Hunters

XI

[ONE] Piso 16, 1568 Avenida Arribenos Belgrano, Buenos Aires, Argentina 1940 8 August 2005 When Paul Sieno opened the steel apartment door for Castillo and El Coronel Alfredo Munz, SIDE, retired, Castillo saw that the living room of the apartment was crowded. Eric Kocian was sitting in a dark brown leather armchair, his elegantly shod feet resting, crossed, on a leather ottoman. He had a wineglass in one hand and a cigar in the other.

Holding court, Castillo thought, smiling.

A table holding platters of cheese and cold cuts, bottles of wine and ginger ale, and glasses was between two matching couches. Sandor Tor sat beside Susanna Sieno on one of them. Sergeant Major Jack Davidson and Colonel Jake Torine sat on the other, with Corporal Lester Bradley squeezed in between them. Fernando Lopez sat in an armchair obviously dragged from someplace else.

Everyone looked at Castillo and Munz.

Castillo thought, Davidson's wondering who the hell Munz is and what he's doing here.

Mr. Sieno very probably knows who he is, so she's really curious about what he's doing here.

And everybody-including Jack, Mr. Sieno, even Eric Kocian-is looking at me because they have the mistaken notion that James Bond just walked in with the answers to all their questions.

The truth is, once I get everybody settled in the safe house in Mayerling, and Munz's family safely through Uruguay and onto the Gulfstream, I don't have any idea what I'm going to do.

Since I don't know who the bad guys are, or even who they're working for, how the hell can I find the bastards?

I'm an Army officer, not Sherlock Holmes.

"Looks like we're going to need some more chairs, doesn't it?" Paul Sieno observed and went in search of them.

Max, who had been lying beside Kocian's chair, got to his feet, and, with his stub of a tail rotating like a helo rotor, walked quickly to Castillo, obviously delighted to see him.

Castillo squatted and rubbed Max's ears.

"Until he started to behave like that to Colonel Castillo," Kocian announced, "I thought Max to be an excellent judge of character."

The remark earned the chuckles and laughs Kocian expected it to.

"Eric," Castillo said, in Hungarian, "say hello, politely, to Oberst Munz."

Kocian replied, in German, "Since I don't speak a word of Spanish, how am I going to do that?"

Mr. Sieno smiled. She was obviously taken with the old man.

"Try German," Castillo said.

"Guten Abend, Herr Oberst," Kocian said.

"Guten Abend, Herr Kocian," Munz replied.

"You're a Hessian," Kocian said, still in German. It was an accusation.

"I'm an Argentine," Munz said, switching to English. "My parents were Hessian."

"Karl, why didn't you tell me the Herr Oberst speaks English?" Kocian demanded.

"You didn't ask," Castillo said, then, switching to English, went on: "Jack, this is Colonel Alfredo Munz. Kensington took a bullet out of his shoulder after the estancia operation."

Davenport nodded.

"Alfredo, Jack and I have been many places together…"

Castillo felt a tug on his trouser leg. He looked down to see that Max had it in his mouth. Max let loose, then sat and offered Castillo his paw.

"I think your friend is telling you that nature calls, Charley," Torine said, cheerfully.

"What?"

"Obviously, he's been waiting for you," Torine said. "He made it…uh…toothfully clear that he wasn't going walking with any of us."

"I would have been happy to take him, Karl," Kocian said. "But you made that impossible."

"What?"

"Had I known I was going to be held prisoner, Karlchen," Kocian said, "I would never have left Budapest."

"Forgive me for trying to keep you alive, Eric," Castillo replied some what unpleasantly, in German.

Max was now at the door, looking back at Castillo.

Castillo looked at Sandor Tor and asked, in Hungarian, "You have a leash?"

Tor reached into a well-worn leather briefcase by the side of his chair and took out a chain leash.

Why do I suspect that briefcase also holds an Uzi?

"Okay, Max," Castillo said as he took the leash, "I'm coming."

"You want some company, Colonel?" Davidson asked.

"I can handle walking a dog, Jack," Castillo snapped.

After an awkward moment's silence, Sieno offered: "When you leave the building, turn right, Colonel. There's a park a block away."

"Thanks, Paul," Castillo said. "And sorry I snapped at you, Jack. My ass is dragging." He heard what he had just said and added: "Pardon the language, Mr. Sieno. Same excuse."

"Don't be silly," she said. "And I've asked you to please call me Susanna."

"I'll be right back," Castillo said.

"Max willing, of course," Kocian said. Max dragged Castillo through the lobby and out onto the street and headed for the first tree, which was to the left, away from the park Sieno had spoken of.

"Your call, Max," Castillo muttered. "As if I have a choice."

It became quickly obvious that Max did indeed have a massive need to meet the urinary call of nature.

"Can we go to the park now?" Castillo asked, in Hungarian, when he had finally finished.

Max looked at Castillo, considered the question, then dragged Castillo farther away from the park.

The apartment building next to 1568 Arribenos was brightly lit. But beyond it, the street quickly became dark, as there were no brightly lit buildings and the streetlights were not functioning.

Max sniffed every tree, came to an intersection, dragged Castillo across it, then across Arribenos, where he began nasally inspecting the trees there. When he had stopped at the third tree, there was a click and the sidewalk was brilliantly illuminated by floodlights mounted on an old mansion.

They were turned on by motion sensors.

Well, why not? That's cheaper than burning floodlights all night.

Then he noticed the bronze sign mounted on the wall of the old building. It read EMBASSY OF THE DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF CUBA.

"Oh, shit!"

I am not really conversant with the security practices of the Cuban diplomatic service but it seems reasonable to assume that if they have gone to the trouble of installing motion-activated floodlights so they can see who is loitering in front of their embassy, said motion sensors more than likely also activate one or more surveillance cameras.

He looked at Max, who apparently had taken Castillo's exclamation as a command and now was evacuating his bowels.

Max isn't going to go anywhere until he finishes!

Our likenesses are now recorded and filed under Item 405 on the Suspicious Activity Log of the embassy security officer.

Congratulations, Inspector Clouseau, you've just done it again!

Aw, fuck it!

Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo, USA, turned to face the Cuban embassy, put his right hand on his abdomen, bowed deeply, and said, "Up yours, Fidel!" [TWO] "Have a nice long walk, did you?" Eric Kocian asked as Castillo and Max came back into the Sieno living room.

Max trotted over to Kocian, gave him his paw, allowed his head to be patted, then lay down by the footstool.

"The Cubans now have a floodlighted recording of Max making an enormous deposit on their sidewalk while I cheered him on."

"What?" Kocian asked.

"That's why, Colonel," Sieno said, masterfully keeping a straight face, "I suggested you go to the park."

"Max had other ideas," Castillo said, then asked, "Can they make me?"

Sieno thought it over before replying.

"Anybody follow you here?"

"I don't think so. I came back by…" He stopped. "From the embassy, I went down the hill, turned left, and came back that way. I didn't see anybody following me."

"Then I don't see how. Let's hope they think you were a wine-filled Argentine."

"Yeah," Castillo said. "Let's hope."

He looked around the room.

"Anything happen while we were talking our walk?"

"Ambassador Silvio called," Torine said. "He said to tell you that Ambassador McGrory called him to tell him that Artigas has been transferred to Buenos Aires. Who's Artigas?"

"An FBI agent-one of those in Montevideo looking for laundered money. He's clever. He pretty much figured out what happened at Lorimer's estancia, so I figured the best way to make sure he kept his mouth shut was to have him assigned to OOA."

Torine nodded.

"We haven't heard from Alex Darby?" Castillo asked. "Or anyone else?"

"Alex Darby three or four times," Sieno said. "The last bulletin was half an hour ago. He expected then to finally have the owner, the escribiano, and the lawyer all in one place in the next few minutes."

"Explain that, please," Castillo said.

"One of the interesting requirements of Argentine law is that when you sign a contract-like a lease on a house in Mayerling-all parties have to be present at a meeting at which the escribiano, who is sort of a super notary public, reads the whole thing, line by line, aloud. The lawyer's function is to explain any questions about the contract."

"They do about the same thing in Mexico, Gringo," Fernando Lopez said.

