Hunters

XVII

[ONE] Aeropuerto Internacional Jorge Newbery Buenos Aires, Argentina 1840 13 August 2005 It was a clear winter night in Argentina and as they made their approach they could see the sea of lights that was Buenos Aires. They could even pick out the bright yellow snake of lights of the superhighway running from the city to Pilar.

They had left Double-Bar-C ranch at six, after an enormous breakfast Dona Alicia had insisted on getting up to prepare for them.

Dick Miller's disappointment at not being able to go with them-Castillo wanted him both to brief Ambassador Montvale on the "interview" of Philip J. Kenyon III and to be available at the Nebraska Avenue Complex to deal with anything that might come up-was more than a little tempered when Colonel Jake Torine got on the horn and arranged for another F-15D "training flight" to pick him up in Midland and carry him to Andrews Air Force Base outside Washington.

Castillo, concerned about Yung's wounded hand, had thought of trying to find some way to tactfully leave him behind in the States without killing his newfound enthusiasm for the OOA but in the end had decided that he would be needed in South America, both to lend his expertise to putting the pieces together at the safe house in the Mayerling Country Club and to deal with Chief Inspector Ordonez in Uruguay if that became necessary.

Dinner at the Double-Bar-C had turned out to be very pleasant-even Jack Doherty seemed to be having a good time-although Fernando Lopez had nearly choked on his mouthful of wine when Dona Alicia had suddenly announced, "Oh, damn old age! Why didn't I think of this earlier? You remember Philip Kenyon, don't you, Carlos? You were in the Boy Scouts together. We ran into him at the Petroleum Club yesterday and, if I hadn't been asleep at the switch, we could have had him and his family here tonight. I know he would have loved to see you."

As everyone had loaded into one of the Secret Service Yukons, Dona Alicia had handed Castillo an aluminum-foil-wrapped package of barbecued beef ribs.

"For Ricardo, Carlos," she said, making reference to Special Agent Ricardo Solez of the Drug Enforcement Administration. "Give him my love, and tell him he can warm them on low in a microwave, but they would be better if he could find a grill of some kind."

"I'm sure we can find a grill for him, Abuela," Castillo had said.

On the way to the airport, they passed a Sam's Club. Probably because of the five-pound package of ribs in his lap, food was on Castillo's mind.

"Anyone got a Sam's card?" he asked.

Inspector Doherty confessed that He did.

"Go back to that Sam's Club, please," Castillo said. "It's already open."

A half hour later, Castillo came out of the Sam's Club carrying two ten-pound sacks of pancake flour and a gallon jug of Vermont maple syrup, followed by Colonel Torine, who carried plastic packages of shorts and T-shirts, a two and-half-pound bag of Hershey's assorted miniature chocolate bars, and a lined denim jacket.

They had cleared customs and were off the ground at one minute past eight. Their first stop had been Quito, Ecuador, which was almost exactly midway between Midland and Buenos Aires. They landed there at 1335.

During a very pleasant grilled-chicken luncheon, and, looking very pleased with himself, Special Agent Yung of the FBI turned to Inspector Doherty of the FBI and said, "Before we get to Buenos Aires, Inspector, you'd better give me your pistol."

"Why in the world would I want to do that?"

"Because otherwise the Argentine customs will take it away from you."

"Doesn't that apply to you, too?"

"I have a diplomatic passport," Yung said, smugly. "You don't."

"Two-Gun Yung's got you, Jack," Edgar Delchamps said.

"And what about you?" Doherty challenged.

"I've already given him mine," Delchamps said. "If he's nice enough to sneak yours into Argentina, I guess we'll have to start calling him Three-Gun Yung."

They were back in the air at 1510. Five hours and thirty-two minutes later, Castillo-trying very hard to make a perfect landing-touched down much too long and some what hard on the runway at Jose Newbery.

"Because of the two-hour time difference," Jake Torine told Castillo, "I will put it in the log that we landed at 1845 local time. Because I am a really fine fellow who would never hurt a junior officer's delicate sensibilities, I will with-hold critical comment on that absolutely awful landing."

They were met, as they had been the last time, by Paul Sieno and Ricardo Solez, who had the same unmarked Mercedes-Benz Traffik van and who again pretended to be Argentines sent to transfer American tourists to an unnamed estancia.

Once they were through the customs and immigration formalities and off the airfield, it was different. Sieno was obviously a great admirer of Edgar Delchamps and delighted to see him. [TWO] Nuestra Pequena Casa Mayerling Country Club Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1925 13 August 2005 As soon as he walked into the house, Delchamps got an equally warm reception from Susanna Sieno and an only slightly less enthusiastic one from Alex Darby.

Castillo was not spared a welcome home. Max was so pleased to see him that he put his front paws on Castillo's chest, knocked him down, and then to show there were no hard feelings enthusiastically licked his face.

Castillo was still trying to regain his feet when Eric Kocian came down the stairs, paused halfway, and announced: "I see my jailer has arrived."

"Forgive me for trying to keep you alive, Uncle Billy," Castillo said.

"Any man who shamelessly steals the affection of another man's dog is beneath contempt," Kocian said.

"Eric Kocian, Jack Doherty," Castillo said. "I'm sure the two of you will become great buddies."

"This is the schoolteacher with the blackboards?" Kocian said. "I recognize the voice."

"And these two, Inspector Doherty," Castillo continued, "are in-or were in-your line of work. Sandor Tor, formerly inspector of the Budapest police, and Colonel Alfredo Munz, former chief of Argentina's SIDE, which is sort of the FBI and the CIA combined."

"I know what it is," Doherty said as they shook hands.

"Carlos, I don't suppose you saw my family?" Munz said.

"Oh, yes," Castillo said as he went into his briefcase for his laptop computer. "And I have to tell you they will probably want to stay in the States."

He turned on the computer, found what he was looking for, and held it out to Munz.

"There's a bunch of pictures," he said. "Just push this key with the arrow for the next one."

Munz looked at the first picture, then showed it to Tor. It was of his daughters, decked out in chef's whites, including enormous billowing hats, broiling steaks on a grill as Senora Munz and Dona Alicia, their arms around one another like sisters, smilingly watched.

"That's my abuela, Alfredo," Castillo said.

Munz went through the twenty-odd pictures one by one, then handed the computer back to Castillo.

"I think I want to kiss you, Carlos," Munz said, "and then kill Pevsner very slowly."

"Don't do either, please," Castillo said. "It would give Inspector Doherty the wrong idea and Pevsner may not be-probably isn't-the villain."

Yung took Doherty's and Delchamps's pistols from his briefcase and gave them back, which caused Darby to suggest that carrying them might become a problem but one that could probably be dealt with by making an effort to travel in an embassy car, the diplomatic plates of which would guarantee immunity from spot roadside searches by the Policia Federal.

Castillo-trailed by Max-took two bottles of beer from the refrigerator and went to the quincho; Susanna Sieno had told him Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC, was out there on radio duty.

As Castillo entered the quincho, Bradley leaped to his feet, popped to attention, and said, "Good evening, Colonel. I have the duty, sir."

"Stand at ease," Castillo replied, trying to stifle a strong urge to smile. It didn't work. He smiled, then handed Bradley a bottle of beer. "Have a beer, Les."

When he saw that Bradley was more than a little discomfited, Castillo went on: "You may wish to write this down, Corporal. When the senior officer in the area hands you a beer and orders you to consume same, you are then immunized against prosecution under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, 1948, for drinking on duty."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"What do we hear from the States, Les?" Castillo asked.

"About an hour ago, sir, there was a message from Major Miller to be delivered to you on your arrival. I passed it to Sergeant Major Davidson, sir."

"Well, now that I'm here and Davidson isn't, do you think you could give it to me?"

"Yes, sir. Quote, the canary is really singing, end quote. Major Miller said you would understand what it meant, sir," Bradley said.

"Yeah, I do," Castillo said. "Les, go get-discreetly-Mr. Sieno, Mr. Darby, Sergeant Major Davidson, Sergeant Kensington, and Mr. Solez. I'll watch the radio."

"Yes, sir," Bradley said and headed for the door. Then he stopped and carefully set his beer bottle on the floor. "I think it would be best if I left this here, sir. Sergeant Major Davidson might not understand that I have your permission to drink on duty."

"Good thinking, Corporal," Lieutenant Colonel Castillo said. When they had all assembled, Castillo asked if anyone had seen anything that suggested an attack on the house or the waylaying of a car going to or from it.

