Hunters

XII

[ONE] El Presidente de la Rua Suite The Four Seasons Hotel Cerrito 1433 Buenos Aires, Argentina 0815 9 August 2005 Colonel Jacob Torine, USAF, went into the master bedroom and gently shook the shoulder of Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo, USA, who was asleep, lying spread-eagle in his underwear on the enormous bed.

When that didn't work, Torine grabbed Castillo's left foot, raised it three feet off the bed, then let it go.

That worked. Castillo sat up abruptly, his eyes wide-open at first, then glaring at Torine.

"I just ordered breakfast, Charley. It's quarter after eight," Torine said.

"Thanks," Castillo said, without much enthusiasm, fell back on the bed, and then, grunting with the effort, sat up again and swung his feet out of the bed.

He took fresh underwear from his bag and walked stiff-leggedly into the huge marble bath. He turned on the cold-water faucet in the glass-walled shower, took off his underwear, and stepped under the flowing water. He stood under the cold water for a full minute before, shivering with cold, deciding that he now was sufficiently awake and could adjust the temperature.

Five minutes later, shaved and in trousers and shirt, Castillo went into the sitting room. Two waiters were arranging plates topped with chrome domes on a table.

Castillo nodded at Torine and Fernando Lopez, then walked to the enormous windows overlooking the tracks of the Retiro Railroad Station, the docks beyond that, and the river Plate.

"Nice view," he thought aloud.

"I'm glad my wife doesn't know about this," Torine said. "She doesn't mind me freezing my ass on some snow-covered runway in the middle of Alaska, but this would make her jealous."

Castillo turned and smiled at him.

"I guess Yung called?" he said.

"Yeah. He said he was on his way to the Carrasco airport to pick up Artigas's car, then would take the Munzes to the Belmont House. They'll take turns guarding them. I didn't want to wake you."

"You were really wiped out, Gringo," Fernando Lopez said.

"Understatement of the day," Castillo said as he stretched his neck. He then added, "I've been thinking."

"That's always dangerous," Lopez said.

Castillo walked to the table, sat down, and lifted one of the chrome-domed plate covers. The plate held an enormous pile of scrambled eggs. He spooned some eggs onto his plate, then found ham steaks under another dome and put one of them next to his eggs, meanwhile thinking: What I really have been thinking about is the time I spent in that bedroom with Betty Schneider. I thought about her just before I passed out. And I thought of her this morning, just as soon as I stopped being pissed at Jake for that leg-dropping wake-up call.

But that's personal.

This is business.

"When we came in here last night, they called me Gossinger," Castillo said. "And I remembered that I rented this place as Gossinger of the Tages Zeitung and they're getting the bill. And that Otto Gorner sent the German embassy here a wire-maybe an e-mail, maybe he even called-asking that I be given every courtesy."

"So?"

"Hiding Billy Kocian is going to be as easy as hiding a giraffe on the White House lawn."

"True," Torine said. "The old guy is spectacular. I love his hat."

He mimed Kocian's up on one side and down on the other hat brim.

"You're going to move him in here," Lopez asked, "after all that business about renting the safe house right now?"

"No. But I'm going to keep this apartment and tell the hotel that Mr. Eric Kocian of the Tages Zeitung newspapers will be staying here -when he is not staying in a Pilar country house that the newspaper has rented for him- and to continue to send the bills to the newspaper. And when I get out to the safe house and can get a secure line to the White House switchboard, I'm going to call Otto and tell him to call the German ambassador to tell him who Eric is and that he's here-and why-and to…"

"Why is he here?" Torine asked.

"He's working on three stories," Castillo said. "One, some character from Hamburg is going to try to raise the Graf Spee from its watery grave off Montevideo. Two, he's going to do a piece on the German sailors from the Graf Spee who stayed here. And, three, he's naturally interested in the story of the murdered American diplomat, which is of great interest in Germany."

"What are you trying to do, Gringo, make him a really visible target?" Lopez asked.

"Exactly. One so visible that SIDE will decide it's in the national interests of Argentina to see that nothing happens to him. The Argentine government doesn't want any more headlines about foreigners being murdered here. And a foreign journalist? If anything happened to Billy, it would be on front pages all over the world."

"You're devious, Colonel Castillo," Torine said.

"I like to think so," Castillo said. "Thank you, sir."

"They whacked the sergeant and almost whacked your girlfriend when they were riding around in an embassy car," Lopez said. "Not to mention Masterson."

"They weren't expecting trouble," Castillo said. "Billy will have at least Jack Davidson and Sandor Tor with him all the time and they know what they're doing. And there will be others, too."

"What's Eric Kocian going to think of this brainstorm of yours?" Lopez asked.

"I won't know that until I ask him," Castillo said. "So this is what's going to happen. Darby's going to pick me up here at nine. I'll get Billy Kocian settled in Mayerling and make the phone calls. You go to Jorge Newbery and get the plane ready."

"I think it would be better to have three flight plans," Torine said. "One from here to Carrasco, a second from Carrasco to Quito, and a third from Quito to San Antonio, rather than one with legs."

"Fine," Castillo said.

"It's only about thirty minutes from Jorge Newbery to Carrasco," Torine went on. "We won't have to take on fuel, but it would be better if we did. It's almost six hours to Quito from Montevideo."

"Let's err on the side of caution," Lopez said.

"Agreed," Castillo said.

"It's another five and a half hours from Quito to San Antonio," Torine said. "Figure an hour on the ground at Quito, that makes twelve and a half, call it thirteen, from wheels-up in Montevideo until touchdown in San Antonio."

Castillo nodded and said, "We'll need food and something to drink."

Torine nodded. "It would be better if we got that in Montevideo."