"Mr. Darby said that Kensington has the radio set up, and it shouldn't take more than an hour or so to finish signing the lease-presuming all parties did, in fact, show up-and wants you to call him and tell him whether you want to move in out there tonight."

"Are there sheets and blankets, etcetera?" Castillo asked. "Food?"

"I don't know about the sheets and blankets," Sieno said. "But I don't think there will be food. And the Argentines have another interesting custom. When they move out of someplace, they take the lightbulbs with them."

"Great!" Castillo said.

"There's a Jumbo supermarket in Pilar that would have everything we need," Susanna Sieno said.

"If you were to go out there and shop, who would watch the Cuban embassy?"

"Most of that's automated," she said. "And Paul will be here. Won't he?"

"He will. Can I ask you to do that?"

"Certainly."

"Lester will go with you," Castillo said. "Go to Pilar, please, and buy what you need in the Jumbo, but don't go to Mayerling until we hear from Darby that it's a done deal and the owner and the others have left."

"You want me to use our car?" she asked.

"There's CD plates on it?"

"We have one of each," she said.

"Take the one with regular plates," Castillo said.

She nodded.

"Can we get Lester a weapon?" Castillo asked.

The faces of both Sieno and his wife showed their surprise at the request.

Davidson chuckled.

"There are those who refer to Corporal Bradley as Deadeye Dick," he said. "He's one hell of a shot."

Corporal Bradley, who had stood up and was standing almost at attention, blushed.

"Mr. Darby," Sieno began, pointing to the large duffel bag that Castillo had seen him take out of the Cherokee when he'd first come to the apartment, "he didn't know what you would want, so I brought two M-16s, a riot gun, a couple of Glocks, and a couple of 1911A1.45s."

"Your call, Corporal Bradley," Castillo said.

"Considering the circumstances as I understand them, sir," Bradley said, "and the superior ballistics of the.45 ACP round over the 9mm, if I may I'd like one of the M-16s and a 1911A1."

"So ordered," Castillo said.

Sieno smiled. "You're one of those, are you, Corporal, who doesn't think much of the 9mm?"

"Yes, sir. Actually, it's been proven conclusively that it's inferior to the.45 ACP," Bradley proclaimed, professionally. "And as a result of that determination, the formerly obsolescent Model 1911A1 has been declared optional standard by the Marine Corps and, if I'm not mistaken, by Special Operations."

"So it has, Deadeye," Davidson said, smiling at Sieno. "Any other weapons questions for the corporal, Paul?"

"I think I'd better wrap the M-16 in a blanket or something," Susanna said, not completely able to restrain a smile, and walked out of the living room.

There was a clatter of metal.

Castillo saw that Bradley was now sitting on the floor by the duffel bag that held the weapons. He had already begun fieldstripping one of the 1911A1 pistols, had dropped a part-and was already snatching it from the floor.

Christ, that was fast!

"I have twenty bucks that says Deadeye can fieldstrip that weapon faster than anyone in this room," Jack Davidson said, admiringly. "Including, with all respect, Colonel, sir, the senior special operator among us."

"No bet," Castillo said.

Corporal Lester Bradley made no move or sound to show that he had heard any of that exchange, but the usually pink skin of his neck and cheeks, now a dark rose color, suggested that he had.

Davidson pointed at him and shook his head admiringly. Ninety seconds after Mr. Susanna Sieno and Corporal Lester Bradley had left the apartment, Castillo's cellular vibrated.

And I still haven't charged this thing!

"?Hola?"

"Carlos?"

"Si."

"Our friends Ricardo and Antonio have just left here for the bus terminal with those papers Alfredo was interested in."

Castillo recognized the voice of Ambassador Silvio. It took him a moment to understand Antonio was Tony Santini.

"If they miss the bus, Antonio said he'd call both of us."

"Well, let's hope they don't miss it. Thanks for the call."

"We'll be in touch."

Castillo broke the connection and looked at Munz.

"That was Ambassador Silvio. The passports, with visas, are now on their way from the residence to the Buquebus terminal. Charge the cellular."

Munz nodded but said nothing.

"'The passports, with visas, are now on their way from the residence to the Buquebus terminal. Charge the cellular,'" Jake Torine parroted. "Am I cleared for an explanation of that?"

"Absolutely. The battery in this is almost dead," Castillo said. "I didn't want to forget to charge it before I delivered the briefing, so I said it out loud."

Torine smiled and shook his head.

"There's a charger in the bathroom," Sieno said. "That's one of Mr. Darby's phones, right?"

Castillo nodded and said, "Thanks."

"I was wondering, Gringo, when you were going to get around to telling us what's going on," Fernando said. "But I was too polite to ask."

"Good," Castillo said.

Fernando gave him the finger.

Sieno returned with a cellular charger and, after some shifting of chairs, managed to get it plugged in and the cellular plugged into it.

"Okay," Castillo said. "What's going on now is that Colonel Munz's family-his wife and two teenage daughters-are going to the States. He is concerned, with good cause, for their safety. Ambassador Silvio has given them the necessary visas. He called to tell me that Solez has just picked up their passports at the embassy and is taking them to Artigas, who is waiting for them at the terminal. They are now at Unicenter, where Yung is sitting on them. They will go to the terminal just before the ferry sails for Montevideo. Artigas will have their tickets, and they will leave the country using their National Identity Cards, not their passports. Yung and Artigas will sit on them during the boat ride, get them into the Belmont House Hotel, in Carrasco, not far from the airport, and sit on them there.

"As soon as we're set up in the safe house in Mayerling tomorrow, we'll take the Gulfstream to Montevideo. While Colonel Torine is getting the weather and filing the flight plan, Yung and Artigas will bring them to the airport, give them their passports, they'll pass through Uruguayan customs, and we'll head for the States."

"Where in the States?" Torine asked.

"First, San Antonio," Castillo said. "To drop off Fernando."

"We can't make that nonstop," Torine said. "It's forty-five, forty-six hundred miles from here or Montevideo. Where do you want to refuel?"

"How about Quito, Ecuador?" Castillo replied.

"That'll work. It's about twenty-five hundred miles from here to Quito, and another twenty-one hundred from Quito to San Antone."

"Once we're gone, Artigas will come here and go out to the safe house. Yung will accompany Lorimer's body on an American Airlines flight to Miami-nine-something tomorrow night-and then on to New Orleans."

"Where are you headed, finally, in the States?" Fernando asked. "Washington? I mean, you could drop me in Miami. You don't have to make a special stop at San Antonio for me."

Castillo looked at his cousin. Well, I knew this was coming.

"San Antonio's on our way," Castillo explained. "Colonel Munz's family will be staying at the ranch in Midland."

Castillo saw the look of surprise on Fernando's face was quickly replaced with one of anger.

Or maybe contempt.

"I presume, Carlos, that you factored Abuela into your reasoning?"

Contempt. No question about it. He only calls me "Carlos" when he's really angry, or disgusted, with me.

"I spoke with her an hour or so ago. I told her I had to hold a meeting there and asked her to stay away."

Fernando didn't reply.

"You can't see the runway from the highway," Castillo said. "No one will know anyone unusual's there. And there will be Secret Service agents waiting for us."

Fernando glowered at him but said nothing.

"And one of the things you're going to do in San Antonio is make sure no one goes to the ranch."

"For how long?" Fernando asked, icily.

"For as long as it takes," Castillo said. "Fernando, we don't know who these people are, but we have to presume they have access to credit card databases, hotel registries, all of that sort of thing. Christ, Howard Kennedy even knew where I was when I used my cell phone! The minute Munz's family used a credit card, checked into a hotel, these bastards would know it. At the ranch, they won't use credit cards. And when they talk to Colonel Munz, they'll do it over the Secret Service communications system or a Delta Force radio. No one's going to locate them because they'll be invisible. If you can think of a better place I can put them, tell me."

Fernando, shaking his head, threw up both hands in a gesture of resignation.

"I don't like it, Carlos."

Castillo looked at his wristwatch.