"Nothing, Colonel," Davidson replied. "And we've looked. The only thing remotely suspicious was the driver of a laundry truck-a van, white, with 'ECO' on the panels-who seemed pretty interested in the house. The second time he drove by, Bradley and I followed him."

"The both of you?"

"Lester chased him around the country club on a bicycle and I went just outside the gate and followed him in a Beamer. Lester said all he did inside here was deliver and pick up laundry and dry cleaning. And then I followed him when he came out. He went to the ECO place-near the Sheraton Hotel-and unloaded dirty clothes. And that's it."

He looked around at the others and there was general agreement.

"Well, I've got a gut feeling that they're going to try to whack Billy Kocian," Castillo said. "And the chances of that happening will multiply exponentially after I go see a man I have to go see."

They looked at him for clarification but he offered none.

"I'll need a weapon, Susanna," he said. "Is that Micro Uzi I borrowed in Budapest still here?"

She nodded.

Davidson asked, "Where we going, Charley?"

"We're not going anywhere. I'm going to see a guy-Delchamps and I are."

Susanna Sieno said, "Colonel, you heard what Alex said. If you're going to take that Micro Uzi, you better take one of the embassy cars with CD plates. And somebody to drive it."

"I happen to be a very good Beamer driver, in case anyone cares," Sergeant Major Davidson said.

Castillo's eyebrow went up.

"For everyone's edification," he said, "it's Bimmer."

Davidson looked at him in a rare moment of confusion. "It's what?"

Castillo shrugged and said, "Not that it really matters, but a BMW motorcycle-the thingee with two wheels?-that's called a Beamer, or Beemer with two es. The four-wheel BMW is a Bimmer. Like I said, not that it matters, but that's that."

Davenport nodded and, without any conviction, replied, "Right. Tomato, tow-maw-toe. Got it."

Castillo smiled.

"Anyway," he went on, "I need you to hold the fort here, Jack."

Castillo turned to Bradley.

"Think you can handle a BMW, Lester?"

"Sir, I am certified to drive any wheeled or tracked vehicle including the M1A1 Abrams tank and the corresponding vehicle-retrieval vehicles as well," Corporal Bradley announced.

"The question, Corporal, was can you handle a Bimmer?"

"I am confident that I can handle a Bimmer and a Beamer, sir."

Castillo smiled.

"Okay, Lester. Go with Mr. Sieno and-discreetly-get the Micro Uzi from her and put it in the backseat of the car she shows you. And there's two sacks of pancake flour and a gallon of maple syrup in the Traffik. Put that in the Bimmer, too. I'll be out in a minute with Mr. Delchamps."

"Aye, aye, sir," Corporal Bradley said. "And how many magazines, sir?"

"There's only two," Castillo replied.

"Extra boxed ammunition, sir?"

"I think the two magazines will be sufficient. Make sure they're charged."

"Aye, aye, sir."

When they were out of earshot, Davidson said, "You can't help laughing at him, but, when you do, you feel like you've just kicked a puppy."

"Yeah," Sergeant Kensington said.

"As for me, I have a very soft spot in my heart for people who have saved my ass," Castillo said.

"Curiosity overwhelms me, Charley," Alex Darby said. "What's with the pancake flour and the maple syrup?"

"Aleksandr Pevsner, Junior," Castillo said, "who is ten, has acquired a taste for pancakes and maple syrup from an American classmate. It's hard to get here in Argentina so I brought him some from the States."

"And just told Bradley to put it in the car," Darby said.

"Yes, I did."

"Can I put that together to mean you're on your way to see this pancake loving kid's daddy? He's here?"

"I hope, later today, that I'll be able to put it all together for you, Alex. But right now, Pevsner has my word that I won't tell anybody where he lives. That depends on Pevsner. Wish me luck."

"And taking Delchamps with you?" Darby asked.

"I want Edgar to tell him something I don't think he'd believe coming from me."

"I don't really know what's going on, Charley. Is that on purpose?"

"While I'm gone, Yung and Doherty can bring you-everybody-up to speed," Castillo said. "I don't think I'll be gone long."

He took what he now thought of as "the Argentine cellular" from his briefcase, pushed an autodial button, and put the phone to his ear.

"?Hola?" a voice said.

"There you go in that heavily Russian-accented Spanish again," Castillo said, in Russian.

"What do you want, Castillo?"

"Call the gate, Alek, and tell them to pass me in. I'm almost there, and I'm bringing pancake flour, maple syrup-a gallon of it-and an old friend to see you," Castillo said and hung up. Edgar Delchamps was already in the backseat of a dark blue BMW 720L with heavily darkened windows when Castillo came around the side of the house. Bradley was holding the door open for Castillo.

Castillo had forgotten that Max had been following him around until the dog decided the door was being held open for him and bounded into the backseat.

"Get this goddamned dog out of here," Delchamps said.

"You tell him, Edgar," Castillo said. "You have a forceful personality. Maybe he'll listen to you."

He gestured for Bradley to get behind the wheel, then opened the front passenger's door and got in.

"Go to that shopping center off Route 8," Castillo ordered Bradley. "The one with the Jumbo supermarket. I'll give you directions from there."

"Yes, sir."

Castillo put his arm on the back of the seat and turned to the passengers in the rear.

"Give that nice man a kiss, Max," he said, in German. "He's ugly and old and needs a little affection."

Purely by coincidence, of course, Max took that moment to take a closer look at his fellow passenger and, apparently liking what he saw, or perhaps what he smelled, leaned over and licked his face.

"I'll get you for that, Castillo," Delchamps said. [THREE] Buena Vista Country Club Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 2045 13 August 2005 "Turn in here, Lester, and put your window down," Castillo ordered. "They're determined to keep out the riffraff."

The BMW and its occupants were inspected at the guardhouse barrier not only by two well-armed members of the security staff but also by Janos, Pevsner's massive bodyguard, who stuck his head into the car and peered into the rear seat.

Surprise-and more than a little concern-registered on Janos's face when Max showed his teeth and growled menacingly.

Then surprise showed on Castillo's face when Delchamps greeted Janos in Hungarian: "Janos, my old friend, how in God's blessed name are you?"

Janos, his head already out of the car, nodded but didn't reply. He signaled to the security guards that they could raise the barrier pole and then waved the big BMW through.

Castillo turned to speak to Delchamps.

"Is there some reason you didn't want to tell me you knew Janos?" Castillo asked.

"I thought you had enough on your mind, Ace, and didn't want to confuse you further."

"What about Pevsner? You know him, too?"

Delchamps nodded.

"I meet a lot of people in my line of work," Delchamps said.

They were halfway to Pevsner's house when Janos caught up with them in Pevsner's black Mercedes-Benz S600, then passed them. Aleksandr Pevsner, looking a member of the British landed gentry-he was wearing a Barbour rainproof jacket, corduroy pants, a checkered shirt, and a plaid woolen hat-stood waiting for them under the light over his front door. Janos stood behind him.

"Go open the door for me, Lester," Castillo said. "I want him to think you're an embassy driver."

"Yes, sir."

"Then get the pancake flour and maple syrup from the trunk."

"Yes, sir."

"?Hola, Alek!" Castillo called in Spanish as he got out of the car. "Been out in the rain, have you?"

"I was at the stable," Pevsner said.

"Hey, Mr. Respin," Delchamps called cheerfully, in Russian. "I knew when I saw Janos that you'd probably be somewhere around. It's been a longtime."

"Nine years," Pevsner replied after a long moment. "So long I forget what name you were using then."

"As a matter of fact, so do I," Delchamps replied. "Saffery, maybe?"

"I don't think that was it," Pevsner said. "What name are you using these days?"

"Delchamps. Edgar Delchamps. And what about you, Vasily?"

"Well, Mr. Delchamps, while I'm pleased to see you after all those years you're not the old friend I expected our mutual acquaintance to have with him."

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Alek," Castillo said, "but that old friend isn't at all sure you're really a friend of his."

"Why does ol' Charley here keep calling you Alek, Vasily?"

"Because that's my name!" Pevsner snapped.

"Where would you like me to put this stuff, sir?" Lester Bradley asked as he walked up with the maple syrup and pancake flour.

Pevsner looked at what Bradley was carrying.