"I'll call when I'm leaving Mayerling. Then you call Yung and tell him to pack a picnic lunch but not have the hotel do it."

He looked down at his plate and saw that he had eaten everything he'd put there.

"I better get dressed."

"Gringo, I'm still not happy about taking the Munzes to Midland," Lopez said.

"Right now, I don't see another option. But when I get on the radio, I'll call Abuela and make sure she stays in San Antonio."

Castillo went into the master bedroom to finish dressing.

He had just finished tying his necktie when the doorman called to say his car was waiting for him. [TWO] Mayerling Country Club Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1020 9 August 2005 The entrance to the Mayerling Country Club was very much like the entrance to the Buena Vista Country Club, four miles or so away on the other side of Route 8, where Aleksandr Pevsner lived. There was a guardhouse, with armed guards controlling a barrier pole. And, like Buena Vista, there was a shrubbery-shrouded, twelve-foot-high chain-link fence topped with razor wire, behind which the roofs of only a few houses were visible from the road.

There was immediate proof that the security was good when the guards refused to pass Alex Darby's BMW until they called the house and got permission from someone-they later learned it was Mr. Sieno-to pass.

"Would they have passed us if you had CD plates on this?" Castillo asked as they drove slowly along the curving country club road at the prescribed thirty-kilometer-per-hour speed limit announced every one hundred meters by neatly lettered signs and reinforced by speed bumps every two hundred meters.

"No. And I didn't put my name on the frequent visitor list, either," Darby said. "The image I want to give is that the house is rented by the Sienos, a nice young Argentine couple of means from Mendoza."

"Is her-their-Spanish good enough to make that credible?"

"Yeah. She did almost a year, clandestine, in Havana. She's good, Charley. They're both good. They had bright futures until he caught a bad case of career suicidus."

"Of what?"

"An uncontrollable urge to tell Langley things Langley doesn't want to hear. I had a pretty bad case of it myself."

"You mean you're here for the same reason?"

Darby nodded.

"You never said anything, Alex."

"You didn't ask, Colonel. It's sort of a two-sided coin. Life is a lot nicer here than other places you and I have been to. And the people who work for me are really first-class. I wonder sometimes, however, how much useful information comes out of the good boys and girls in the unpleasant places who tell Langley what it wants to hear."

"Tell me about Edgar Delchamps," Castillo said.

"How'd you get along with ol' Ed, Charley?"

"Very well, I think."

"He's one of the good guys. I thought you two probably would get along."

"How did he avoid getting a dose of career suicidus?"

"He had it. I would say he had a nearly fatal case of it."

"Then what's he doing in Paris? Don't tell me that's the agency's version of Siberia."

"Maybe not Siberia, but it's one of those places where the good boys and girls don't want to go because you can't help but learn all sorts of things the Fran-cophiles in Virginia don't want to read about while they're humming 'April in Paris.' And Ed knows where a lot of the bodies are buried. When they yanked him out of Germany, he said that's where he wanted to go and they backed down. They have sort of an understanding. He writes what he wants to and they don't read it."

Castillo grinned but shook his head in disgust. he said, "How much do you think Delchamps would know about Colonel Pyotr Sunev of the KGB?"

"Probably a lot more than Langley wishes he does," Darby said. "They got more than a little egg on their face when the defector they marched before Congress turned out to be quite the opposite. One of the reasons they're annoyed with Ed is that he warned them the guy was bad news. Nobody likes 'I told you so.'"

"That means he knows something about Russian suitcase nukes?"

"As much as anybody, Charley," Darby said, then pointed out the window.

"Chez nous, mon colonel," he went on. "And a bargain at four grand a month, especially since Monsieur Jean-Paul Lorimer-Bertrand is paying for it."

Castillo saw a sprawling brick house with a red tile roof sitting fifty feet off the road on a manicured lawn.

"Surrounded by nice shrubbery concealing more razor wire and motion detectors," Darby added. "It has a pool, a croquet field, and a very nice quincho, in which Sergeant Kensington has set up shop."

The house also had a three-car garage. As Darby's BMW entered the cobblestone drive, the door to one of the garages opened and he drove inside.

Susanna Sieno was waiting for them at an interior door, which led from the garage into the house.

When they were in a spacious, nicely furnished living room with plateglass walls offering a view of the garden, she pointed.

"The Grand Duke seems to be satisfied with our humble offering," she said.

Eric Kocian, elegant in an entirely white outfit, from hat to shoes, was sitting in a white-leather-upholstered stainless steel recliner beside the swimming pool. He was drinking a cup of coffee and smoking a cigar. A matching table held an ashtray, a coffee service, and a copy of the Buenos Aires Herald.

To the right of the swimming pool was a small cottage built in the style of the main house, obviously the quincho that Darby had mentioned. There was a DirecTV satellite dish antenna mounted on the roof. Castillo looked but could not see the antenna that he knew Kensington had put up for the AFC Delta Force radio.

Kensington knows what he's doing. The radio is set up somewhere.

And there are two of them. I've never heard that any of them ever went down, but redundancy is always nice.

"I've got to talk to Billy and right now," Castillo said.

"Privately?" Darby asked.

"No. I want both of you in on it," Castillo said. "You took your time coming, Karlchen," the old man greeted him poolside. "And as you can see, Max has found a new friend. He probably won't even notice you're here."

He gestured to the other side of the swimming pool, where Max was chasing after a soccer ball that Corporal Lester Bradley had kicked into the distance.

Castillo saw the grip of a Model 1911A1 Colt pistol sticking out of Bradley's waistband, under his jacket.

I can't let Billy get away with that crack, Castillo decided. He whistled shrilly.

Max, who had just picked up the soccer ball in his mouth with no more difficulty than a lesser canine would have had with a tennis ball, stopped, looked, then came happily running over to him.