"It's now eleven minutes after eight," he said. "If all goes the way we hope, the following things are going to happen: In the next couple of minutes, we'll hear from Solez, reporting that he met Artigas at the Buquebus terminal. Next-I'm guessing about eight-thirty-we'll hear from Yung that Senora Munz and the girls are in a taxi at Unicenter and headed for the terminal. Forty-five minutes or so after that-at 2115-we should hear from Artigas that they arrived all right and are in the process of getting on the boat. Fifteen minutes after that, we should hear that the boat has sailed. And three and a half hours-give or take-after that, we should hear from Yung and Artigas that they're in Montevideo and on their way to the Belmont House Hotel in Carrasco. When that happens, we can go to bed."

"Where, Charley?" Torine asked.

"You, me, and Fernando in the Four Seasons. There's no way we can get Max in there, Billy, which means you and Sandor will stay here."

"There's only one guest room," Sieno said. "But it has two double beds."

"Max has been in the best hotels in Europe," Kocian said. It was a challenge.

"And I bet a lot of people talked about that, didn't they?" Castillo said, evenly. "The subject is not open for debate."

"And what am I to be fed?" Kocian asked.

"I was just thinking about that," Castillo said. "Obviously, we can't go to a restaurant. What about takeout? What's the name of that steak place by the embassy?"

"The Rio Alba," Sieno furnished.

"What about calling them after Santini checks in and get them to make half a dozen large lomos and a salad to match, plus papas Provencal, and then have Santini and Solez pick it up on their way here? It's almost on their way."

"Good idea," Torine said.

"Lomo?" Kocian asked, dubiously. Then, in Hungarian, added, "Some native dish, presumably? And what in God's name are papas whatever you said?"

"And ask for some bones for Max," Castillo said, ignoring him. "And a couple of bottles of wine."

"Is the wine drinkable in this country?" Kocian asked.

"I think you will find it entirely satisfactory, Ur Kocian," Sieno said, in Hungarian. "And the beef is the best in the world. A lomo is filet mignon. The ones from Rio Alba weigh half a kilo. Papas Provencal are pommes frites with parsley, etcetera."

"Why didn't you tell me you speak Hungarian?" Kocian demanded.

"I thought everybody did," Sieno said, straight-faced. "I know the colonel does."

Kocian saw the smile on Sandor Tor's face.

"You find this amusing, do you, Sandor?" Kocian demanded.

"I think everybody does, Ur Kocian," Torreplied.

Castillo's cellular vibrated.

"?Hola?"

"I just gave those papers to Artigas," Tony Santini announced without preliminaries. "Want us to stick around until the bus leaves?"

"I don't think so, Tony," Castillo replied after a moment. "I'm afraid you might be recognized. And when Yung gets there, he's obviously not an Argentine. Solez and Artigas can pass. So tell Solez to stick around and then take a cab here."

"I was thinking of giving Artigas my car," Santini said. "That'd give them wheels when they get there. And it's an embassy car with a radio and CD plates, so no trouble getting it…"

"Good idea."

"Anything else you want me to do?"

"Take a cab to Rio Alba and pick up our supper," Castillo said. "Paul's about to order it."

"That's one of your better ideas, Charley."

"According to Napoleon, an army moves on its stomach. I'm surprised you didn't know that."

Santini chuckled.

"Tell Paul to order me a large bife chorizo," Santini said and broke the connection.

Sieno got the Rio Alba on the telephone and placed the order.

"So now all we have to do is wait, right?" Torine asked when he saw Sieno hang up.

"So that nobody falls asleep while we're waiting," Castillo said, "I thought we'd talk about briefcase-sized nuclear bombs."

Torine looked at him with a puzzled look on his face.

"Why do I have this odd feeling that you're serious?" he asked.

"I am," Castillo said.

"What's that about?"

"Jack Britton heard from an undercover counterterrorism cop that the same people who were involved in stealing the 727 have bought a hundred-odd-acre farm outside Philadelphia. On the farm are some old iron mines. They are stocking them with food and intend to use them as shelters when someone sets off a briefcase-sized nuke in Philadelphia."

"How reliable is Britton's source?" Torine asked, incredulously. "That sounds awfully far-fetched, Charley."

"I know. But it can't be ignored."

"Britton believes this?" Fernando asked.

"Britton thinks it can't be ignored," Castillo said. "He's up there now with some Secret Service guys and some state cops he knows, looking around. I'm going there from Midland, on my way to Washington. So let's talk about nukes. You went to nuke school, right, Jake?"

"In my youth, I flew B-29s," Torine said. "I don't know how many nuke schools I've been to. But no nuke I ever heard about would fit in a briefcase."

"Briefcase, no," Sieno said, matter-of-factly. "Suitcase, yes. There are some people in the agency who believe an agent named Sunev-"

"Who?" Castillo asked.

"Sunev," Sieno repeated. "A Russian defector. I forget his first name, if I ever knew it."

"KGB Colonel Pyotr Sunev, by chance?" Kocian asked, politely.

"Yeah, that's him," Sieno said.

"You know about this guy, Billy?" Castillo asked.

"His name came up several times. He's a friend of your good friend Mr. Pevsner."

"I'll want to hear about that, Billy, but first I want to know what the agency believes about what this guy said."

"Sunev testified before a congressional committee-I saw the tapes a half dozen times; he wore a black bag over his head so he couldn't be recognized-five, six years ago. He said that during the Cold War, he'd been assigned-he was a spook at the Soviet mission to the UN-to find drops across the country for weapons, including SADMs and the communications equipment necessary to make them go off. He was a little vague about whether he'd actually set up the drops or where they were."

"And the agency believes this guy?" Torine said.

"What's a SADM?" Fernando Lopez interrupted.

"Nuclear suitcase," Sieno said. "The Russians call them 'Special Atomic Demolition Munitions.'"

"Okay, let's go to basics," Castillo said. "What does a SADM look like?"

"The Pu-239 looks like a suitcase," Sieno said. "It's about two feet wide, sixteen inches high, and eight inches deep. A small suitcase, but larger than a briefcase." He demonstrated with his hands, then went on: "There's another one-I forget the nomenclature-that comes in two pieces, each about the size of a footlocker. It produces a ten-to twenty-kiloton explosion. The little one probably has a three-to five-kiloton bang."

"And the agency believes this guy hid these weapons in the States?" Torine asked.

"He didn't say he hid them, Colonel," Sieno said. "He's a slippery bastard. he said he'd, quote, been assigned to find drops for them, unquote. Some people in the agency believe that."

"Does anybody at the agency believe that nukes are hidden in the States?" Castillo asked.

"Some do," Sieno said.

"Where is this guy now?" Castillo asked. "I think I'd like to talk to him."

"Probably in Moscow," Sieno said. "The agency went through the whole business of getting him a new identity-he became a Latvian, teaching Eastern European history at Grinnell-then, one bright early spring day in 2000, he and his family disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Castillo asked. "Weren't they sitting on him?"

"Not tight enough, apparently," Sieno said.

"Perhaps," Kocian said, "on hearing that his dear friend Vladimir was about to become president of Russia, he was overcome with nostalgia for Mother Russia and simply had to go home."

"He knew Putin?" Castillo asked.

Kocian nodded. "They were stationed in Dresden in the KGB together. And Putin was sworn in on 7 May 2000."

"What else do you know about this guy, Billy?" Castillo asked.

"Know? I don't know enough to print anything. But I do know that Colonel Sunev-not under that name, of course-was in Paris, Vienna, Budapest, and Baghdad, and some other places, starting right after Mr. Sieno tells us he disappeared, and as recently as six months ago. And that he knew Mr. Lorimer of the UN, which I find fascinating. And is a good friend-I told you-of Pevsner."

"What was he doing in the States, testifying before a congressional committee?"

"I'm only a simple journalist, not an intelligence officer," Kocian said, "but I think they call that 'disinformation.'"

"To what end, Billy?" Castillo asked.

"You will recall, Karlchen, that at that time there was a great deal of concern about Soviet nuclear weapons falling into the wrong hands? That they would be stolen from depots because there was no more money to pay the guards?"

"I remember that," Torine said. "It scared me."

"Nothing personal, of course, Colonel, but if it wasn't so dangerous, I would be amused by American naivete," Kocian said.

