The Hostage

XVIII

[ONE] Nuestra Pequena Casa Mayerling Country Club Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1305 29 July 2005 Alex Darby-notified by the guards at the gate that his guests were arriving-was waiting at the door of the large, stucco house when Castillo, Britton, and Santini drove up.

"Come on in," he said. "Have any trouble finding it?"

"Just followed the signs," Castillo said. "'Our Little House'? Isn't that a little cutesy-poo for a safe house, Alex?" He looked around the foyer and the well-furnished living room. "And fancy. What's this place costing the agency?"

"There are safe houses and safe houses, Charley. This is a safe house, but not the agency's. I own it. I stole it."

"You own it?"

Darby didn't reply.

"Come on in, and we'll have some coffee. Unless you want something stronger?"

"I would love something very strong, but not now," Castillo said as they followed Darby into the living room and sat down around a coffee table.

"Get this, Charley," Darby said, and pointed under the coffee table.

Castillo saw him push a floor-mounted button with his shoe.

There was a faint tinkle of a bell, and a moment later a middle-aged woman in a maid's uniform appeared.

"Yes, sir?"

"Juanita, will you bring us some coffee, please?" Darby asked. "And some pastries?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very classy," Castillo said. "You said you own this place? Correction, you said you stole it."

"Both," Darby said. "What do you think a place like this is worth?"

"Half a million, anyway. Probably more, a lot more, with the panache of Mayerling attached."

"You heard what happened here a couple of years ago, the 'pesification'?"

"Special Agent Yung delivered a lecture on that just now in Carrasco."

"I'd been here a couple of months when that happened. Nobody had any dollars anymore. The government had just converted them to pesos, at a third-a fourth-of what they had been worth before. People were desperate for dollars; the bottom fell out of the real estate market. I paid a hundred and seventy-five grand for this."

"You did steal it," Castillo said. "And you live here?"

"I rent it to Cisco Systems. They pay me twelve thousand a month so the guy who runs things for them in the Southern Cone has a nice place to live, reflecting the prestige of Cisco Systems to the natives. He lets me use it when I need it."

He saw the look on Castillo's and Santini's faces. "You know what Cisco Systems does, right?"

"Data transfer? Something to do with the Internet?"

"Largest operators in both. Can you imagine how much goes over their nets that would be of interest to me?"

"This guy is undercover with the agency?"

"No. But he's a retired Signal Corps colonel. He used to work for IntelSat. From time to time he tells me things he's found interesting. And from time to time- like now-I ask him if I can borrow the place to get out of the city for a couple of days. Cisco maintains an apartment in the Alvear Plaza for visiting executives. So he and his wife stay at the Alvear for a couple of days, do the restaurants, go to the Colon, etcetera."

"Nice deal!"

"It's now all paid for, so the rent goes in my pocket." He paused, smiled, and chuckled. "Which came to the attention of the counterintelligence people in Langley. I guess the Riggs Bank felt it their patriotic duty to tell them I was depositing a lot more money than I should be on what the agency pays me. So they investigated. They came down here and spent three weeks investigating."

"And?"

"I'd already told my boss what I was doing. His reaction was jealousy, not disapproval. So when they triumphantly laid on his desk their report that the guy in Buenos Aires was in the real estate business, he said, 'I know.'"

Castillo chuckled.

"And it's like we're queer, Charley, to answer that question before you ask it. The Cisco guy doesn't ask, and I don't tell."

"You're a lot smarter than you look, Alex," Castillo said.

"So what did you find out from the FBI guy in Montevideo?"

Castillo didn't answer the question, but asked one: "What time is Ambassador Silvio coming?"

"I didn't know how quickly you could get here, so I told him three. Everybody will be here at three. Is that okay?"

"That's fine," Castillo said. "I've got an errand to run. I'm sure I can be back by then. While I'm gone, Tony and Jack can tell you what happened with that sonofabitch in Montevideo."

"I thought maybe you'd be pals after he was told to make nice," Darby said.

"Not quite. And I'm going to need some maps, topographic maps, of Tacuarembo Province, Uruguay. The more detailed, the better. And of the terrain on a reasonably straight-line route from here to there."

"Why do I think you're planning a helicopter flight?"

Castillo didn't answer that question, either.

"And, to go on my errand, I'm going to need a car without CD tags."