Castillo looked at Kocian, smiled smugly, then looked back at Max and said, "I can't believe he got that in his mouth."

"It no longer holds air," Kocian said. "Max was annoyed the first time he bit into it and it hissed at him. So he gave it a good bite to make it behave."

Max dropped the limp soccer ball at Castillo's feet. Castillo rubbed his ears, then kicked the ball as hard as he could so that it would sail over the swimming pool. He failed. The ball landed in the pool. Max ran up to the four-foot-tall fence that surrounded the pool, looked at the barrier, then, with no apparent effort, jumped over it. He then leaped into the pool, grabbed the ball, paddled around a moment until he figured the best way to get out of the pool was via the steps on the shallow end, swam there, got out, jumped back over the fence, and trotted over to them.

"That was a mistake, Karlchen," Kocian said. "What he will do now is drop the ball at our feet and shake himself."

Max did precisely that.

"Max, you sonofabitch!" Castillo said, laughing.

"You would find that amusing!" Kocian said. "Look at my trousers!"

"That isn't the only mistake I've made. Does that surprise you?"

"Not at all, frankly," Kocian said. "But we all make them. The last time for me was in January. Or was it December? I misspelled a word. Are you going to tell me what yours was?"

Colonel Alfredo Munz walked up.

"Am I intruding?" he said.

"Of course not," Castillo said. "Your family is in the Belmont House Hotel. Everything went perfectly."

"Am I going to get a chance to talk to them?"

"Can you wait until we get to Quito, Ecuador?"

"Of course."

"The Herr Oberstleutenant, Herr Oberst," Kocian said, "is about to tell us all of a mistake he made. I'm breathless with anticipation."

"My mistake was in thinking we could hide Herr Kocian here," Castillo said. "But now I realize that would be about as difficult as concealing a giraffe on the White House lawn."

Munz, Susanna Sieno, and Darby could not resist smiling at the image.

Kocian glared at them.

"So what do you suggest?" Kocian asked, rather icily.

"The opposite," Castillo replied. "He's an important journalist, publisher of the Budapester Tages Zeitung, vice chairman of the board of directors of Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H…"

Castillo saw the sour look on the old man's face and had a hard time restraining a smile. You didn't mind me mentioning that, did you, Uncle Billy?

"…and I don't think the Argentine government would be happy if anything happened to him."

"I see where you're going," Munz said.

"I don't," Kocian said.

"They would want SIDE to keep an eye on you, Herr Kocian," Munz said. "They would not want anything to happen to an important man such as yourself."

"You think it's a good idea, Alfredo?" Kocian said.

"I think it's a very good idea," Munz said.

"All I am is a simple journalist plying his trade," Kocian said.

"We know that, but the Argentine government doesn't," Castillo said. "We'll get Otto to exaggerate when he calls the German ambassador here."

Kocian glared at him.

"Okay, so that's what we'll do," Castillo said. "I'll get on the horn right now." When they walked to the quincho, Corporal Lester Bradley came to attention as they approached him.

"Lester, try not to do that," Castillo said. "You're in civilian clothing."

"Yes, sir," Bradley said and lost perhaps ten percent of his rigid posture.

Sergeant Kensington was inside the quincho, on a twin of Kocian's recliner, reading the Herald. There was a Car-4 leaning against the recliner. Kensington lowered the newspaper but did not get up.

"How soon can you get the radio up, Bob?" Castillo asked.

"We're up and all green, sir," Kensington said. "I just talked to Major Miller."

"Where's the antenna?"

"On the roof, sir. It says DirecTV on it."

"Oh, you are a clever fellow, Robert."

"My mother always told me that, sir."

"Here's what I want to do, Bob. You tell me if I can do it and, if so, how."

"Yes, sir?"

"I want a secure line wherever possible. I have to make calls to Ambassador Montvale, to a civilian number in Germany, to a civilian number in San Antonio, and another one to a local number here in Argentina-either cellular or a regular phone-and I really don't want that party to know where it's coming from."

"Yes, sir. The ambassador's no problem at all. We get Miller at the Nebraska Complex on the horn. That'll be encrypted with our-AFC's-logarithms. Miller can decrypt and patch you into the White House switchboard and you'll have a secure line…"

"Instantaneous?"

"Yes, sir," Kensington said, then reached to the floor beside him and extended a telephone handset to Castillo. "Just like a telephone."

"And the others? How do I do that?"

"A couple of problems there," Kensington said. "You'll be secure as far as the White House switchboard for Germany and San Antonio, but not beyond, and, as far as here goes, the White House can get you secure as far as the embassy here, but I don't know if they can patch you into the local phone company."

"No problem," Susanna said. "But unless we block it, if the person you're calling has caller ID, they'll know where it's coming from, and, if they're any good at all, they could trace it to the embassy. Override the block, I mean."

"That's no problem," Castillo said. "Let him think I'm calling from the embassy. I mean, we'll put the caller ID block in, but there's no real harm if they get around it."

Kensington finally rose from the recliner. He walked to what looked like a kitchen cabinet, opened the door, squatted to examine the AFC radio, then turned and said, "All green, sir. You want the Nebraska Complex now?"

"Please. Put it on speakerphone."

"You're up."

"And how else may I be of assistance to you, Sergeant Kensington?" Major H. Richard Miller's voice-having been encrypted in Washington, D.C., then sent twenty-seven thousand miles into space to a satellite, then bounced back another twenty-seven thousand miles to earth and decrypted in the dining room of a quincho thirty-odd miles outside Buenos Aires-inquired cheerfully and with such clarity that amazement was on everybody's face except that of Sergeant Kensington.