"Watch it, Billy!" Castillo snapped.

Kocian shook his head and went on: "This loss of ex-Soviet, now Russian Federation, nuclear weapons could be prevented if the United States came up with the money-this is a simplification, of course-to bring the guards back on the payroll. I think you actually gave them several billions of dollars to do just that.

"To convince your Congress of the danger, Russian 'defectors'-Sunev was one of maybe two dozen-'escaped' to the United States and 'told all.' Russia was no longer the enemy. Russia was now a friend. The Muslims were the enemy. They were liable to detonate nuclear weapons stolen-"

"Or bought with drug money," Sieno said, sarcastically.

"Right," Kocian said.

"What?" Castillo asked.

Sieno said, "There were stories-widely circulated-that the Russian Mafia bought a bunch of nukes from former KGB guys in Chechnya. Or at least bought KGB connivance, depending on which story you were listening to, so the Mafia could steal them themselves and then sold them to bin Laden for thirty million U.S., cash, and two tons of high-grade heroin from his laboratories in Afghanistan…worth seven hundred million on the street."

"Did you believe this story, Mr. Sieno?" Kocian asked.

"I had a lot of trouble with it," Sieno said, carefully, after a moment.

"Why?" Kocian asked.

Sieno almost visibly formed his thoughts before he replied, "You know that George Tenet said that the purge of the KGB when the Soviet Union came apart was, quote, pure window dressing, unquote?"

"I didn't know that," Kocian said. "Well, I suppose the former head of your CIA had to be right about something."

Castillo glared at him. Sieno ignored him.

"All they did was change the name from Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti to Federalnaya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti," Sieno said, bitterly.

Castillo thought, His Russian pronunciation of that was perfect.

"And put Mr. Putin in charge?" Kocian asked, innocently. "So things could go on as before?"

In Russian, Castillo asked, "How good is your Russian, Paul?"

"Not quite as good as yours, Colonel, but not bad," Sieno replied, in Russian.

"And what is a nice Italian boy like you who speaks Russian like a Muscovite doing eavesdropping on the Cubans in Argentina?"

"Counting the days until I get my pension," Sieno said.

"You were a bad boy in Moscow?" Castillo asked.

Sieno hesitated for a moment before he answered.

"Not exactly a bad boy," he said. "But I was one of the major reasons Tenet said what he did. And there were a lot of people between me and the DCI who didn't want him to hear any more of that from me. So they brought me back to Langley from Moscow and told me-I should say, implied with credible deniability-that I had two choices. Option one, I could go to Buenos Aires as deputy station chief and they would arrange for Susanna to be here and we could double-dip and, as long as I kept my mouth shut, I could look forward to saving a lot of money for my retirement. Or, option two, I could stay in Washington and leak what I knew and they would guarantee that I'd be fired for cause. And, of course, lose my pension and my reputation."

"Jesus!" Torine said.

"And being the moral coward that I am, I took option one," Sieno said.

"So why are you telling us this now?"

"You won't like the answer," Sieno said.

"Try me," Castillo said.

"You shamed me, Colonel," Sieno said. He pointed at Munz. "And so did you, mi Coronel."

"What do you mean 'shamed'?" Castillo asked.

"When this whole thing started-the night Masterson got away from Munz and me…"

"You're losing me, Paul," Torine said. "Masterson 'got away from you'?"

"When these bastards snatched Mr. Masterson, Alex Darby assigned me to sit on him and the kids at their house. So Alfredo and I did just that. We sat in a car outside his house. And Masterson went over the fence in the backyard, walked to the train station, took a train downtown to meet the bad guys, and they blew him away. He's dead because I fucked up, in other words…"

"I don't believe that, Paul, and neither does the ambassador or Alex Darby," Castillo said.

"Let me finish, please, Colonel," Sieno said. "Bottom line is, if I'd done my job right Masterson would not have climbed the fence and gotten on that train. I took this personally. I was going to find out who did it and get back at them. Then you showed up, Colonel, and you were in charge and I didn't like that at all. At one time, I'd been a pretty good clandestine service field officer and Alex Darby knew that, and here is some Army major with friends in high places about to call all the shots. It wouldn't have been the first time I'd seen that happen.

"So I went to Darby-who is one of the really good guys-and asked him what the hell was going on. He told me that you were the best special operator he'd ever known, that he'd seen you operate in Iraq and Afghanistan and knew what you had done about getting that stolen 727 back. And that since my ego was involved, and this was very important, he was going to keep me out of whatever you were going to do. He didn't want me getting in your way."

He took a breath, then went on: "I wouldn't have taken that from anybody but Alex Darby. But I've seen him operate. So I went along. And sure enough, he was right. You found that bastard Lorimer when nobody else could. You set up and pulled off that snatch operation in Uruguay in less time than I could believe, and-"

"That was not a complete success," Castillo said. "Lorimer and one of my guys died. Alfredo took a bullet…"

"And you took out a Spetsnaz assault team to the last man. That doesn't happen often. They're good."

"You're sure they were Spetsnaz?" Castillo asked.

"Either Spetsnaz or Stasi or somebody else, maybe even Cubans, trained by-more important, controlled and financed by-the Federalnaya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti. Who else but the FSB, Colonel? It's time you started calling a spade a spade. You can't talk about missing or stolen Russian nukes and leave them out of the discussion."

"You said I shamed you. That Alfredo and I shamed you. What's that all about?"

"Colonel, you did what you thought was the right thing to do-and so did you, Alfredo-without thinking of the consequences to yourself. I used to be that way before the bastards at Langley finally ground me down. That was shaming. So I decided to get off the sidelines."

"Well," Kocian said, "that makes it two of us in this room who know the KSB is behind all of this. It's nice not to be alone anymore."

"Three of us, Ur Kocian," Sandor Tor said.

When Castillo looked at Tor, he went on: "I suspected after the incident on the Szabadsag hid that your assailants were ex-Stasi-"

"What incident on the Szabadsag hid?" Sieno asked.

"You've been to Budapest, too, Paul?" Castillo asked. "You do get around, don't you? These bastards tried to snatch Billy on the Freedom Bridge-"

"Franz Josef Byucke, Karlchen," Kocian interrupted.

"…And when Sandor interrupted that, they shot Billy," Castillo finished. He then said, "Please go on, Sandor."

"I suspected ex-Stasi made the attack on Ur Kocian. The one Max bit and allowed us to catch said that he was from Dresden. That attack was professional. The proof came with the attack on you."

"What proof?"

"We took fingerprints from the bodies of the men you shot," Tor said. "They did not match the fingerprints of former members of the AVH or AVO. And both of the men you had to deal with had garrotes. Only three services used the garrote-the Hungarian Allamvedelmi Osztaly and Allamvedelmi Hatosag and the Ministry for State Security of the German Democratic Republic. Since they weren't ex-AVO or ex-AVH, only ex-Stasi is left. And who is running all three? The KSB."

Castillo started to say something but stopped when the door chimes went off.

Sieno got up and walked to a wall-mounted telephone by the door. he said, "Si, por favor," hung the phone up, and turned to the others in the room.

"There's another nice Italian boy in the lobby. He says he has our supper. I told the doorman to send him up." [THREE] Everyone was seated around the table in the Sieno dining room, ready for their meal from Rio Alba. When Jack Davidson-who was slicing individual portions from the enormous bife lomo with what looked like a huge dagger-sensed Sieno's eyes on him, he looked up and said, "Nice knife, Paul."

"It's a gaucho knife," Sieno said. "I bought it to hang on the wall of my vine-covered retirement cottage by the side of the road. Then I started to use it."

"You Jewish, Davidson?" Santini asked.

Davidson looked at him curiously. "Yeah. Why?"

"Then you will be fascinated to learn that there are forty thousand Jewish cowboys -gauchos- here."

He stopped slicing. "You're kidding!"

"Absolutely not. Mostly East Europeans. When they got off the boat in the 1890s, what Argentina needed was cowboys, so off to the pampas they got shipped. They wear the boots and the baggy pants, and stick knives like that under their belts in the back, but when they take off their cowboy hats there's the yarmulke."