"I just happened to be passing a Sam's Club," Castillo said. "And I remembered how much Sergei and Aleksandr like their pancakes and I figured, what the hell."

"Give it to Janos," Pevsner ordered.

"Hell, I'll carry it," Castillo said. "If Janos takes it, he'll have to take his hand off his pistol and I know how much he hates to do that." He took the flour and the gallon jug from Bradley. "That'll be all for now, Bradley," he said, then turned to Pevsner. "You are going to ask us in, aren't you, Alek?"

Pevsner exhaled audibly, shook his head, and turned around and held open the door to his house.

Janos followed everybody inside.

"I just remembered where it was the last time I saw you, Vasily-excuse me, Alek," Delchamps said.

"Where was that?" Pevsner said.

Delchamps turned to Castillo. "Remember when Laurent Kabila was trying to overthrow Mobutu Sese Seko in the Congo, Charley?"

"Yeah, vaguely. What was that? 1997? 1998?"

"Ninety-seven. Well, the good guys needed some guns, so I called Alek here-what does that stand for, 'Aleksandr'?"

"My name is Aleksandr Pevsner," Pevsner said, icily, "as if you don't already know that."

"Right," Delchamps said. "So I called Aleksandr here, and he not only had what the good guys needed, and at the right price, but was prepared to drop-ship it for me. He had just acquired his first Boeing 737. Before that he had-excuse me, Aleksandr, but it's the truth-a couple, maybe three, really ratty, worn-out Antonovs that I was always surprised could get off the ground."

Castillo looked at Pevsner and saw that while his face showed no emotion, Pevsner's ice-blue eyes could have burned holes in the old CIA agent.

Delchamps went on: "But he wanted cash on delivery, Aleksandr did. By then, I would have thought my credit was good. We'd done a lot of business before and he'd always gotten his money. And there wasn't all that much involved in this deal. A couple hundred Kalashnikov AK-47s, ammo, a few mortars, and I think there was even a dozen light.30 caliber Browning machine guns left over from Vietnam. Right, Aleksandr?"

"We all know you're not here to remember the past," Pevsner said. "Dare I hope this charade will soon come to an end?"

"Let me finish this for Charley, Aleksandr," Delchamps went on, casually. "So what that meant was I had to go to Kisangani-what used to be Stanleyville-with all this cash in my briefcase-"

"Goddamn it, Charley," Pevsner suddenly interrupted, having clearly lost his temper, "what have you done with Alfredo Munz and his family? I've had all of your sick humor that I can handle."

"The girls have been put to work in the prison kitchen," Castillo said. "They seem to have adjusted well to it. Would you like to see a picture?"

"If it would not be too much trouble," Pevsner said, icily. His face was still flushed, but he seemed to have his temper under control.

"Could we go into the living room? The pictures are in my computer. I need some place to put it down."

"You know the way," Pevsner said. "The lady holding Senora Munz's shoulder is my grandmother," Castillo said, in Russian, when he'd opened the laptop and shown Pevsner how to cycle the images onscreen by using the arrow keys.

A minute later, Castillo said, "I should be very angry at you for even considering the possibility that I would be holding them hostage. But all I am is a little sorry for you."

Pevsner met his eyes for a long moment, then said, "I didn't know what to think."

"Your apology is accepted," Castillo said.

"And Alfredo?"

"He's near here."

"I want to talk to him."

"He won't come here."

"There are some questions I have to ask him, and I want to do that face-to-face and alone."

"Well, he won't come here-he doesn't trust you, Alek-and I won't take you to where he is. The telephone won't do?"

Pevsner shook his head. "I need to look in his eyes."

Castillo didn't reply.

"He trusts you, apparently," Pevsner said.

"I think so."

"Do you trust me?"

"Let me ask that first, Alek. Do you trust me?"

"With the caveat that we have different agendas, yes, I do."

"Same answer, Alek. And now let me tell you what my agenda is: I want Howard Kennedy. Let me rephrase that. I am going to have Howard Kennedy."

"Which means what?"

"That I am going to run him down and then take him to the United States. The deal we have is still on. But it no longer includes Howard Kennedy."

"Why do you want Howard Kennedy?"

"For one thing, I want to know what his relationship with Colonel Pyotr Sunev was…is."

"I don't think Howard even knows who Sunevis."

"Kennedy knows who Sunev is," Delchamps said. "We have a very reliable source who saw him and Sunev together in Cozumel. In that hotel you own there, the Grand Cozumel Beach and Golf Resort."

Pevsner considered that carefully but didn't challenge it. Instead, he asked, "And if I don't choose to give you Howard Kennedy?"

"You don't have any choice, Alek," Castillo said. "I'm going to have him."

"Before either of us says anything more that we both might later regret, let's get back to Alfredo Munz."

"You're not proposing a swap?" Castillo asked, incredulously.

"Now you owe me an apology," Pevsner said. "On several levels. I don't barter away my friends. Both Alfredo and Howard are friends of mine."

"You're going to have to convince Munz of that; he doesn't think so."

"That's one of the reasons I have to see him."

"That brings us back to step one. I told you he's not going to come here."

"I keep a suite in the Sheraton, the one here in Pilar, right off the highway, near the Jumbo," Pevsner said. He waited until Castillo nodded, indicating he knew what he was talking about, then went on: "I use it to accommodate business associates I'd rather not have in my home."

"And will I bring Alfredo to your suite in the Sheraton? Come on, Alek! He's my friend. I'm not going to set him up to be whacked!"

"Charley, I swear before God I mean Alfredo no harm!"

"I wish I could believe you," Castillo said. "But why should I?"

"Because it's the goddamned truth, that's why!"

"What exactly do you want to ask him, looking into his eyes with that penetrating stare of yours?"

"That's really none of your business."

"It is if you want me to even ask him to put his neck in the garrote," Castillo said.

"Then we have a problem, because I won't tell you. You'll have to be satisfied that I mean Alfredo no harm."

"And I am determined that he will come to no harm," Castillo said. "He has already taken a bullet for me and one is too many. So I suppose our conversation is over. I know you're going to tell Kennedy he is no longer part of the deal. I have no problem with that. I can find him. But anything else you do to protect him from me will nullify our whole deal. You understand?"

Pevsner nodded coldly.

"I really am sorry it came to this," Pevsner said. "I think, in the long run, we will both regret it."

"I need a minute alone with you, Ace," Delchamps said, "before you kiss Aleksandr good-bye for all time. You want to take a walk for a couple of minutes, Alek, or is there someplace we can go?"

"I will leave you alone," Pevsner said. "When you have finished, I'll be right outside that door." "You really want to walk out of here, Ace?" Delchamps asked softly when the door had closed behind Pevsner.

"No. I thought he would cave and he didn't. But now I don't know what the hell to do next."

"He's one tough sonofabitch," Delchamps said. "Let me ask you this: would Munz tell you about their conversation if they had it?"

Castillo considered the question.

"You're wondering if he would tell you all about it?" Delchamps pursued.

"He'd tell me all about it," Castillo said ten seconds later.

"Well, then?" Delchamps asked.

"How do we explain our change of mind?"

"We tell him if there is to be a meeting, it has to happen right now, and the reason for that is that he wouldn't have time to set up a reception for Munz at the hotel."

"Those ex-Stasi bastards are pretty good," Castillo said.

"Thank you, sir. I will want to remember that, so I will write it down."

Castillo shrugged an apology.

"Want me to handle Pevsner?" Delchamps asked, and then, when Castillo nodded, went to the door and pulled it open. "Deal time, Alek," he said.

Pevsner came into the living room and looked between Castillo and Delchamps.

"Well?"

"Colonel Castillo will go this far," Delchamps said. "One, he will ask Colonel Munz if he is willing to meet with you. If Munz is willing, two, we will tell you where to meet us, and give you fifteen minutes to get there. Three, you will come alone, and if there is anything that even looks suspicious we'll takeoff."

"Agreed. But I would like Janos to drive me."

Delchamps considered that for ten seconds, then said, "Okay, Janos can drive."

Pevsner nodded.

"Let's go, Colonel," Delchamps said.

Pevsner followed them to the door.

As Castillo and Delchamps approached the car, Delchamps quietly but clearly said, "You get in the back with that damned dog, Ace."

"Charley!" Pevsner called from his doorway.

Castillo turned to look at him.

"Thank for the flour and tree syrup," Pevsner said and smiled.

"You're welcome," Castillo replied, then got in the backseat of the BMW.