"You can first get your bum leg off my desk," Castillo said, "and then we'll talk."

"Oh, good morning, Colonel. I've been wondering when we were going to hear from you. Ambassador Montvale is, in his words, 'quite anxious to chat' with you."

"Oddly enough, that's why I called. Patch me into the White House switchboard and eavesdrop, please."

"You got it, Charley." Twenty seconds later, a pleasant voice announced, "White House. This line is secure, Colonel Castillo. Sir, Ambassador Montvale has been trying to reach you."

"Will you get him for me, please?"

"Hold one, please."

"Ambassador Montvale's secure line," the now very familiar voice of Truman Ellsworth announced.

The sonofabitch really won't answer his own phone.

"Lieutenant Colonel Castillo for the ambassador, please," Castillo said.

"Hello, Charley!" Ambassador Montvale said cheerily a moment later. "And how are you, wherever you are?"

"I'm in Buenos Aires, sir. In three or four hours, I'm leaving for the States."

"Nice not having to worry about airline schedules, isn't it?" Montvale said, and, without waiting for an answer, went on: "So I'll see you in what-twelve hours or so?"

"It'll probably be a little longer than that, sir. I'm going first to Texas and then to Pennsylvania…"

"That's one of the things I'm quite anxious to chat with you about, Charley: briefcases in Pennsylvania. The man you said was going to report to me has never shown up. No matter the hour, call me when you get to Washington. And bring him with you."

"If that's possible, sir, I will. But I will see him before I come to Washington."

"May I inquire why you're going to Texas?"

"What I consider to be a bona fide threat has been made against the family of one of my primary sources. I'm bringing them to the States for their protection."

"Why do you consider it to be a bona fide threat? Source and family? Or just family? And where are you taking them?"

"Among other reasons, an attempt was made-there is good reason to believe by the same parties who were at the estancia-to kidnap Special Agent Yung. He was wounded in the process."

"What's the good reason?"

"Absolutely no identification on the body we have, and he had a hypodermic full of a tranquilizer with him. Same modus operandi as the attempted kidnapping-both attempts-of my source in Budapest. And, of course, the kidnapping of Mr. Masterson."

Montvale grunted.

"You still have no idea who these people are, Charley?"

"I've got a couple of theories. I'll tell you about them when I see you."

"How's Yung? He's going to be all right?"

At long last, he asks about Yung.

"He has a gouge from a double-aught buckshot pellet in his hand. He was lucky."

"Now they're using shotguns?"

"Yung took a hit when the Uruguayan police took down the bad guy."

"And what do the Uruguayan police think about all this?"

"That's something else I want to talk to you about," Castillo replied, and thought: Although right now I have no idea what I'll say.

"We do have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

"Sir, I apologize, but I've forgotten your other questions?"

Montvale took a moment to remember what they were.

"Oh, yes. Are you bringing your source and family? Or just the family?"

"Just the family, sir. His wife and two daughters."

"And where are you taking them in Texas?"

"To the Double-Bar-C. It's a ranch my family has in Midland. It's isolated."

"And floating over a sea of sweet crude oil in the Midland Basin, right?"

Jesus Christ, he knows about that, too?

"That proved very useful only yesterday," Montvale said. "I'll tell you all about it when I see you."

Castillo didn't respond. What the hell is he talking about?

Montvale went on, "Presumably, you've thought about security on the ranch?"

"Yes, sir. I've arranged for the Secret Service to be there by the time we get there."

"I didn't hear about that," Montvale said, making it an accusation. "I wonder why?"

Castillo again didn't reply.

"Is there anything I can do to help you, Charley? Anything you need?"

"How difficult would it be to have Edgar Delchamps brought home from Paris until we get this sorted out? He's the CIA station chief…"

"I know who he is," Montvale interrupted. "If you think it's necessary, I'll have him here as soon as he can get on a plane."

"I think it's important, sir."

"Then he'll be on the next plane. He'll probably be here before you get here. Is there anything he should be told?"

"No, sir."

"But you will tell me, right, why you need him when we have our chat?"

"Yes, sir. Of course."

"At the risk of repeating myself, let's have that chat as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir."

"Anything else, Charley?"

"No, sir."

"Nice to talk to you," Montvale said and hung up. "White House."

"I need to speak with Mr. Otto Gorner in Fulda, Germany," Castillo said. "The number is…" "Otto Gorner," Gorner's voice came over the phone.

"This is the White House calling, Herr Gorner," the operator said, in German. "Will you hold please for Colonel Castillo?

"Colonel, this line is not, repeat, not secure."

"I understand. Thank you," Castillo said. "Wie gehts, Otto?" Otto Gorner was not at all happy to be reminded that Kocian needed protection at all and that Castillo wanted to get at least part of it from the Argentine SIDE.

"You know what happened in Budapest, Otto," Castillo said. "Even without involving the Argentines, he's safer here than he would be there."

"And you trust the Argentines?"

"I trust them to act in their best interests. Keeping Eric safe is in their best interests. And I'll have people-good people-on him as well."

It was a moment before Gorner responded. "I'll call as soon as we hang up."

"I'll keep you posted," Castillo said.

"Yes, of course you will," Gorner said and hung up.

Castillo turned to Alex Darby.

"The next call is the local one," he said. "Will you call the embassy switchboard and get the operator to block the caller ID?"

Darby nodded, took out his cellular, and punched an autodial button.

"This is Darby," he announced. "In the next thirty seconds or so, there will be a secure call from Colonel Castillo from the White House. He will give you a local number to call. Block the embassy's caller ID." He paused. "Yes, I understand that from our switchboard the call here will not be secure."

He broke the connection and looked at Castillo. "Done."