"I have to see that."

"Keep slicing, Jack," Castillo ordered. "Some of us are hungry."

Davidson made a mock bow. "I humbly beg the colonel's pardon, sir."

Castillo's cellular vibrated.

"?Hola?"

"Congratulations," Alex Darby announced, "you are now the proud lessee of a ten-room villa in Mayerling. They finally left, just now."

"Susanna Sieno and Bradley are in the shopping center in Pilar, buying sheets, blankets, and food."

"And lightbulbs," Sieno said. "Don't forget the lightbulbs."

"And lightbulbs," Castillo said.

"I told my maid to bring lightbulbs and food. I didn't think about sheets and blankets."

"You're bringing your maid out there?"

"And her daughter," Darby said. "This place will not run itself."

Castillo, remembering who Darby was, stopped himself just in time from asking if that was smart. Instead, he asked, "Can you call her cellular and tell her she can bring the stuff to the house?"

"Yeah. I'll do it, and I'll call the gate and tell the guards to let them in. It might be a good idea if she spent the night here, Charley, to get things organized. Or would you rather that I stayed?"

"No. I want you here, to pick your brain. If you hurry, there just may be a little steak from Rio Alba leftover."

"Remind Paul that a hungry boss is a difficult superior," Darby said and the connection went dead.

Before he could lay the cellular down by the charger again, it vibrated.

"?Hola?"

"They're on their way to the bus terminal," Yung reported. "I'm sure they didn't meet anyone they knew here."

"Good. They're expected. Let me know when you get there."

"Got it," Yung said and broke the connection.

Castillo reported the exchange to Munz, who nodded but didn't say anything.

"Paul, Susanna will spend the night out there," Castillo said.

Sieno nodded.

"I was going to recommend that," he said.

Davidson handed Castillo a plate. It held thick, pink-in-the-middle slices of filet mignon, slices of vine-ripened tomato, and a stack of papas Provencal.

"This isn't the haute cuisine we got used to in Afghanistan, Charley, but maybe you can wash it down with enough wine to make it edible." As a monitor showed Alex Darby parking his car in the basement garage, Yung called to report that everyone was safely at the terminal, had their tickets, and would soon be able to get on the bus.

"Let me know when that happens," Castillo ordered. "And when the bus leaves the parking lot."

"Got it," Yung said and the connection went dead. "Alex," Castillo said as Darby helped himself to slices of steak, "what we're going to do now is I'm going to recap what we've been talking about and then you're going to tell us what you think."

"Shoot," Darby replied. Castillo had not quite finished when his cellular vibrated.

"?Hola?"

"Christopher Columbus, Confucius, and the pilgrims have sailed for the New World," Yung reported.

"Give me a call when you get to Plymouth Rock."

He put the cellular in his pocket and gave Alfredo Munz a thumbs-up.

Munz nodded and silently mouthed, "Mucho gracias." "Two things, Charley," Alex Darby began. "One, it's a reasonable scenario. My gut feeling is that if you're not right on the money, you're not far off. Two, if number one is on the money then you're in trouble. For one thing, you're going up against the conventional wisdom at the agency and you know how popular you are in Langley. And for another…" Alex Darby gently shook Castillo's shoulder.

"Charley, why don't you go to the Four Seasons and get some sleep?"

"Jesus, what did I do, fall asleep?"

"You were asleep with your eyes open for the last five minutes and then a minute ago you closed them."

"You're right. All I'm doing here is spinning my wheels." He tried to stifle a yawn. "Can we pick up where I dropped off in the morning? In Mayerling?"

"I'll pick you up at nine?"

"Fine. How do Jake, Fernando, and I get to the hotel?"

"The Cubans may be watching this building. If they are, they know our cars. So, instead, if you walked down the hill to Libertador and caught a cab, all they would learn-even if they followed it-was that three people left the building…"

"Including the one whose dog took a dump on their sidewalk," Castillo interrupted.

"…and went to the Four Seasons," Darby finished. "Let's do it," Castillo said and pushed himself away from the table. [FOUR] The Buquebus Terminal Montevideo, Uruguay 0115 9 August 2005 The Juan Patricio, one of the Buquebus ferries that ply the river Plate between downtown Buenos Aires and downtown Montevideo, is an enormous Australian-built aluminum catamaran with space on the lower deck for about one hundred automobiles and light trucks. The main deck can seat, in comfortable airliner-type seating, about two hundred fifty passengers. There also is a duty-free shop and a snack bar. The first-class deck, up an interior stairway from the tourist deck, offers larger seats and its own snack bar.

There are bulkhead-mounted television sets in both classes that play motion picture DVDs. But on the late-night voyages, few people watch them, preferring to doze in their seats and wake up on arrival.

The only communication between the Munz family and either Yung or Artigas on the Juan Patricio's voyage to Montevideo-aside from Yung's half-dozen smiles that he hoped would be reassuring-had been a fifteen-second encounter between Artigas and Senora Munz when the lights of Montevideo appeared.

Standing at the snack bar, Artigas had caught Senora Munz's eye and nodded toward the port leading to the ladies' restrooms. She had joined him there a moment later.

"When people start going to their cars, take the girls and go down the stairs to the car deck. Senor Yung will be waiting for you there, to take you to our car. It's a dark blue BMW with diplomatic license plates."

Senora Munz had nodded her understanding, then gone into the ladies' room. Artigas saw Yung get out of his chair and walk to the stairwell. Then Artigas returned to his seat. As Yung had discreetly followed the Munz family as they walked onto the ferry, Artigas had driven the embassy BMW onto the ferry's car deck. But then Artigas had forgotten to tell Yung where he had parked it. Luckily, Yung had had only a little trouble finding it halfway back on the starboard side.

To explain his early presence on the car deck, once he had found the BMW and unlocked it, Yung popped the hood and looked intently at the engine, as if expecting some sign of some impending mechanical difficulty.

Only when he had been standing there for ninety seconds did it occur to him that it was possible-if unlikely-someone had been watching them all along, and, as soon as Artigas had left the car deck, that someone had hooked up a primer and a couple pounds of plastic explosive to the BMW's ignition.

Unlikely but not impossible.

The bastards are capable of anything-including using C-4.

The first few drivers who came down to the car deck to claim their vehicles looked wonderingly at the nicely dressed Chinese man flat on his back, studying the undercarriage of the BMW that had Corps Diplomatique license plates.

Yung finished in time to be standing at the foot of the stairway when the Munz family came down.

He had ushered them into the car and was in the front seat by the time Artigas walked up.

By then, the ferry was nudging into the pier.

Cars began driving off the ferry a minute or two later. Immigration formalities had been accomplished in Buenos Aires. At one counter in the terminal there, Argentine officials had run passports and National Identity Cards through a computer reader, then handed them to Uruguayan immigration officers sitting at the next counter. The passports and National Identity Cards were then run through a Uruguayan computer reader, then handed back to the travelers, who, even though physically in Buenos Aires, were now legally inside the borders of the Republica Oriental del Uruguay.

Uruguayan customs officials, however, were waiting for the cars streaming off the ferry.

Artigas rolled down the window and extended his diplomat's carnet, a plastic card not unlike a driver's license.

The customs officer looked at it a moment, peered into the car, and said, "Welcome back to Uruguay, Senor Artigas."

"Thank you," Artigas said.

"Diplomaticos Norteamericanos," the customs officer called to uniformed officers a few feet away. They saluted as the BMW rolled past.

"Welcome to Uruguay, senora y senoritas," Yung said.

"Gracias," Senora Munz said, emotionally.

Artigas turned right on leaving the port gate and headed for Carrasco on the Rambla.

Yung took out his cellular and punched Castillo's autodial number.

After the first ring, Yung heard, "?Hola?"

"The pilgrims just stepped off Plymouth Rock," Yung announced.

"What?" a voice asked, in English.

"Who is this?" Yung demanded.

"Yung?" the voice said.

"Yes."

"Torine. What's up?"

"Where's the boss?"

"Crashed. He fell asleep right after dinner. Everything go all right or do I have to wake him?"

"As smooth as glass. We're on our way to the airport to pick up Artigas's car, then to the Belmont House. We'll take turns sitting on the nest."