Max licked his face. [FOUR] "You open to suggestions as to how we do this, Ace?" Delchamps asked after they had left the Buena Vista Country Club.

Castillo nodded and Delchamps offered a plan.

"Great minds," Castillo intoned solemnly when he had finished, "walk the same paths."

"You're only saying that because you had absolutely no idea how this should be handled in a professional manner," Delchamps said.

Castillo took his cellular phone from his pocket and pushed an autodial button. He put the phone to his ear and, after a moment, said, "Castillo, Alex. We're on our way back there. ETA ten minutes or less. When we get there I want that Traffik ready to move with Solez at the wheel and Munz in the back. I want Davidson and Kensington, with Car-4s and handguns-and Whizbangs, if there are any-ready to get into this Bimmer the minute we get there. Delchamps and I will transfer to the Traffik. Delchamps will need something heavier than his pistol. If there's another Uzi there, fine. Put that and some Whizbangs in the Traffik. If not, a Car-4. There may be people watching who I don't want to see any of this happening. Do what you can about that. Got all that?"

"Yeah, I think so," Darby said. "What's going on?"

"And make sure that Solez has a cellular I can call from this one."

"Both that BMW and the Traffik have radios. Did you know that?"

"No, I didn't. But I don't know how to work them and there's not time to learn."

"You don't want some company on this excursion?"

"No. The rest of you go on high alert. It's possible that this excursion is being set up as a feint to cut down the people sitting on Kocian. The priority is still to keep him alive."

Alex Darby thought over what he had just been told.

"You're not going to tell me what this is all about?"

"Well, one thing is to determine whether Pevsner is one of the semigood guys or the unscrupulous murderous bastard most people think he is."

"How do you think that determination will come out?"

"We're about to find out," Castillo said, then added, "We just turned onto Route 8," and broke the connection. When they reached the safe house in the Mayerling Country Club, Castillo saw that the Traffik was now parked on the driveway so that it blocked a view of the main door of the house from the street and that enough room had been left between it and the shallow steps up to the door for the BMW. From the street, no one would be able to see the BMW.

"Les, pull between the Traffik and the house," Castillo ordered, softly.

"Yes, sir."

The door of the house was closed and Castillo could see neither Davidson nor Kensington. But when Bradley had stopped the car and Castillo started to open the door so that he could go in the house and see where the hell they were, Delchamps touched his arm and pointed toward the Traffik.

The rear door was open and Davidson looked as if he was quickly prepared to jump into the BMW.

Castillo waved him off.

"There's more room in the van," Castillo said.

Delchamps opened his door and ran around the front of the BMW and quickly got into the Traffik.

"No, Max!" Castillo ordered sternly and reached around the dog and opened the rear door.

Max looked at both open doors, decided they had been opened for him, and that he had misunderstood Castillo-that what Castillo had really said was, "Go, Max!"

"Oh, shit!" Castillo said, then slid across the seat and followed Max into the van. He saw that Alfredo Munz was seated in the third row of seats.

"We're going to meet Aleksandr Pevsner," Castillo said. "They expect us-Delchamps, Munz, and me-to be in the Bimmer. So we'll be in this. If they hit the BMW-a real possibility-just get the hell out of the line of fire. If anybody is here, they're probably ex-Stasi and therefore good at what they do. And while I would really like to take them out, a firefight with bodies lying all over would cause all sorts of problems I don't need."

"Where do you think they're going to hit us, Colonel?" Jack Davidson asked. "On the road somewhere? The highway?"

"Let's find out," Castillo said and took out his cellular, punched an autodial button, and then the SPEAKERPHONE button.

"?Hola?" Pevsner's voice loudly came over the phone.

"You really ought to work on getting rid of the Russian accent," Castillo said. "You really sound funny."

"Well?"

"Tell me more about this suite of yours in the Sheraton," Castillo said.

"Alfredo has agreed to meet me with me?"

"No. I'm thinking of taking a suite in the hotel myself," Castillo said, "and thought I'd have a look at yours first."

"It's on the fourth floor, 407," Pevsner said. "There is a stairway, then the elevators, and 407 is the second door on the right."

"And who would be in 407 if I decided to call?"

"No one. May I make a proposal?"

"Go ahead."

"You tell me when you can be there and I will get there ten minutes before you do. There is a basement garage…"

"People have been known to get whacked in basement garages."

"There is also an outside parking garage. But people going to and from it are far more visible than those using the basement garage. Your choice."

"That's your proposal?"

"I will have Janos check out the suite or he and I will check it out."

"And then?"

"There is a lobby bar. If you park outside, walk across the lobby and there it is. If you park in the basement, there is an elevator. Take it to the lobby floor and then turn right. Janos will go there and bring you to the suite."

"You will come to the bar," Castillo said.

"All right."

"I can leave here in five minutes and it will take me twenty minutes to get there," Castillo said.

"Thank you. And tell Alfredo I said thank you."

"Twenty-five minutes, Alek. Be there," Castillo said and broke the connection.

"It's only ten minutes from here to the Sheraton, Karl," Munz said, in German.

"I know," Castillo said. "As soon as Davidson and Kensington get in the Bimmer, we'll go to the basement parking garage in this. Jack, you wait five minutes and then you go there. Tell Bradley to drive slowly."

"I'm not sure Bradley knows where the hotel is, Carlos," Solez said, in Spanish.

"Good. In case somebody's watching, let them see him looking for it as if he doesn't know where it is," Castillo said. "When you get to the basement, park somewhere where we can get out in a hurry. Pevsner probably will be in a big black Mercedes, an S600, operative word probably."

"Got it," Davidson said. "I'm a little confused, Charley. Are you going to be in that bar or what?"

"Not on your life. If Pevsner shows up when he's supposed to, in the basement garage, the minute he gets out of it we'll get out and join him. And go right to his suite. That's when we'll really have to have our back covered."

"Got it," Davidson repeated.

"Okay you two. Get in the BMW."

Davidson and Kensington moved to the car. Kensington returned to hand Castillo a small package just as Solez was starting the engine.

Castillo opened it. It was the Micro Uzi and its magazines.

"Not to worry, Ace," Delchamps said. "Everybody gets a little forgetful once in a while, especially when they get older."

Castillo chose not to respond. Instead, he said, "Don't get us pinched for speeding, Ricardo, but the sooner we get there, the better." Castillo had seen the Sheraton Pilar Hotel before and remembered where it was, but he had never paid much attention to it. Now he wanted to.

"Drive real slow when you get close to the hotel, Ricardo," he ordered.

Solez missed the turn off of Route 8. They now would have to go to the next exit, by the Jumbo shopping center, cross the highway on an overpass, and approach the hotel by a service road.

Castillo kept himself from snapping at Solez and was glad he had when he realized that it was probably a good thing Solez had missed the turn. Now they'd have a chance to look over the hotel and the approaches to it more slowly.

As they came close to the Sheraton Pilar Hotel and Convention Center, a fairly new brick-walled structure four or five stories high, Castillo saw, in a line of small businesses, a glass-fronted store with ECO LAUNDRY AND DRY CLEANING on the window. There were two white vans like the one Davidson had told him Bradley had chased around Mayerling on his bicycle.

Hell, better safe than sorry. Davidson did the right thing.

When they turned into the hotel's driveway two hundred yards later, Castillo saw that the outside parking lot Pevsner had mentioned was to the left of the main entrance to the atrium lobby. To the right was another entrance that looked deserted.

That one, Castillo decided after a moment, was obviously the convention entrance to the Hotel and Convention Center. There was a small sign with an arrow pointing to the underground garage.

There was a rather steep down ramp. When Solez took a time-stamped parking ticket from a machine at the bottom, a fragile-looking barrier pole rose, giving them access.

That barrier wouldn't keep anybody out of here, but it probably sets off an alarm if somebody goes through it.

The low-ceilinged garage was not crowded, maybe fifty, sixty vehicles. There was room for at least twice that many cars.

Strange. It's the dinner hour. It should be nearly full. Answer: This garage was designed to handle convention traffic. Obviously, there is no convention tonight.

"Circle it once, Ricardo," Castillo ordered. "And then park over there."

He pointed to a spot which would give them quick access to the exit ramp. Another frail-looking barrier pole guarded that.

Obviously, Ricardo is going to pay that ticket the machine gave him or have it stamped, or whatever, to get that barrier pole to rise.