"Go kick the ball for Max, Alex, and take Susanna with you, please." He looked at Kensington. "You stay, Bob, but go deaf."

"Yes, sir."

Darby and Susanna walked out of the quincho.

"Okay, Bob," Castillo ordered, motioning with the handset, "get me the embassy on here." "?Hola?"

The male voice answering Pevsner's home telephone did so in Spanish, but the thick Russian accent was apparent in the pronunciation of the one word. Castillo thought it was probably the gorilla who had followed Pevsner into the men's room at the service station.

"Let me speak to Mr. Pevsner, please," Castillo said, politely, in Russian.

"There is no one here by that name."

"Tell him Herr Gossinger is calling and get him on the line," Castillo ordered, nastily.

There was no reply, but twenty seconds later Aleksandr Pevsner came on the line.

"Guten Morgen, Herr Gossinger," he said.

"Did Alfredo get the pancake flour and maple syrup to you all right, Alek?"

"Yes, he did, and thank you very much. But why do I suspect that isn't the purpose of this call?"

"Paranoia?" Castillo asked, innocently.

It was a moment before Pevsner replied, a chuckle in his voice. "Do you know how many people dare to mock me, friend Charley?"

"Only your friends. And I don't suppose there are many of those, are there?"

"Or insult me?" Pevsner asked.

"Probably about the same number," Castillo said, solemnly.

"When was the last time you saw Alfredo?"

"When I gave him the syrup and flour. Paranoia makes me wonder if that question implies more than idle curiosity?"

"He seems to have disappeared," Pevsner said. "I'm concerned."

That sounded sincere.

"Have you asked Howard Kennedy?"

"Kennedy's the one who told me. He can't find him. Or his wife and daughters."

I am going to have to resist a strong temptation to trust him-and not tell him not to worry.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Castillo said, hoping he sounded concerned and angry. "What the hell would your friends want with Munz?"

"What friends would those be, Charley?"

"You know goddamned well what friends. The ones who tried to whack me in Budapest and tried to kidnap and/or whack one of my men in Montevideo."

"If my friends had tried to whack you, Charley, we wouldn't be talking," Pevsner said, matter-of-factly. "Other people-not my friends-might be interested in what Munz knows about that missing money in Uruguay."

"Why don't you have Howard tell the other people that I have it?"

"That presumes Howard-and, for that matter, me-know who the other people are."

"Yes, it does. I hope Howard has relayed my message that anything done to Eric Kocian I will take personally."

Pevsner didn't reply.

"Since you brought it up, Alek," Castillo pursued, "that's the real reason I called. Has Howard relayed it?"

There was a brief hesitation as Pevsner carefully framed his reply. "I believe Howard has spoken to some people who may know some other people."

"Well, tell him to speak to them again and this time tell them I'll take anything that happens to Alfredo or his family just as personally as I would anything that happens to Kocian."

"Why are you so concerned about Munz? Does he know something you don't want other people to know?"

"You sonofabitch! I'm concerned because he's a friend of mine. For Christ's sake, he took a bullet for me! We apparently define the word 'friend' differently!"

"'Sonofabitch'?" Pevsner parroted, coolly. "It's a good thing you're a soldier, friend Colonel Charley. Soldiers swear. Otherwise, I would really take offense at that."

"Would it break your heart to hear that I hope you did?"

"No," Pevsner said, chuckling. "Not at all. Would you be surprised if I told you you're wrong? That I think we both define 'friend' the same way?"

"Yeah, it would."

"Alfredo Munz is a good man. He has become almost as close a friend of mine as Howard is. I trust him as I do Howard. He worked well for me. I try very hard to take care of my friends. As you do, Charley." He paused, then went on: "If anything happens to my friend Munz or his family, then I would take it personally."

I'll be a sonofabitch if I don't believe him!

"Maybe you better tell Howard to tell some friends who may know some other friends that you feel that way, Alek."

"I have," Pevsner said, simply.

"I'm on my way to the States," Castillo said. "If you hear anything, let me know. Howard always seems to be able to find me."

"Is your friend Kocian going with you?"

"So long, Alek. Always nice to talk to you."

Because of the complex connection, there was no easy way to hang up. All Castillo could do was cover the receiver with his hand and hope that Pevsner would become impatient and hang up before the White House or embassy switchboard operators came on the line.

He was lucky. He first heard Pevsner swear, then the sound of Pevsner slamming his handset into its cradle three seconds before the White House switchboard operator asked, "Are you through, Colonel?" "Mr. Alicia Castillo, please. The White House is calling."

"This is Alicia Castillo."

"One moment, please…

"Colonel Castillo, this line is not secure. Your party is on the line."

"Thank you, I understand," Castillo said, then asked, "Abuela?"

"I'm very impressed, Carlos. Or should I call you 'Colonel'? It's been a long time since I had a call from the White House."

"Don't be."

"Are you all right? Is Fernando with you?"

"We're both fine. He's getting the airplane ready. We're about to leave Buenos Aires for home."

"By home you mean San Antonio?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How long can you stay?"

"Just long enough to drop Fernando off. Then, via Midland, I'm headed for Washington."

"And you can't-or won't-tell me about Midland?"

"The same people who murdered Mr. Masterson have threatened the family of a man who works with me. An Argentine. We're bringing them with us to protect them until we get this mess straightened out. That's why I don't want you anywhere near the Double-Bar-C."

"They'll be in danger at the ranch?"

"They'll be protected at the ranch by the Secret Service until I can make other arrangements for them. I'm sorry I have to use the ranch, but I just didn't have any other options."

"You can do whatever you please with the Double-Bar-C, Carlos. You own it."

"That was an inheritance tax thing and you know it. It's your ranch, Abuela."