"How's the battery in your cellular?"

"I'll make sure it's charged"-he corrected himself-"they're charged."

"We'll be in touch," Torine said and broke the connection. Artigas stopped the BMW outside the parking lot at the Carrasco airfield and got out. Yung stepped out of the passenger's door, walked around the BMW, and slid in behind the steering wheel.

When Artigas, now at the wheel of his Chrysler PT Cruiser, came out of the parking lot two minutes later, he waited until Yung had backed the BMW away from the parking lot, then followed him at a discreet distance into Carrasco. [FIVE] The Belmont House Hotel Avenida Rivera 7512 Carrasco, Montevideo, Uruguay 0225 9 August 2005 Yung's apartment on Avenida Bernardo Barran in Carrasco was two blocks away from the small, five-star luxury hotel and their route took them past it.

That naturally triggered in Yung's mind the memory of the sound of the cop's riot shotgun going off and of the double-aught buckshot pellets that riddled Yung's Chevy Blazer.

When I go to the States with Lorimer's casket, what happens to the Blazer?

I won't be coming back here, certainly not permanently. Which means I'll have to get rid of the Blazer.

How the hell can I sell it with a dozen holes in it?

How am I going to get it fixed from long distance?

Jesus, what's the matter with me? I'm supposed to be concentrating on the Munzes, not worrying about my damned Blazer!

At the Belmont House Hotel, after Yung drove the BMW into the circular drive in front of the hotel, Artigas pulled to the curb and shut off his headlights.

A doorman and a bellman immediately appeared at the BMW. Senora Munz and her daughters, all appearing very sleepy, got of the car and walked into the hotel.

Yung checked to see where Artigas was.

If the cops see him parked there, they'll be curious, but with the CD plates on the car they can't ask him what he's doing.

What they'll probably decide is that he's waiting for a pal who is inside the hotel and not yet ready to leave the arms of love.

Yung walked into the hotel as Senora Munz was registering. The desk clerk obviously knew her.

That's convenient. Their appearance this late after midnight will not raise questions.

"If there's nothing else I can do for you, ladies, I'll leave you and see you in the morning. You know how to reach me."

"Thank you very much," Senora Munz said. "You are very gracious."

Yung smiled at the girls again, then walked out of the hotel. He got in the BMW and drove to his apartment.

I don't have the clicker to open the goddamned garage door. I'll have to leave the car on the street.

He pulled to the curb and started to get out of the car, but changed his mind as he took the keys from the ignition. Instead, he took out his cellular.

Jake Torine answered on the second ring.

"They're in the nest. And Julio is sitting outside," Yung announced.

"Don't forget to make sure your phones work," Torine replied. "We don't want to have to send out a search party for you tomorrow…I mean, later today."

"I told you I'd do it," Yung said, some what snappishly, and broke the connection.

He immediately realized, Dammit! He's right. That's an important little detail, and the truth is, I didn't think about a dead cellular battery.

There're two chargers in the apartment, one that fits into a cigarette lighter. I'll get it and walk down the street and give it to Artigas. Then I'll charge mine.

He opened the door of the BMW some what awkwardly with his left hand, got out, then started to lock the car.

"Buenos noches, Senor Yung," a voice said behind him. "I guess it's really buenos dias, isn't it?"

Yung felt a chill.

Jesus, the hair on my neck actually curled. I thought that was just a figure of speech.

"You scared hell out of me, Ordonez!" Yung said.

"Sorry," Chief Inspector Jose Ordonez said. His smile revealed he was more amused than regretful.

Yung glared at him.

"You're not going to ask me what I'm doing walking the streets of Carrasco at this hour?" Ordonez said.

"I really don't give a damn," Yung said.

"We have to talk, Senor Yung."

"Some other time, perhaps. I've had a busy day and want to go to bed."

"I really think it's necessary," Ordonez insisted.

"Am I going to have to hide behind the shield of diplomatic immunity to get some sleep?"

"That's one of the reasons I think we really have to talk. If at all possible, I'd like to keep our little problem from getting involved with the often sticky business of diplomatic immunity."

Oh, shit! Now what?

"Let me rephrase my request," Ordonez said. "I would really like to talk to you. Unofficially, on my word. All you have to do is listen. You don't have to say anything, unless, of course, you wantto."

Yung looked at him but didn't reply.

"What have you got to lose, Senor Yung?" Ordonez pursued. "A few minutes of your time? And perhaps a small glass of whiskey?"

"Okay," Yung said. "Come on in my apartment. With the understanding that the next time I suggest you go home so I can get my sleep, you accept it."

"You are muy amiable, Senor Yung." "Charming apartment," Ordonez said as Yung snapped on the lights in his living room.

"Thank you. What kind of small glass of whiskey would you like?"

"Scotch, if that would be convenient," Ordonez said. "But before we get into that, may I help you with your bandage?"

Yung looked at his bandaged hand. Blood had soaked the gauze and the gauze was dirty.

What the hell? It looked all right the last time I looked at it.

I must have fucked it up crawling under the BMW on the ferry.

"If you'll forgive my saying so, it appears to need attention," Ordonez said.

"I've got some stuff in the bathroom," Yung said, and belatedly added, "Thank you." Ordonez skillfully and tenderly removed the bandage, then examined the cracked, crusted blood over the gouge.

"You were lucky," he said. "Another few millimeters and there would have been serious damage."

"I'll send a box of chocolates to your guy with the shotgun," Yung said.

Ordonez chuckled.

"I've already had a word with him. And if I may say so, his intentions were noble. He was trying to save your life."

Ordonez was now swabbing the wound with antiseptic and Yung was trying not to grimace at the burning sensation.

Yung said, "You don't happen to know a good body shop, do you? My Blazer looks like it was in a war."

Why the hell did I say that?

"Well, it was, wasn't it?" Ordonez said. "And, as a matter of fact, I do. I'll leave you the address and I'll also call him and tell him you're a friend of mine."

"Thank you." "That should do it," Ordonez said three minutes later as he let loose of Yung's freshly bandaged hand. "And can we now have the whiskey you have so kindly offered?"

"Thank you, Chief Inspector Ordonez."

"It was my pleasure to be of assistance. And please call me Jose."

Yung smiled and gestured for him to precede him out of the bathroom.

"What would you like?" Yung asked, indicating the bottles on his bar.

"The Famous Grouse, please."

When Yung handed him a glass and wordlessly asked if he would like ice, Ordonez nodded, said "Please," then went on: "I used to drink Johnnie Walker Black. But then the Johnnie Walker people took the distributorship away from a friend of mine-it had been in his family for four generations-and I stopped drinking Johnnie Walker and started drinking Famous Grouse, which my friend now distributes."

"How interesting," Yung said.

He handed the glass of Famous Grouse to Ordonez, then poured one for himself.

"We Latins-you must have been here long enough to know this-are like that," Ordonez said. "We reward our friends, punish our enemies, and hold grudges for a longtime."

"Is that so?" Yung said.

"Are the Chinese like that, Senor Yung? May I call you David?"

"We Chinese are inscrutable," Yung said.

"Like FBI agents?"

"Like some FBI agents. There are some FBI agents, I must admit, who talk too much. I don't happen to be one of them. I tell you that as a friend. And, yes, you may call me David."

Ordonez chuckled.

"Thank you," he said, then went on, "Speaking of friends, do you happen to know an Argentine by the name of Alfredo Munz?"

Oh, shit!

When it was obvious that Yung wasn't going to reply, Ordonez continued.

"Until recently, he was head of SIDE. You know what that is?"

"I know what SIDE is," Yung said.

"El Coronel Munz was recently retired," Ordonez said. "The word went around that he was retired because of his inability to quickly apprehend whoever it was who first kidnapped Mr. Masterson and then murdered her husband before her eyes."

Yung said nothing. He took a sip of his scotch.

"The Argentines, unfortunately, are like that," Ordonez said. "They always like to divert blame from themselves. What's the English phrase, 'Find a scapegoat'?"

"Something like that."