If we have to leave here in a hurry, so long barrier pole and off goes the alarm!

There was, near one end of the garage, another white ECO laundry and dry-cleaning truck backed up to what was probably a service elevator. Large, white cloth-sided wheeled baskets were clustered around the truck.

This place is nice, but it's not the MGM Grand in Las Vegas with-what did I hear?-some five thousand rooms? It probably makes more economic sense for the hotel to have the local laundry do the sheets and towels as necessary rather than running its own laundry.

When Solez had backed the Traffik into the spot Castillo had picked, he saw that it had been a lucky choice. It gave him a pretty good view of most of the garage. He could see the down ramp and the opening of a passageway with signs and an arrow pointing to the elevator.

"Now we wait," Delchamps said. "This is the part I love best about this job."

"You think he's going to come?" Castillo asked.

"Come, yeah," Delchamps said. "But with who and with what purpose in mind?"

"Ricardo, I don't suppose you have a leash?"

"A what?"

"For Max. I think he needs to take a leak. Walk him up the exit ramp and then, when you come back, walk him around the garage before you come back to the van. Let's see what he smells."

Solez didn't reply.

"I'd do it myself, Ricardo, but these people might know me, or at least have a description of me, and you're an unknown quantity."

"I'll have to use my belt," Solez said.

"Max, go with Ricardo," Castillo ordered. Five minutes later, Solez and Max got back in the van.

"When we walked past the laundry truck," Solez reported, "Max got real antsy. It was all I could do to hold him."

"Maybe he doesn't like the smell of dirty laundry," Delchamps said.

"And maybe he smelled guns. He doesn't like that smell. When the Bimmer gets here, I'll give Davidson a heads-up."

"Why don't you do that now, Ace?" Delchamps said.

"Because Jack Davidson is a devout believer in the preemptive strike."

"Well, tell him to behave. You're a colonel. You can do that."

Castillo pushed an autodial button on his cellular.

"We're about two minutes out, Colonel," Davidson answered. "Lester missed the turn."

"There's an ECO laundry truck down here. It may be picking up laundry, but Max smelled something he didn't like. Just be aware it's there. No, repeat, no preemptive strike, Jack. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Two minutes later, the big dark blue BMW rolled off the down ramp.

Delchamps and Castillo readied their weapons. There had not been another Uzi available, so Darby had provided a Car-4.

Two of them, Castillo thought, as Solez picked one from the floor of the van and worked the action.

The BMW circled the parking garage and backed into a space across from them.

Nothing happened.

Castillo called Bradley on his cellular and hit the SPEAKERPHONE button.

"Lester," he said, quietly, "go into the hotel, take a look around the corner and see if you see Pevsner or his gorilla or anybody interesting at the bar."

"Yes, sir. Sir, if I may say so, that will also serve to suggest to the person in the cashier's office that I am notifying someone their car is available and alleviate any suspicion of my sitting here."

"Very good, Lester. You're absolutely right."

Castillo hit the cellular's END button, then chuckled and shook his head.

"Don't be smug, Ace," Delchamps said. "The kid is right."

"He usually is," Castillo said. "I didn't even think about the cashier." Nothing happened in the next four minutes, which seemed like much longer. "Lester's back," Solez said, pointing as Bradley walked back toward the BMW.

"And there's Pevsner and Janos the Gorilla," Delchamps said, nodding toward the Mercedes-Benz on the down ramp. "So he did show."

"Give them a chance to park the car and get out of it and then we'll join them," Castillo said. "'Hey there, Alek! Small world, isn't it?'"

The big black Mercedes circled the garage. The heavily darkened windows of the BMW would permit him to see only Lester, which he would expect to do. But the same was true of the Mercedes. When it rolled past the Traffik, Castillo could see only Janos, not into the rear seat. Janos showed no interest in the Traffik.

Well, what does that mean? Maybe Janos is the stalking horse and Pevsner's not in the backseat?

Janos backed the Mercedes into a spot close to the parking garage cashier's office and the tunnel to the hotel. He got out, walked around to the right side of the car, and opened the rear door. Aleksandr Pevsner got out and started walking toward the tunnel, with Janos three steps behind.

There was suddenly the sound of submachine gunfire, very loud in the low-ceilinged garage. Castillo saw where it was coming from. There were orange flashes from three, maybe four muzzles beside the white ECO laundry truck.

"Oh, shit!" Castillo said as he jumped out of the Traffik.

He saw that Pevsner was down, sprawled flat on the floor, and that Janos was sitting down, pistol in hand, bleeding from at least one wound in his side and looking dazed.

Castillo emptied the Micro Uzi in two bursts directed in the general direction of the ECO truck and reached for a second magazine.

Then came fire from the other side of the ECO laundry van, the peculiar, familiar sound of a Car-4 being fired in short controlled bursts of three to five rounds each.

Who the hell is that? Davidson or Kensington? One of them must've got out of the car to cover the laundry truck.

Then immediately-before Alfredo Munz, carrying a pistol, could get out of the Traffik-there came the sound of more short bursts from a Car-4 in the vicinity of the BMW and then the familiar report of a 1911A1 Colt.45 semiautomatic. The.45 was being fired steadily but some what slowly, suggesting aimed fire from a skilled pistoleer.

"All down!" a voice that only after a moment Castillo recognized as that of Sergeant Major Jack Davidson called out. "Hold fire!"

As Castillo, his ears ringing madly, ran to see what had happened to Pevsner, he saw Davidson running-carefully-toward the ECO van with his Car-4 at the ready.

Janos, still sitting holding his pistol, looked at Castillo without comprehension-then fell over. Castillo dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse. There was one.

Where the hell is Pevsner?

Max answered the question. The big dog was growling deep in his throat and trying unsuccessfully to get under the Mercedes.

"Come out of there with your hands up!" a very sincere-if some what youthful-voice ordered from behind Castillo.

Castillo turned to see Corporal Lester Bradley holding a 1911A1 Colt.45 in both hands aimed at the underside of the Mercedes.

Well, now I know who that skilled, timed-firing pistoleer was.

"Okay, Max," Castillo ordered, in Hungarian. "Sit!"

Max, visibly reluctant to do so, sat but did not stop growling. His lips were drawn tight against a very impressive row of massive teeth.

"Come out, Alek," Castillo called.

When Max saw movement, he stood up.

"Goddamn it, Max, sit!"

Aleksandr Pevsner appeared.

"Hands up, goddamn it!" Bradley ordered.

Pevsner got to his knees, then to his feet, and raised both hands in the air.

There is fear on ol' Alek's face. But what's scaring him? Max? Or the boy with the.45 pointed at his forehead? So far, he's managed not to get shot…

"He's okay, Bradley," Castillo said, then saw the dog moving again. "Max! Sit!"

"Can you control that animal so I can go to Janos?" Pevsner asked.

"Go ahead," Castillo said, pointing a finger at Max and mouthing Stay!

"Is he dead?" Pevsner asked as he dropped to his knees beside Janos.

"Not as of thirty seconds ago," Castillo said.

Davidson came running up.

"All down, Colonel. Five of them," Davidson reported. "I knew goddamned well that goddamned ECO laundry truck was dirty. Now what?"

"Now you help me get this guy in the Traffik," Castillo ordered, "and then you get Kensington in the BMW and get the hell out of here. I'll take Janos to the safe house."

He looked across the garage, intending to signal Solez to get in the truck, and saw that the truck was already in motion but headed for the ECO van, not them.

"Help me get Janos in the car," Pevsner pleaded. "I've got to get him to a hospital. Please."

"Take a look at it, Alek, the Mercedes isn't going anywhere," Castillo said. "And we can't take him to a hospital with bullet wounds."

The Mercedes was apparently only lightly armored. While the cabin was mostly intact, the headlights and hood were bullet-riddled, two tires-clearly not run-flat models-were punctured and flattened, there was the smell of gasoline, and the front windshield and left side windows were crazed.

"What's going on down there?" Davidson asked, nodding in the direction of the ECO van.

"I think Delchamps is taking pictures and collecting DNA samples and whatever else he can find that looks useful."

"Look what I found," Davidson said, holding up a blued-steel garrote.

Castillo shook his head slowly at the sight.

Alfredo Munz came up.

"I need to talk to you, Alfredo," Pevsner said.

"Doesn't this speak for itself?" Munz said. "You've been betrayed, Alek, and you know by who."