"Whose ever it once was, the Double-Bar-C is now yours. Your grandfather left Hacienda San Jorge to Fernando and the Double-Bar-C to you. He thought you both should have a ranch for your families."

"Yes, ma'am, I know."

"How many people are you taking there?"

"My friend's wife and two daughters. Young women."

"When will you be going there?"

"We should leave in two or three hours. It's about a thirteen-hour flight."

"It's ten after nine here. If you leave there in three hours, that should put you in here about one in the morning, right?"

"And don't even think what I know you're thinking about," Castillo said. "Fernando can take a cab from the airport. And please don't tell Maria he's coming."

"I hadn't planned to say anything to Maria. Your plans have a way of changing."

"We'll only be on the ground long enough to clear customs and take on fuel, Abuela," he said, reasonably, "so don't think of coming to the airport."

"Won't you be tired after a long flight like that? Too tired to fly on to Midland and then all the way to Washington?"

"I plan to sleep all the way to San Antone," Castillo said. "Fernando may be a little tired. But that's not a problem."

"Well, I suppose you know what you're doing," she said.

"Fernando will tell you all that's happened," Castillo said. "I don't want to do that over the telephone."

"I understand," she said.

"I'll see you soon, Abuela," Castillo said. "I promise."

"Yes, I'm sure you will," Dona Alicia said. "Via con Dios, mi amor." "You can break it down, Bob," Castillo said to Sergeant Kensington.

"Yes, sir."

Castillo looked out the plateglass window of the quincho and saw that Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC, was again playing with Max.

"Keep an eye on Lester, will you, Bob?"

"The kid's going to be all right, Colonel," Kensington said.

"'You don't need to be all muscle to be a good special operator'-is that what you mean?"

"Yeah, that, too, Colonel. Kranz was even smaller than Lester, and he was a one hell of a soldier until these bastards got him…"

"Operative words, Bob: 'until these bastards got him.' Keep an eye on Bradley."

"…but that's not what I meant."

Castillo looked at him, then made a Well, let me know what you do mean gesture.

"He knows how to handle tough situations."

"Well, he certainly performed at the estancia, didn't he?"

"I was talking about Mackall. No orders, except from you and Vic D'Allessando not to say one word about what went down here and what he was doing there. A-what?-hundred-and-thirty-pound Marine? A corporal and everybody else is a sergeant or better. You do know what happened there?"

Castillo shook his head.

Kensington grinned. "Jack Davidson told me. He thought some jarhead sergeant major was pulling his chain, that Lester was sent there as a joke. So he asked Lester how come he got sent to the Q course. When Davidson asks somebody something, he usually gets an answer. What Lester told him was, he didn't know. Davidson asked him where he came from and Lester told him he'd been sort of the clerk typist for the Marine guard detachment at the embassy here. So Davidson told him he'd better forget about taking the course, nothing personal, he just didn't have what it takes. He hadn't even been to jump school, for one thing. But since he was a clerk typist, until Davidson could straighten things out, that's what he would do. Punch keys on a computer keyboard. Lester didn't even tell him he'd done a tour in Iraq.

"So that's what he did, until General McNab and Vic showed up at Mackall to take him to Kranz's funeral and McNab thanked him for saving your ass with those two head shots in the Ninjas."

Castillo chuckled. "I would like to have seen Sergeant Major Davidson's face when McNab told him that. But Jack is formidable…"

"Yes, he is."

"…and maybe Lester was just afraid to say anything."

"Oh, no. I asked him why he hadn't said anything, and what he said was that he knew you and Vic didn't want him to make waves, so he didn't. He said he knew everything would come out sooner or later. That's my point. He's a smart little sonofabitch and I like him."

"Yeah, me, too."

"You still have some clout with McNab, Colonel?"

"Nobody has clout with McNab."

"I was hoping maybe you could get Lester a waiver-probably, waivers-and let him take the Q course. He really wants to."

"He wants to take the Q course?" Castillo asked, dubiously.

"He wants in Special Ops. Bad. And as far as I'm concerned, he's welcome."

"Well, we know he performs, don't we? When this is over, if that's what he wants I'll see what I can do. I owe him."

"Speaking of that, Colonel, when you finally locate these bastards and start taking them out I'd like to be in on the operation."

"If it can be arranged, sure."

"Are you getting close?"

"I wish I could tell you I was. A lot depends on what Eric Kocian, Yung, and Munz come up with. So keep your other eye on them. They already tried to whack Yung."

"Will do, Colonel. Have a nice flight."

Although he wasn't in uniform and therefore was not supposed to salute, Sergeant First Class Kensington saluted crisply.

Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, who was also in civilian clothing, returned it just as crisply.

"Try hard to keep your dick-and Lester's-out of the wringer, Sergeant," Castillo said and walked out of the quincho. [THREE] Aeropuerto Internacional de Carraso General Cesareo L. Berisso Carrasco, Montevideo Republica Oriental del Uruguay 1305 9 August 2005 "It looks like Yung got carried away again, Charley," Jake Torine said, pointing out the cockpit window of the Gulfstream as they taxied up to the business aircraft tarmac of the airport. "What I told him to do was get a picnic lunch."

Castillo, who was kneeling in the aisle just behind the pilot's seat, looked where Torine pointed and saw they were being met by ground handlers, customs and immigration officials, and a large, white van, on the body of which was lettered AIRPORT GOURMET.

"Isn't 'airport gourmet' something like 'military intelligence'?" Fernando Lopez, in the copilot's seat, inquired innocently.

Castillo was less amused.

"The idea was not to attract attention," he said.

He pushed himself upright and walked into the cabin, sat on one of the couches, and looked out the window.

The ground handlers guided the Gulfstream to a place to park and Torine shut down the engines.