"The Argentine government can now say, 'Why should we be embarrassed that a U.S. diplomat's wife was kidnapped and the diplomat himself murdered on our soil? We have sent the man who should have prevented that from happening into disgraceful retirement for incompetence.'"

"That wasn't very nice of them, was it?" Yung said.

"No. But that's the way it is. And when the word got around that El Coronel Munz had shot himself while cleaning his pistol, many people thought that he had somehow missed while attempting to take his own life because of the shame his incompetence had brought down on his head."

"Shot himself cleaning his pistol, did he?"

"You're sure you don't know at least who I'm talking about?"

Yung didn't respond.

"How do I translate your silence and the inscrutable look on your face, David? That you do know Alfredo Munz-or at least who he is-or that you don't?"

"Try, that's one of the questions Yung doesn't have to answer unless he wants to," Yung said.

Ordonez made a thin smile.

"Well, David, I was not one of those who believed that Munz was either incompetent or had shot himself while attempting suicide or cleaning his pistol."

"You didn't?"

"Not for a second. You see, David, Alfredo Munz is a close friend of mine-one might even say a dear friend."

"Is that so?"

"We met because we were, so to speak, counterparts. He ran SIDE on his side of the river Plate and I ran -run- the Interior Police Division of the Uruguayan Policia Nacional on this side. Despite the innocuous name, my unit does for Uruguay what SIDE does for Argentina."

"I didn't know that, of course," Yung said.

"Of course you didn't," Ordonez said. "After all, you were just one of a dozen or so FBI agents in your embassy involved in nothing more than the investigating of money laundering, right?"

"If you say so."

"Well, shortly after Alfredo and I started to work together, we learned-I'm sure to our mutual surprise-that we were both honest cops. Unfortunately, there aren't that many of us in either Argentina or Uruguay."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Well, over the years, as Alfredo and I worked together on projects of mutual interest-for example, dignitary protection…"

"'Dignitary protection'?"

"That involves the protection of our own officials, diplomats, and visiting dignitaries, such as heads of foreign states. Fidel Castro, for example. Did you know that when Fidel Castro visits Uruguay, he and the more important members of his entourage always stay at the Belmont House Hotel right down the street from here?"

"I think I heard that," Yung said.

"Well, for example, when Castro visited Argentina, where he was under Munz's protection, and then came here, where I was responsible for his protection, Alfredo and I naturally worked together."

"I can understand why that would happen."

"Well, when I heard that my friend Alfredo had had-how do I put this? -some difficulty involving a firearm, the first thing I wanted to do was help. I couldn't rush across the river to Buenos Aires, of course, because I was deeply involved in the investigation of the massacre at Estancia Shangri-La. And when I tried to telephone him, using a very private line to his very private line in his apartment, there was never an answer. There were several possible reasons for this, the most likely being that he saw, on caller identification, that I was calling and didn't think it wise-for his sake or mine-that we talk."

Ordonez raised his glass.

"May I impose on your hospitality for another of these, my friend David?" He smiled. "This glass seems to have a hole in it."

"Of course."

While Yung put ice then Famous Grouse into Ordonez's glass, he thought, I really should not have another of these. I'm out of my depth with Ordonez and I have no idea where this is leading-but then poured another two inches of scotch into his own glass.

"Here you go, Jose," Yung said, handing him the drink.

"Thank you. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. As I said, it was impossible for me-because of the massacre investigation-to personally go to Buenos Aires to see what I could do to help Alfredo, or even to get him on the phone, so I did the only thing I could think of to help: I put a watch on the immigration computers."

"Excuse me?"

"I instructed our immigration service to notify me personally and immediately should the Munz name appear. I already had issued such a watch for two U.S. diplomats, Julio Artigas and David W. Yung, Jr."

"How interesting."

"Aren't you at all curious why I am curious about the movements out of and into Uruguay of you and my cousin Julio?"

"I figure if you want me to know, you'll tell me."

"Actually, there have been two interesting developments in the Shangri-La massacre that I wanted to ask you both about," Ordonez said. "We know-or at least are reasonably sure-where the helicopter out there came from, and we have positively identified one of the men who died out there from a 7.62mm rifle bullet in his head."

Oh, shit! I don't think that's a bluff!

"You going to tell me about that?"

"In due time," Ordonez said. "Well, tonight, shortly after the parties for whom I'd issued a watch passed through immigration at the Buquebus terminal in Buenos Aires, immigration called me at my home to tell me that not only were the two American diplomats on the ferry, but so were Senora Munz and her two daughters."

Shit!

"And here I owe both you, David, and my cousin Julio an apology. I have to confess that I suspected an unpleasant connection between you two and the family of my dear friend Alfredo. I should have known better and I'm more than a little ashamed.

What the hell is this?

"So what I did was call my man on the Buquebus-as you can imagine, it's handy to have your men on the ferry. In civilian clothing, of course. We normally have two, one with a charming Labrador that has a fantastic nose."

He smiled, took a healthy swallow of scotch, then continued.

"Anyway, I called him, and told him to take the Munz family under their protection, and to be especially watchful of the two American diplomats.

"He called back in half an hour to report that all parties were on the first-class deck, sitting separated from each other. He also said that the Chinese American diplomat had smiled at one of the Munz girls as he watched and that rather than being frightened-or even offended-she smiled back.

"That, of course, confused me. As did the next call from the ferry, shortly before it docked. The Chinese American diplomat was on his back on the car deck, as if looking for drugs-or, less likely, an explosive device-hidden under the car. That's probably where you soiled your bandage, David."

Yung did not reply.

"The final call from the ferry," Ordonez went on, "reported that the Munz family had willingly gotten into the BMW bearing diplomatic plates with the two American diplomats and were about to drive off the ferry.

"You didn't see me in the port, but I saw you, and I saw how Senora Munz and the girls smiled at you in the Belmont House. So, here I am, David, looking for an explanation."

"Of what?"

"Who are you protecting the Munz family from? And why? And what are they doing here? And what's your connection with El Coronel Munz, whom you say you don't know."

"I didn't say I didn't know him; I said that was a question I didn't choose to answer."

"Are you going to tell me now?"

"Are you going to tell me about the interesting developments about the Shangri-La massacre?"

Ordonez took a long moment before he replied.

"Do the names Vasily Respin and Aleksandr Pevsner ring a bell with you, David?"

"It's one man," Yung said. "I'm not sure which is his real name, and there are other aliases. There's a dozen, maybe more, Interpol warrants out for him. For all sorts of things."

"He's in Argentina, using the name Pevsner," Ordonez said.

"How do you know that?"

"Alfredo Munz told me."

"Why hasn't he been arrested?"

Ordonez shrugged. "Obviously, it is not in the best interests of the Argentine government to arrest him."

"He's paid somebody off?"

Ordonez shrugged. "That could be. He has all kinds of money. Enough, for example, to own a Bell Ranger helicopter."

Jesus Christ! Is that where Castillo got the Ranger? From an international mafioso?

"It's not like fingerprints, of course, but the skids of helicopters make skid-marks in mud-like the mud near Estancia Shangri-La-that are identifiable. I mean, it's not too hard to determine what type of helicopter made the marks in the mud. The helicopter at Estancia Shangri-La was a Bell Ranger."

"You think it was Pevsner's?"

"I don't know. I do know there aren't very many of them around Buenos Aires. I do know that after being at Jorge Newbery airport, early on the night of the Shangri-La massacre, Pevsner's Bell Ranger took off, visual flight rules, for Pilar. It closed out its flight plan over Pilar. Since there is no airport in Pilar, there is no record of it landing there. Very early in the morning on the day of the massacre, Pevsner's helicopter returned to Jorge Newbery, again flying under visual flight rules from Pilar. And again, since it had not landed at an airport, there is no record of it having taken off from one. It stayed there until late in the day, when it again returned to Pilar under visual flight rules.

"There is enough time between Pevsner's Bell Ranger closing out its flight plan over Pilar the night of the massacre and its return to Jorge Newbery early the next morning for it to have been flown to Tacuarembo Province and back. By flying very low, it would not have appeared on radar either here or in Argentina."

"You think Pevsner was involved in the business at the estancia?"