"I had my suspicions," Pevsner said. "I didn't want to accept them."

"Would you have believed me if I told you?" Munz asked, almost sadly.

"Bradley, go tell Solez I need the Traffik right here right now," Castillo ordered.

At that moment, the Traffik started toward them.

"What we are going to do is load Janos in the Traffik and get him and us the hell out of here," Castillo said. "I'm surprised the cops aren't here already."

"The garage is soundproofed," Munz said, professionally. "And the poor girl in the cashier's office is going to cower in her little cubicle and do nothing whatever until she is sure we are gone and the police are here. And she will tell them that she saw nothing for fear we'll be back. We have another minute, perhaps, until someone finishes dinner and comes for their car."

Sergeant Robert Kensington came running up and dropped to his knees beside Janos.

"What's he doing?" Pevsner asked.

"Whatever he can to keep Janos alive," Munz said. "He's a medical soldier."

"Janos needs a hospital, a surgical doctor," Pevsner pursued.

"Who will ask questions," Munz said. "Kensington can treat him, Alek. He took a bullet from my shoulder."

"Your call, Alek," Castillo said, evenly. "You can stay here and wring your hands over Janos and deal with the cops or you can help us get him in the van. In thirty seconds, we're out of here."

Pevsner met Castillo's eyes for a moment, then moved to Janos, putting him in an erect position so that it would be easier to pick him up.

Thirty seconds later, Janos was stretched across the rear row of seats. Sergeant Kensington was applying a pressure dressing to Janos's side.

"Watch your feet," Delchamps called. "I grabbed two Madsens and they're still loaded."

Ten seconds after Castillo and Max got in the front seat and closed the door, Solez drove the Traffik to the exit ramp and took out the fragile barrier as he went up. Castillo heard an alarm bell start ringing.

Fifteen seconds later, they were in the one-hundred-thirty-kilometer-per-hour lane of Route 8 headed south.

Castillo turned to look out the rear window. The BMW was following them.

He looked at Delchamps.

"What else did you find at the laundry van?"

"I'll tell you later," Delchamps said. "If, as seems highly likely, we shortly find ourselves chatting with half a dozen of Pilar's finest law enforcement officers, it will be better if you don't know." [FIVE] Nuestra Pequena Casa Mayerling Country Club Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 2155 13 August 2005 Castillo, Pevsner, and Delchamps leaned against the wall of one of the down-stairs bedrooms, watching as U.S. Army Special Forces medic Sergeant Robert Kensington finished bandaging Janos. The bed had been raised three feet off the floor on concrete blocks to make a perfectly serviceable operating table.

"Bullets are like booze," Kensington observed, professionally. "The larger the body-unless, of course, the bullets hit something important-the less effect they have. And we have here a very large body."

Janos, feeling the effects of three of Kensington's happy pills, agreed cheerfully. "Oh, yes," he said. "I am much larger than most men."

"Perhaps not as smart but indeed larger," Pevsner said, fondly.

Castillo and Delchamps chuckled.

Pevsner's cellular buzzed. He looked at its screen to see who was calling and then pointed to the French doors leading from the room to the backyard.

"May I?" he asked.

"Sure," Castillo said.

Pevsner left the room and walked to the center of the backyard with the cellular to his ear. The floodlights which normally illuminated the backyard had been turned off but there was still enough light from the house and the quincho so that he could be seen clearly. Castillo and Delchamps left the bedroom and stood on the tile-paved patio.

When Pevsner took the cellular from his ear, they walked to Pevsner.

"Anna and the children are pleased that I am impulsively taking them to our place in San Carlos de Bariloche for a little skiing," Pevsner said. "Anna is concerned that they will lose a few days in school, but under the circumstances…"

"I understand," Castillo said.

"They are en route to the Jorge Newbery airfield by car," Pevsner went on. "I have arranged for a Lear to fly us to Bariloche. Now, if I can further impose on your hospitality, there is something else I'd like you to do for me."

"Which is?" Castillo asked.

"I don't want Anna and the children to see Janos in his present condition, of course, and Janos-despite his present very good humor-is really not in shape to fly halfway across Argentina. There is a place not very far from here that is both safe and where he can recuperate in peace. What I would like to do is have the Ranger pick us up…"

"Not here," Castillo interrupted. "Sorry."

"Of course not," Pevsner said. "Please let me continue, my friend."

"Okay. Continue."

"There are eight polo fields at the Argentine Polo Association on the north of Pilar. Do you know where I mean?"

Castillo shook his head.

"Right off Route 8," Pevsner said. "I would like to rendezvous with the Ranger there on the most remote of the polo fields, take Janos to the place I mentioned, then have the Ranger take me to Jorge Newbery to meet my family. Would you carry us to the Polo Association?"

"When?"

"Right now, if that would be possible."

Castillo exhaled audibly.

Then he said: "Set it up, please, Edgar. Lead car, Traffik, trail car. Shooters in everything. I'll ride with Alek and Janos in the Traffik."

Delchamps nodded and walked toward the house.

"Thank you, friend Charley," Pevsner said. "I am greatly in your debt."

Castillo shrugged.

"Can I give him some money?" Aleksandr Pevsner asked.

Castillo looked at him and saw that he was looking toward the house where Kensington was leaning against the wall outside his "operating room," puffing on a cigar.

"You mean Sergeant Kensington?" Castillo asked.

"Your doctor. I am very grateful for what he did for Janos. I would like to show my appreciation."

"Giving Sergeant Kensington money-how do I put this?-would be like slipping your priest a few bucks for granting you absolution. Except that if you tried, Kensington would probably rearrange your face so you would remember not to make that particular faux pas again."

"Please tell him I consider myself in his debt and if there is anything I can ever do for him…"

"Tell him yourself, Alek," Castillo said. "He'll be in the Traffik with us and Janos." He paused, chuckled, and went on: "But as a shooter, he has pretty much given up his medical career."

"Similarly, my friend Charley, I am deeply in your debt. And not solely for saving my life."

"You can pay that debt by staying out of my way while I'm running down our great mutual friend Howard Kennedy. I want him, Alek."

"If I knew where he was, I'd tell you."

"I want him without a beauty hole in his forehead, you understand that?"

"With great difficulty," Pevsner said, nodding slowly. "There is only one suitable punishment for a man who enters your life dishonestly and gains your confidence and affection…"

"Got a little egg on your face, do you, Alek?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Aleksandr Pevsner, that great judge of character, trusted the wrong guy and mistrusted the good guy. Good guys, plural."

"I'm not familiar with the expression."

"You know what I mean, Alek."

"I am where I am today because I…"

"By where you are today, I guess you mean hiding under your Mercedes from your good friends in the FSB while they tried to whack you?"

Pevsner's face tightened.

"If that was the case…"

"No 'if' about it, Alek. Edgar Delchamps knew one of the guys in the laundry truck. Lieutenant Colonel Yevgeny Komogorov, deputy to Colonel Pyotr Sunev, director of the FSB's Service for the Protection of the Constitutional System and the Fight Against Terrorism."

Pevsner glared at him.

"That's a mouthful, isn't it?" Castillo asked. "'Service for the Protection of the Constitutional System and the Fight Against Terrorism'? And I guess they define 'terrorist' as anyone who might be able to identify former Lieutenant Colonel Putin of the KGB as just one more maggot in the oil-for-food scam."

"If Putin was involved in that, I don't know about it."

"Sunev and the late Colonel Komogorov must have thought you did. Otherwise, why did they try to whack you?"

Pevsner didn't reply.

"And to whack you, Sunev didn't send some second-rate Cuban-he sent Komogorov."

Pevsner stared icily at Castillo for a long moment.

"Howard Kennedy is not stupid," Pevsner said, finally. "He knew that you were sooner or later going to suspect him of ties-or find ties, as you did in fact-with the FSB, and that if you did, you would probably tell me. I think it's entirely possible that he told Sunev that we were becoming too close, exchanging information…"

"And after all, Kennedy had been really working for Sunev all along, hadn't he? Getting paid-better paid, obviously-to provide just that sort of information?"

"I paid Howard well, but nothing like nearly sixteen million dollars," Pevsner said. "The first suspicion I had of Howard-and, of course, I felt guilty about having it-was when he was so upset about those bank drafts you took from Lorimer's safe. He acted almost as if you had stolen the money from him."

"I really hope I did," Castillo said.