Castillo lowered the stair door and looked out.

The customs and immigration officers walked up to the airplane.

"Welcome to Uruguay, senor," one of them said, in English. "May we come aboard?"

"Certainly," Castillo replied and stepped out of the way.

"We understand that you are discharging no passengers or cargo?"

"That's correct."

But how the hell did you know that?

"In that case, senor, there will be no customs or immigration formalities. The crew may go to Base Operations to check the weather and file a flight plan."

"Thank you."

"Will you require fuel or any other service?"

"We just need to top off the tanks. And we'd like to take some food for the flight."

The officer gestured at the van.

"The food has been arranged for," the officer said.

"Thank you," Castillo said.

By that goddamned over efficient Yung!

"And we can have a fuel truck sent out quickly," the officer said. "Please come again and stay longer," he added, smiling, then went down the door stairs with the other official following.

Castillo went to the cockpit.

"Jake, no formalities. Just file a flight plan."

"Where the hell are our passengers?" Torine wondered aloud.

"I don't know. First things first: file the flight plan."

By the time Torine reached the doorway, the Airport Gourmet truck had backed up to it, so close that when the doors in the rear swung open they almost touched the fuselage.

Dammit! Torine thought. Careful near the aircraft!

A man in a business suit leaped nimbly from the truck into the Gulfstream.

"?Buenos tardes!" he said, cheerfully, then looked at the distance between the truck and where he stood, shook his head in disappointment, and went down the stairs. He stood at the rear of the truck and held up his hands, as if to catch someone.

A young girl jumped down. She kissed the man on the cheek, then looked at Castillo, as if asking for permission to climb the stair door steps.

Castillo thought, That has to be Alfredo's youngest daughter.

He smiled and waved her onto the plane.

In short order, another young woman and then an older one jumped from the truck, kissed the man in the suit, and came onto the airplane. The man then climbed the stairs, looked around the cabin, and went in.

"Just to be careful, I think we'd better close these," he said and pulled down the curtains over the windows beside the couches.

FBI Special Agent William D. Yung, Jr., jumped from the truck into the airplane.

"You are going to tell me what's going on, right?" Castillo asked Yung.

"Colonel Castillo, this is Chief Inspector Ordonez," Yung said, gesturing to the man in the suit.

Jesus Christ, what the hell's the matter with Yung introducing me by name? And by rank?

Ordonez smiled at Castillo, put out his hand, and said, "Let me express my gratitude to you, Colonel, for doing what you are doing for the family of our mutual friend, Alfredo."

Castillo shook the hand but didn't reply.

Ordonez turned to Torine.

"You're the pilot?"

Torine nodded.

"Operations is right over there," Ordonez said, pointing. "I suggest that you file to Porto Alegre, Brazil. That will attract far less attention than a destination farther north."

Torine shrugged, then looked at Castillo, his facing asking, Why not?

Castillo nodded.

"And I further suggest that the sooner you get off the ground, the better," Ordonez said.

Torine went down the stairs and, passing a fuel truck that had just pulled up alongside the portside wing, walked quickly to the Base Operations building.

Ordonez turned to Yung. "You will help me with the picnic lunch, David?"

Yung nodded.

Ordonez looked at the women, who were now all sitting on the couch.

"You are in good hands. I will look after Alfredo.?Via con Dios!"

Then he went down the stairs and started to climb onto the truck.

Yung handed Castillo a folded sheet of typewriter paper.

"Everything I know is on here," he said and went down the stairs.

Castillo started to unfold the sheet of paper, but before he had finished he heard Yung call his name. He went to the door. Yung was extending an insulated container to him. Castillo went halfway down the stairs and took it from him. He some what awkwardly turned and set the container on the floor of the passenger compartment.

When he turned again, Yung was holding another identical container. By the time he got that into the airplane and turned again, he saw that Ordonez was hauling Yung into the Airport Gourmet truck.

"Call the office and leave a number where I can reach you!" Castillo called out.

Yung nodded as the truck doors swung closed. A moment later, the truck pulled away.

Castillo smiled.

"Call the office and leave a number where I can reach you," said the aluminum-siding sales manager to one of his problematic sales counselors.

Jesus H. Christ!

He sensed the eyes of the women on him. He walked into the cabin.

"I'm Carlos Castillo, a friend of your father," he said to the youngest daughter.

She smiled shyly at him.

"You speak Spanish very well for a Norteamericano," the girl said.

"Thank you very much," Castillo said.

"Here comes Jake!" Lopez called from the cockpit.

Five minutes later, after Torine dealt with the fuel crew and did his walk-around inspection of the aircraft, he came up the stairs and pulled the door shut behind him.

"Wind it up, Fernando," he called and turned to Castillo.

"We can take off local and change to Porto Alegre in the air," he said.

Torine looked at the women and addressed the youngest girl.

"Do you speak English?"

"Si, senor. A little."

Torine smiled. "I'm the pilot. If the flight attendant here doesn't give you everything you want, you just let me know. I have to tell you, he's one of our worst."

She smiled at him and then at Castillo.

There came the whine of an engine starting.

Sixty seconds later, the Gulfstream started to move.

Castillo had unfolded the sheet of typewriter paper and was reading it before they reached the threshold of the active runway. Colonel- I wasn't sure if we would have time to talk. This is written before we go to the airport, of course, where we all may be led off in handcuffs. Ordonez is one smart cop. Luckily for us, he's a good friend of Munz. He knows a lot-too much, but not everything-about the estancia. He knows the Russian mafiosa's helicopter was there. He suspects his involvement. He knows what happened has nothing to do with Lorimer being a drug dealer. He knows it has to do with the oil-for-food business. I'm afraid I may have confirmed this for him. He knows that we grabbed the money. No proof, but he knows, and I know he's good at finding proof of what he suspects. He has positively identified (by fingerprints) one of the Ninjas as Major Alejandro Vincenzo of the Cuban Direccion General de Inteligencia, who he met when Castro was in Montevideo and Vincenzo was in charge of his security. I think as soon as we can get on a secure line we should talk. If I have screwed things up, I'm really sorry. Yung

Castillo read the note twice, then folded it and put it in his shirt pocket.

