.

He looked at Santini and went on: "Joel was there. He said no problem, and gave me a number to call when we know when we'll be at the ranch and they'll be waiting for us. He said to tell you hello."

Santini nodded.

Castillo turned to Solez. "Dona Alicia sends you a kiss. She made me promise to get a little rest while I'm having 'our meeting' at the ranch."

Solez nodded.

Castillo turned to Munz.

"The ranch is outside Midland, Texas, Alfredo. It's been in my family for a very long time. It's pretty large, even by Argentine standards. The reason for that is here you wonder how many head you can graze on one hectare. Out there, we wonder how many hectares it will take to feed one steer enough so that we can move him to a feeding pen. There's a nice house; your family will be comfortable. Most important, it'll be absolutely safe. There's an airstrip which can't be seen from the nearest road. No one will know who's there. And you heard what I said to Joel about the Secret Service?"

Munz nodded. "Thank you, Karl."

"Is that about it? Are we ready to move? Have we forgotten anything?"

"You can bet on that," Santini said. "But, yeah, we better get moving." [FIVE] Unicenter Panamericana Highway Buenos Aires, Argentina 1830 8 August 2005 David W. Yung, Jr., was more than a little embarrassed at the emotions he was feeling as he sat drinking a cup of hot chocolate with Julio Artigas at a small table in the food court, a collection of fast-food vendors on the top floor of the vast, multilevel shopping center.

He was sad and angry, emotions he knew were inappropriate for a special agent of the FBI, and especially for one who had just been assigned to the OOA and really wanted to stay there, which meant that he was going to have to prove he had the ability to be really calm and professional under pressure-not sad and really pissed-off.

He had just watched Colonel Alfredo Munz casually get up from another small round table forty feet away-one with a woman and two teenage girls sitting at it-and walk to the men's room.

Except going to take a leak and wash his hands wasn't what Munz was really doing.

What Munz was doing was carrying his family's passports to Solez, who was waiting for him in the men's room. What that in effect meant was that Munz was saying good-bye to his family for God only knew how long, turning them over to the protection of people-including a Chinese man with a bandaged hand-whom they had never seen before.

This showed on the girls' faces. They were young and pretty, Yung thought. One was about sixteen years old, the other a little older-on the cusp of young womanhood-and they were clearly frightened.

They should not be involved in something like this.

Goddamn these bastards!

The younger girl glanced at their table. Yung caught her eye and smiled at her, hoping it helped in some way tell her, It's going to be okay.

She looked startled for a moment, then looked away.

I shouldn't have done that. Someone may have seen it.

But, dammit, I wanted to give her some sign of encouragement.

As choreographed, Solez came out of the men's room, fumbled through his pockets, and just perceptibly nodded at Yung and Artigas. He took a package of cigarettes from his pocket and, taking his time about it, lit one with a Zippo lighter.

Munz, also as planned, came out a moment later, took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, put one to his lips, then looked unsuccessfully for a lighter or match. He looked at Solez, then asked for a light. Solez produced his Zippo and lit Munz's cigarette.

Munz looked very quickly at his wife and daughters, then headed for the escalator. Solez walked in the other direction, toward the elevator. This, too, was according to plan.

Castillo now appeared from the direction of the escalator. He feigned pleasant surprise when he noticed Yung and Artigas and walked to their table. They shook hands, patted backs, and made kissing gestures in the Argentine manner.

Now Senora Munz and the girls had seen all the players.

Castillo walked toward the elevator.

Artigas murmured, "See you at the terminal," and got up and walked toward the escalator.

Senora Munz waited until Munz had disappeared into the crowd that was waiting to get on the escalator, then collected her purse and stood, motioning for the girls to get up, too.

Yung fished a bill from his pocket and laid it on the table as a tip for the busboy. He stood up and felt the weight of his semiautomatic pistol as it shifted slightly.

Jesus Christ, he suddenly remembered. I don't have a round in the chamber!

It'll take forever to work the action with this goddamned bandaged hand!

He walked quickly into the men's room, into a stall, locked it, took out the pistol and worked the action by pressing the slide against the toilet paper holder. Then he put the pistol back in his shoulder holster, unlocked the stall door, and hurried out of the men's room.

There was a moment's panic when he couldn't immediately locate Familia Munz. Then he saw them in the knot of people waiting to get on the escalator.

The younger girl saw him walking toward them, looked a little relieved, and smiled.

He smiled at her again, then made his way to the escalator.