"I think he had a deal with the Cuban. The Cuban would shut Lorimer's mouth, take the bank drafts, give them to Howard, and they would split the proceeds. And you ruined this plan for him, Charley."

"I want him, Alek."

"What will happen to him after you interrogate him?"

"I've given that some thought. The first one I had was to have him sent to a really terrible prison in Colorado where the prisoners spend twenty-three hours a day in solitary cells with no contact with other prisoners. But then an FBI friend of mine said that all we could convict him of is stealing FBI investigation reports. That would put him away for five-to-ten, maybe. He'd be out in a couple of years."

"So you'll just…"

"I would like to, but we don't operate that way. What I think I'll try to arrange for him is to be sent to a medium-security prison where he would be in what they call 'the general population.' Unpleasant things happen to former FBI agents in the general population. There're even rumors that they get raped. Regularly."

There was a shrill whistle and they looked toward the house where Edgar Delchamps was standing in the door to the living room. He was signaling that the convoy was ready.

"One last time, Alek," Castillo said. "Don't get in my way."

"If I find him before you do, I'll tell you where he is. Somehow the notion of Howard being regularly traded as a sexual commodity seems a fitting consequence for his actions."

They started walking toward the house. [SIX] Nuestra Pequena Casa Mayerling Country Club Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1005 14 August 2005 What Castillo thought of as the Philosophers, as opposed to the Shooters, were gathered in the quincho, the main room of which looked very much like a schoolroom complete to blackboards, a teacher, and nine overage eighth-graders raising their hands for permission to offer the teacher their deep thoughts.

The teacher was FBI Inspector Jack Doherty. The Philosophers were Special Agent Yung, Eric Kocian, Alex Darby, Colonel Alfredo Munz, and Mr. and Mr. Paul Sieno. Also present was Colonel Jake Torine, who was included not so much for his knowledge of the situation but for his brains. Castillo and Delchamps sat in, although both regarded themselves far more as Shooters than Philosophers. And there was the class pet, who lay asleep with his head on Castillo's shoe and from time to time made strange, pleased sounds, which Castillo thought might be because he was dreaming of a shapely Bouvier des Flandres of the opposite gender.

Corporal Lester Bradley, technically a Shooter, was manning the radio with instructions to tell anyone who called from Washington that Colonel Castillo was momentarily unavailable but would get back to them as soon as possible.

There were still a lot of pieces to fit together and Castillo didn't want to interrupt that process.

The Shooters-Sergeant Major Davidson, Sergeant Kensington, Sandor Tor, and Ricardo Solez-were on perimeter guard duty, no less efficient because they were seated comfortably in strategically placed upholstered chairs.

Edgar Delchamps not only approved the perimeter guard but suggested that Castillo recruit more Shooters for it. He said that he trusted Aleksandr Pevsner about half as far as he could throw him vis-a-vis not revealing the location of the safe house and pointing out that Pevsner was now aware that just about everybody with knowledge was gathered in one place, which made it one hell of a rich target for somebody who wanted mouths shut permanently.

Delchamps also volunteered the hope that Castillo was not holding his breath waiting for Pevsner to tell him anything about the location of Howard Kennedy. The race was on-and in high goddamned gear-if Castillo wanted to get the sonofabitch before Pevsner did.

Castillo was of two minds.

Professionally, he agreed with Delchamps-and just about everybody else-that Pevsner couldn't be trusted and wouldn't hesitate to have them all killed to protect himself-or, perhaps more important, to reduce or remove a threat to his family.

Personally, Castillo trusted Pevsner, at least to a degree.

But, obviously, he had to go with his professional judgment.

When his cellular went off, he had just about decided that school was going to be in session for a week-or longer-and to tell Bradley to get Dick Miller at the Nebraska Avenue Complex on the horn and to tell Miller to call either General Bruce J. McNab or Vic D'Allessando at Bragg and tell them to get a ten-man A-Team on the next flight out of Miami-put 'em in civvies and tell 'em to make like they're soccer players-and, yeah, we have weapons here.

"?Hola?" Castillo said to his phone.

"You, on the other hand, sound like a Porteno," his caller said.

"So how's the skiing?"

"Very nice, thank you. Our friend is in 1808 at the Conrad in Punta del Este."

"You're sure?" Castillo said, but after a moment he realized he was talking to a broken connection.

Delchamps looked at him with a question in his eyes.

"O ye of little faith!" Castillo said, and turned to Yung. "What's the Conrad in Punta del Este?"

"Fancy hotel. Fanciest. With a casino."

"Is there an airport there?"

"Yeah."

"Jake, could we take the Gulfstream from here to wherever Punta del Este is in Uruguay…"

"On the Atlantic, about a hundred kilometers from Montevideo," Yung furnished.

"…and then to Quito without refueling?"

"No problem. What do you plan to do about immigration?"

"Worry about that when we get to the States," Castillo said.

He stuck out his tongue at Delchamps, made a loud humming sound, then said: "You can interpret that-it's the best I can do-as sounding 'Boots and Saddles.' Kennedy is in room 1808 of the Conrad and we're going to go get him."

"Who we?" Delchamps asked.

"You, Munz, me, and Two-Gun," Castillo said. "Alex, can you get on a secure line and tell the CIA guy in Montevideo…what's his name?"

"Robert Howell," Darby replied. "Bob Howell."

"…to meet us with a car-better yet, a Yukon, or at least a van, something big-at the Punta del Este airport? And that we're leaving right now?"

"Do I tell him why?"

"No, just that it's important."

Max happily trotted after Castillo as he headed for the quincho door.

"Not this time, pal," Castillo said.

He could hear Max barking and whining even after he'd entered the big house and headed for the driveway. [SEVEN] Punta del Este Airport Punta del Este, Republica Oriental del Uruguay 1335 14 August 2005 Robert Howell, the "cultural attache" of the U.S. embassy, was waiting for them at the small but well-equipped airport with a blue Yukon displaying diplomatic tags.

Castillo introduced Delchamps to him-Howell knew who Delchamps was but had never met him-then explained what he intended to do: Grab Howard Kennedy, bring him back to the airport, and fly him to the States, with only a fuel stop in Quito.

"I'd like to have you in on this, but if it would make things awkward for you just give us the truck and come back in two hours. If we're lucky, I'll leave the key under the mat."

Howell said, "I'm in. We may need my diplomatic carnet. If there's trouble, all they can do is expel me as persona non grata."

"Thank you."

"How do we get him out of the hotel and into the truck?"

"Let's make sure he's there first, then worry about that," Delchamps said. "Our noble leader is placing a lot of faith where I'm not at all sure it belongs."

Castillo ignored him.

"How come this place looks so deserted?" Castillo asked. "There's nothing here but a couple of light twins and some Cessna 172s."

"It's winter," Howell said. "Punta del Este is just about closed in the winter. Wait till we get downtown." Ten minutes later, Castillo could see a long line of high-rise apartment buildings overlooking a wide, nice-looking beach. When they came close to the apartments, however, he was surprised at what he found: The blinds were drawn behind almost all of the apartment windows, there were few cars on the street (and even fewer in the parking lots under the high-rise buildings), and only a very few people on the streets.

This is almost surreal, Castillo thought.

Five minutes after that, the Conrad came into view, an imposing structure Castillo guessed was twenty stories high.

"They keep this open for the gamblers," Howell said. "But I'd say it's not even one-quarter full."

He turned off the road and drove up the driveway.

"Well, there's activity here," Delchamps said. "Why does that make me feel uneasy?"

The parking area in front of the main door of the resort was crowded with vehicles. With the exception of two stretch limousines and a Volkswagen bug, they were all police vehicles of one description or another.

"Why do I think going back to the airport would be a good idea?" Delchamps asked.

"Oh, let's go play the slots!" Castillo said. "I feel lucky."

"Well, I suppose it's remotely possible that somebody tried to knock off the casino and the entire Uruguayan police force has responded," Delchamps said and opened his door.

They walked up a wide flight of marble stairs and were halfway across the lobby when a voice called, "Alfredo!"

Everybody stopped. A man was quickly walking toward them.

"I am not as happy to see you, my friend," Chief Inspector Jose Ordonez said as he wrapped Munz in a bear hug and kissed his cheek, "as I would be if you were alone."

He looked at the others. "And my friend David Yung and Mr. Howell, of the culture department of the American embassy. How nice to see you both again."