When the Gulfstream was at altitude, he went to the cockpit and showed it to Torine and Lopez. [FOUR] San Antonio International Airport San Antonio, Texas 0350 10 August 2005 Castillo woke up when Lopez shook his shoulder. He had been sleeping uncomfortably most of the way from Quito in one of the chairs next to the forward bulkhead of the passenger compartment, his feet on the facing chair.

The younger Munz girl was in the chair across the aisle. Senora Munz and the older girl had taken the two couches. When he opened his eyes, Castillo saw that they were now sitting up, and that the eyes of the younger girl, now sitting tensely in her chair, showed concern, maybe even fear.

And then he saw why.

There were four other people in the passenger compartment. One of them was nattily dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant of the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services. The other three were heavily armed and dressed in black jumpsuits, on the breasts of which were badges of officers of the U.S. Customs and Border Protection service.

One of the Customs officers, an enormous, swarthy man, held an Uzi in the position that caused Castillo to speak rudely to him.

"Point that goddamned muzzle at the floor!" Castillo barked, in English.

"Gringo," Lopez said, cautiously.

The officer moved the Uzi toward Castillo.

"You don't speak English?" Castillo snapped, in Spanish. "Don't point that thing at me!"

"Take it easy, sir," the Citizenship and Immigration Services lieutenant said.

The lieutenant looked at the big guy holding the Uzi and ordered, "Lower that muzzle."

"Better…" Castillo said, still furious.

"Carlos," Lopez said, "these gentlemen wish to search the aircraft and our luggage. Torine thought you might wish to discuss that with them."

"We are going to search the aircraft, understand that!" the enormous swarthy man announced, not at all pleasantly.

Castillo locked eyes with him. "Then might I, sir, with all respect and humility, suggest that you begin your thorough inspection of our luggage with my briefcase?" he asked, sarcastically. "It's right there on the floor."

"What's in the briefcase?" the enormous man asked.

"My credentials," Castillo said. "I'm Supervisory Special Agent Castillo of the Secret Service."

The swarthy man considered that a moment, then said, "Get it." "That's what he is all right," the swarthy man said, visibly cowed by the credentials. But that didn't last long. "We are still going to search your luggage and the aircraft. That's regulations!"

"Search away," Castillo said. "I simply wanted to identify myself before you saw the weapons we have aboard." He turned to the immigration lieutenant. "How do we get through immigration?"

"There's a van outside that'll carry you to the commercial side of the airport."

"And bring us back?"

The lieutenant nodded.

"Ladies," Castillo said, "leave everything on board but your purses. We have to go through the immigration process. On behalf of the United States of America, I apologize for this rude reception." "Thanks for everything, Fernando," Castillo said when they were back at the Gulfstream. "When you get home, blame everything on me."

"Maria will do that anyway," Lopez said.

He picked Castillo off the ground in a bear hug.

"If you need me for anything, forget it," Lopez said.

"You got it."

"I didn't mean that, Gringo, and you know it."

"What I want you to do is make sure Abuela doesn't go anywhere near Midland."

"I will. Believe me."

"I'll find someplace else for the Munzes just as soon as I can."

Lopez nodded, shook hands with Torine, kissed the cheeks of the Munz women, then turned and climbed back in the van.

As the others went aboard the Gulfstream, Castillo watched it drive away until It was out of sight, and then, not remembering if he had seen Torinedo it or not, did the walk-around inspection of the plane, then went up the stairs into it.

He smiled at the younger Munz girl.

"Colonel Torine has said I can ride up in front if I promise not to touch anything."

She smiled back at him.

When he stepped into the cockpit, he saw that Jake Torine was strapping himself into the copilot's seat.

"I'm pleased to see that you remembered it's the pilot in command's duty to do the walk-around," Torine said. "Has anything important fallen off?" [FIVE] Double-Bar-C Ranch Near Midland, Texas 0555 10 August 2005 As Castillo applied the thrust reversers, he saw that there were two black GMC Yukon XLs parked next to the hangar. And a silver Jaguar.

Well, the Secret Service is here.

And the Jaguar, which is almost certainly Abuela's, is here because so was she when the heat got to her. She had the Lear pick her up.

When he had taxied the Gulfstream back to the hangar from the end of the runway and stopped, Torine said, "I'll shut it down, Charley. You tend to our passengers."

Castillo unstrapped himself and went to the passenger compartment, where he tripped the DOOR OPEN switch. The door began to move and a dry heat started to blow in. It had a familiar feel and smell.

Senora Munz and the younger girl, smiling, were on their feet and looking down at the older sister, who was sound asleep on one of the couches.

Well, they say a perfect landing is one that (a) you can walk away from and (b) doesn't wake the passengers.

He smiled at the younger girl.

"I'll get some ice water," he said. "You can pour it in her ear. That'll wake her up."

"Carlos, that's an awful thing to say!" a familiar voice said from the open doorway behind him, in English.

Then the voice switched to Spanish.

"I'm Alicia Castillo. This terrible young man is my grandson. Welcome to our home!"

Castillo turned. As his grandmother pushed past him to get at the Munz family, he saw a heavyset man, obviously a Secret Service agent, standing just inside the door.

The heavyset man shrugged and held up both hands.

The meaning was clear: I didn't know how to stop her.