"I don't know, David. But Pevsner is not one of those people I dismiss from suspicion because of his lily-white reputation. Now I will tell you what else I have learned, with the caveat that when I finish you will tell me what you know about any of this."

"If that was the offer of a deal, it wasn't accepted."

"That's an admission, you realize, that you know something."

"No, it isn't. I had no idea, for example, until just now that this Russian mafioso was in South America or that he owns a helicopter. I said 'No deal' because, after you tell me what else you know and ask me what I know and I tell you nothing, you can't say I'm breaking our deal."

Ordonez looked at Yung intensely for a moment but did not respond directly. Instead, he said, "You remember me telling you that, among other things we did together, we worked on the protection of foreign dignitaries, such as Fidel Castro?"

Yung nodded.

"And that one of the things that really puzzled me about the massacre was that two of the Ninjas were shot with a special rifle bullet issued only to your competitive marksmen and Special Forces soldiers?"

"I remember."

"An additional puzzling factor here was the reaction of Ambassador McGrory when Deputy Foreign Minister Alvarez very circuitously asked him if there was any possibility that your Special Forces were in any way involved. I was watching his face. His surprise was genuine, as was his anger at the question. If your Special Forces were involved, Ambassador McGrory didn't know about it. That leaves two possibilities-that they were not involved or that they were on a mission of such secrecy that the American ambassador was not told."

Christ, he's got us!

"Jose, there's a very strict rule that nothing surreptitious-especially using Special Forces-can take place in a country without the ambassador's knowledge and approval."

"Yes, I know," Ordonez said. "But let me go on. All of these questions were in my mind when I went to the English hospital during the autopsy procedures on Mr. Lorimer and the Ninjas. And then, looking at the Ninja who had been shot in the head, I had the strangest feeling that I had seen him before."

"Had you?"

"It took me thirty-six hours to remember when and where," Ordonez said. "And then I took out my photo album-and there it was. A photograph of Fidel Castro standing in front of the Belmont House Hotel with three familiar faces in the background. El Coronel Alfredo Munz, me, and Major Alejandro Vincenzo of the Cuban Direccion General de Inteligencia."

"Jesus H. Christ!" Yung blurted. "Are you sure?"

Ordonez nodded slowly. "We generally make a practice of getting fingerprints of people like that who visit our country. We have yours, for example. I checked the prints. Major Vincenzo of the Cuban DGI, who came here as Castro's security chief, was one of the Ninjas who died at Estancia Shangri-La of a Special Forces bullet in his brain."

"They were Cubans?"

"We could not match the prints of any of the others, but there is no question about Vincenzo." Ordonez stood up. "If I may, friend David, I will have another Famous Grouse while you decide what help you can offer me."

"What the hell was a Cuban doing at the estancia?" Yung blurted.

Ordonez laughed.

"You will forgive me if I say that your reaction is as transparent as was Ambassador McGrory's? You were genuinely surprised to hear that, weren't you, Senor Inscrutable?"

"Yeah, I was," Yung said.

"May I start asking questions?"

"I'll tell you what I can," Yung said.

He thought, Now I really wish I was Castillo. I'm in way over my head here.

"Let's start with the most important thing to me," Ordonez said from the bar. "Why are you protecting the Munz family? And from whom?"

"Munz is concerned for their safety."

"What concern of that is yours?"

"We owe him."

"Why?"

"I can't answer that."

"You will forgive me if I suspect it has something to do with his wound," Ordonez said. "Which poses more questions, including the original one: from whom?"

"We don't know. The people who murdered Masterson, probably."

"They would be the same people who sent the Ninjas to the estancia, do you think?"

"That sounds reasonable, but we don't know."

"And from the Russian mafioso, Pevsner?"

"Possibly, maybe even probably."

"Let me be honest with you, David. I am very relieved to find that Munz trusts you with the lives of his family. That means you can be counted among the good guys."

"I think we really are the good guys," Yung said.

"What are your plans to protect Senora Munz and the girls? Perhaps I can help."

"They're going to the States," Yung said. "Tomorrow."

"Alfredo will join them there?"

"No. He wouldn't go."

"If I didn't believe you were the good guys, I might suspect that his family were hostages to his good behavior."

"That's absolutely untrue," Yung snapped. "He's staying here to help us find out who these bastards are."

"Well, as step one, I will ensure that the Munz family is safe until they get on the plane with you and Lorimer's casket."

Oh, shit! And I have to tell him!

"They're not going with me," Yung said. "A private plane will come here sometime tomorrow. They'll go on that."

"A Learjet?"

He'll find out anyway.

"No. A Gulfstream."

"I thought Senor-or is it Major?-Castillo had a Learjet."

"Lieutenant Colonel Castillo has many airplanes."

"And you work for Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, do you, David?"

Why deny that? It's self-evident.

"I do now."

"And my cousin Julio?"

Yung nodded. "As of yesterday."

"And who does Lieutenant Colonel Castillo work for? The CIA?"

"No. He doesn't work for the CIA."

"Then whom?"

"That's another question I can't answer."

"When you worked here as an FBI agent, were you really working for the CIA?"

"No."

"What was-what is-your interest in Senor Lorimer?"

"Money laundering."

"That's all?"

"I thought he was a Lebanese named Bertrand and I was trying to find out where he got all those American dollars."

"Nearly sixteen million of them," Ordonez said. "And did you find out?"

Yung nodded.

"Are you going to tell me?"

"It's money from that Iraqi oil-for-food scheme. Lorimer was involved in that."

"You know, I never even thought about that? That answers some questions, doesn't it? And poses at least as many more. I'll have to give this a good deal of thought."

"I'm sure you will."

"And do you know where that money is now?"

"Next question."

Ordonez smiled. "You did a very good job of concealing tracks at the banks when you came back down here, David, but not a perfect one. I have learned that the receipts-or whatever they're called-for the money in Lorimer's accounts here were negotiated through the Riggs Bank in Washington. That makes me think they were in Lorimer's safe at the estancia and somehow taken to Washington. I would have been prone to think Senor Pevsner had something to do with that. But if that were so, why did you try to conceal the tracks?"

"That was a rhetorical question, right? You didn't expect an answer?"

"Right."

"Boy Scout's honor, Jose, I have never knowingly done anything that would in any way help Aleksandr Pevsner. From everything I know about the sonofabitch, he deserves to be behind bars. Or dead. I don't know-can't prove-that he's after the Munzes, but I believe it."

"So do I. The question is why? Can you put me in touch with Alfredo?"

"When I get to the States-that'll be tomorrow-I'll get word to Munz that you want to talk to him. And that you helped us get his family to the States."

"I would appreciate that. That leaves only two things for me to do."

"And what are they?"

"I'll make sure that no one gets close to the Belmont House tonight who shouldn't be there. And then you and I will walk down there and say hello to my cousin Julio and you will tell him that you and I are agreed that we are the good guys."

"Okay. I've got to give him a charger for his cellular, anyway."

"And one more thing," Ordonez said. He wrote something in a small notebook, tore out the page and handed it to Yung.

"What's this?"

"The address of a good auto-body repairman. I told you I'd give it to you."

"Thank you," Yung said.

"And one last thing, David. I really wish you wouldn't get on the phone and tell Colonel Castillo about our conversation."

"I'm going to have to tell him, Jose."

"Oh, I know. But if you call him tonight, your phones are tapped-cellular and regular-and I would rather not have a record of our conversation floating around. We both said, and are doing things, that we really shouldn't be doing. Let's keep that between us."

After a moment, Yung nodded.

Ordonez went on: "You'll have a few minutes to speak with Colonel Castillo-or someone close to him-at the airport tomorrow. Maybe if he knows what I've told you, he will tell me something he knows that may help me sort all this out."

Yung didn't reply.

"Can Castillo get the Munzes into the United States if their passports do not have exit stamps from Uruguay?"

Castillo could get them into the States if they arrived without passports.

"I'm sure he can."

"Then we will have to get them on the Gulfstream tomorrow without them going through the normal immigration procedures. We have to presume that-I like your description, David -these bastards may have access to our immigration computers. If there is no record of the Munzes leaving the country, perhaps they will waste a little time looking for them here."