He turned to Castillo and Delchamps and put his hand out to Delchamps.

"Colonel Castillo, I'm Chief Inspector Jose Ordonez of the Federal Police and I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"My name is Smith," Delchamps said. "No hable Espanol."

Ordonez smiled at him and shook his hand.

"I'm Castillo," Castillo said.

"Jose Ordonez, Colonel," Ordonez replied, offering his hand. "If I may say so, you're very young to have done all the things people say you have done."

"I try to live clean," Castillo said. "What did we do, walk in on a police convention?"

"I suppose it does look like a convention, doesn't it?" Ordonez said. "But, sadly, no. We are all here on duty. One of your countrymen has run into some difficulty."

"You don't say?"

"I was just about to call your embassy and tell them, but since Mr. Howell and Mr. Yung are here I can dispense with that. I'll show them the problem. If it's all right with them, the rest of you may come along."

He gestured toward the elevator bank and they all got in.

The door from the corridor opened into the living room of suite 1808. One wall was mostly glass and offered a view of the Punta del Este downtown sky-line and the Atlantic Ocean.

There were two men sitting in high-backed upholstered chairs. One of them, who looked as if he had slipped down in the chair, had his mouth open. The back of the chair behind him was matted with blood and brain tissue.

The other man was Howard Kennedy.

He had been strapped into his chair with duct tape. There was something in his mouth, either a red ball or a ball of another color, now covered with blood. His eyes were wide-open.

His body seemed strangely limp and, after a moment, when he saw Kennedy's hands, Castillo understood.

"It would seem," Ordonez said, matter-of-factly, "that Mr. Kennedy was beaten to death, not with a baseball bat or something like that but with a piece of angle iron. They started with his toes, then his feet, then his shins, and then changed to his fingers, hands, wrists, etcetera. You can tell by the blood pattern. It must have taken some time for them to finish. We believe this man to be Howard Kennedy."

"That's Howard Kennedy," Castillo said. "Was Howard Kennedy."

"We're not sure who the other man is," Ordonez said.

"That's Lieutenant Colonel Viktor Zhdankov," Delchamps furnished, "of the FSB's Service for the Protection of the Constitutional System and the Fight Against Terrorism."

"That's not what his passport says, Senor Smith," Ordonez said. "It says he's a Czech businessman."

"Then I'm obviously wrong," Delchamps said.

"I really hope so," Ordonez said. "What we have here is bad enough, an American businessman and a Czech businessman murdered during a robbery. Even if that robbery, as has been suggested, was part of a drug deal that went wrong, that would pose far fewer problems for me-and, indeed, for Uruguay-if I had to start investigating the murders of a senior KSB officer and a man known to have close ties to an international outlaw by the name of Aleksandr Pevsner. You understand?"

"I think so," Delchamps said.

"I am really sorry to have subjected you to this. I fully understand that it ruined your holiday and has caused you to feel that you have to leave Uruguay immediately and not to return until this terrible memory has had time to fade."

"The man has a point, Ace," Delchamps said.

"Chief Inspector Ordonez," Castillo said, offering his hand, "may I ask you one question before I leave?"

"Certainly."

"I read something in the papers about some bodies-six, I recall-being found on an estancia somewhere here in Uruguay. What was that all about?"

"Our investigation concluded that was another drug deal that went wrong. Such an ugly business yet so common. The estancia owner apparently led a dual life as a drug dealer. I frankly doubt if we'll ever be able to make an arrest. The case is closed, for all practical purposes."

"Thank you very much."

"Not at all," he said, pumping Castillo's hand. "Perhaps we'll meet again under happier circumstances. Any friends of my dear friend Alfredo, so to speak, are friends of mine."

"I'd like that," Castillo said. [EIGHT] The Restaurant Kansas Avenida Libertador San Isidro Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 2025 14 August 2005 Castillo waved the waiter over and called for the check.

"Why don't you let me take care of that?" Ambassador Juan Manuel Silvio said. "I can charge it to my representation allowance."

"Your pockets, sir, are nowhere near as deep as those of the Lorimer Charitable Trust, but thank you anyway. I'm really grateful to you for coming all the way out here to meet with us."

"This is Argentina. The only other place you could have eaten before eight would have been one of the places in the port. Or a McDonald's."

"Not to ask a rude question, but isn't this the place where they snatched Mr. Masterson?" Delchamps asked.

"In the parking lot," Silvio said, pointing. "So in a way, this is ending where it began, I suppose."

"But it's not ended," Castillo said. "Masterson's murderers, for all I know, are still running around free."

"But some of their peers, and their superiors, are no longer with us, are they?" Silvio said. "And some have left us under circumstances, God forgive me, that I consider entirely appropriate."

Castillo's cellular buzzed.

"Now what?" he muttered.

He took the phone from his pants pocket.

"?Hola?" he said into it.

"I'm sorry I had to go back on my word, friend Charley."

"You sonofabitch. You told me I could have him."

"He knew too much about me to have him talking to you, Charley."

"Fuck you, Alek!"

"And besides, I decided that five years of regular rape was not sufficient punishment for his betrayal of me."

"Fuck you, again."

There was a moment's silence before Pevsner went on, coolly: "Let me tell you what I've done."

"And why should I believe anything you tell me?"

"Hear what I have to say and then you can decide. I spoke with Sunev and told him that I have deposited with certain people envelopes that will be sent to the CIA in the event I even suspect he has sent anyone near me, my family, or anyone involved in the recent events we have shared."

"And what's in the envelopes?"

"Oh, I'm sure you can make a good guess, friend Charley."

"Goddamn you, Alek!"

"We'll be in touch," Pevsner said, and then the change in the background noise told Castillo that Pevsner had broken the connection.

Castillo punched his autodial button for Pevsner but got a recorded message saying that the telephone number called was no longer in service.

He put the phone back in his pocket.

"I hope you appreciate, Mr. Ambassador," Delchamps said, "that you are in the presence of the only man in the world who can tell Aleksandr Pevsner to fuck himself twice in thirty seconds and probably-operative word 'probably'-live until the morning."

Silvio laughed.

"Are we going to see more of you, Mr. Delchamps? If you're coming back to work with the others, maybe I could be of some assistance. Someplace to live, etcetera?"

"That's very kind of you, sir. But I'm going to spend the next couple of months trolling through the basement at Langley. Two-Gun here will be coming back, though."

"I'm going to take these two with me when I go face Ambassador Montvale," Castillo said. "In numbers, there is strength. But if you want to be useful, see what you can do about keeping Two-Gun here out of trouble upon his return."

"It will be my pleasure."

"Now we have to get a cab."

"Nonsense," Ambassador Silvio said. "I'll take you out to your jet." [NINE] Office of the Chief Office of Organizational Analysis Department of Homeland Security Nebraska Avenue Complex Washington, D.C. 1625 15 August 2005 "Well," Castillo said, "that went pretty well, I think…"

"Ace, you didn't say a word that the President was going to come with Montvale. That was just too much to spring on an old man."

"…Except, of course, that he turned a deaf ear to my suggestion that it was time for me to return to being a simple soldier."

"You might as well forget that, Ace. He likes things the way they are."

"Yeah," Yung agreed. "The part I liked was when he said, 'It's a shame to leave all that oil-for-food money in that fellow Kenyon's account. It's not right that he be allowed to keep it. Isn't there some way we could add it to OOA operating funds?'"

Castillo said, "I hope you weren't just running off at the mouth when you chirped, 'Not a problem, Mr. President.'"

"No problem at all," Yung said. "You want me to go to Dallas and do that before I go back down there?"

"Absolutely. And you can catch a direct flight-American, I think-from Dallas to Buenos Aires. But before you go to Dallas there's something really important I want you to do."

"What?"

"Get on the Net and Google for a breeder of Bouvier des Flandres in the Dallas area."

"For a what?" Delchamps asked.

"Max is a Bouvier des Flandres. I thought you knew."

"And?" Yung asked.

"Buy the best breedable bitch available-cost is not a factor-make sure her papers are in order and take her with you to Pilar."

"I actually think you're serious," Delchamps said.

"I don't know how things are done in the spook world," Castillo said, "but in the Army when someone saves your ass, the least you can do for him is get him laid." He looked at Yung and added: "Tell Billy Kocian I want pick of the litter."

"I'll be goddamned," Delchamps said, smiling. "Two-Gun, tell Kocian I get second choice."