"Our host has a Mercedes SUV he lets me use. It comes with a driver."

"I don't want the driver," Castillo said. "Just the car."

The maid came in, pushing a cart with a silver coffee service.

"By the time you finish the coffee, I'll have the keys to the Mercedes."

"I don't have time for coffee, Alex," Castillo said, and stood up. [TWO] Buena Vista Country Club Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1345 29 July 2005 Castillo braked to a stop at the heavy, yellow-striped barrier pole, and with some difficulty finally found the window control switch and lowered the window.

The guard eyed him suspiciously but didn't speak.

"I'm here to see Mr. Pevsner."

"I'm sorry, sir. But there's no one here by that name."

"Get on the phone and tell Mr. Pevsner his friend from Vienna is here."

The guard opened his mouth.

"Get on the phone and tell Mr. Pevsner his friend from Vienna is here," Castillo repeated. "That is not a friendly suggestion."

The guard stared at him for a moment, and then said, "Park over there, please, senor." He pointed to a three-car, nose-in parking area.

Castillo saw that another heavy steel barrier pole would keep people out of the country club until it was raised, and that a menacing-looking tire shredder would keep them from changing their minds about wanting to enter Buena Vista and backing out. The guard waited until Castillo had parked the Mercedes before he returned to the guard shack, and the moment the guard entered the shack, another came out, leaned against it, folded his arms on his chest, and stared at the car.

Castillo got out and waved and smiled at the guard, which seemed to confuse him. Castillo took out a small cigar and lit it.

Five minutes later, a Mercedes-Benz ML350 identical to Castillo's came through the gate, made a U-turn, and pulled in beside Castillo. Castillo had examined it carefully, but the windows were so heavily darkened that it wasn't until the door opened that Charley could see the driver, and then recognize him.

This doesn't give me a lot of time to figure out-even guess-what he's doing here.

"Alfredo! What a pleasant surprise!" Castillo said. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Mr. Pevsner had no idea that you were going to call, Karl," Colonel Alfredo Munz said. "You really should have called first."

"I will offer my apologies for my bad manners."

"I know he's going to be pleased to see you. Would you follow me, please?"

"How do you know that he'll be pleased to see me?"

"Because when I saw you puffing on your cigar, I called and told him who his friend from Vienna was, and he said, 'Wonderful. I really want to talk to him,'" Munz replied, snapped an order to the guards to raise the barrier, and got back in his Mercedes. By the time Castillo got behind the wheel, the barrier pole was already high in the air. Aleksandr Pevsner, wearing riding breeches and boots and a heavy, red, turtleneck woolen sweater, was standing on the verandah of his house waiting for them.

"Charley, how good to see you!" he exclaimed, and embraced him in the Argentine manner.

"How are you, Alex?"

"If you had given the guards your name, I would have had them pass you in," he said. "All I heard was a 'friend from Vienna,' and I have many of those."

"I understand," Castillo said. "You thought it might be Henri Douchon, miraculously raised from the dead."

"Who? I have no idea what you're talking about, my friend."

"Okay," Castillo said, smiling.

"Come on in the house, we'll have a glass of wine. Have you had luncheon? Can I offer you something?"

"I had a small ham-and-cheese sandwich at the airport in Montevideo, and yes, you may offer me something. Thank you very much."

"Anna and the kids are at school. I have been at school. Horse school-"

"Equestrian, Alex," Castillo corrected him. "I keep telling you things, and you keep forgetting them."

"So you do. I was at equestrian school-I wonder, what's the etymology of that word? What's it got to do with horses?"

"It means horses, Alex. From the Latin equus," Castillo said.

"I keep forgetting how smart you are, Charley. At least most of the time."

"You mean you keep forgetting most of the time? Or that I'm smart only part of the time?"

"How about both? Anyway, I am just back from learning how to properly ride a horse, and I was about to have a lomo sandwich. May I offer you the same, or would you prefer something…"

"A lomo sandwich would be delightful, Alex."

"With wine or beer?"

"Beer, please. And coffee."

"Let's go in the breakfast room," Pevsner said, gesturing. "And would you mind if Alfredo joined us?"

"Not at all."

"I thought he would like to hear what you have come to tell me."

"What makes you think I've come to tell you anything?" Castillo asked.

Pevsner didn't answer. He gestured for them to sit at a round, glass-topped table, and then left, presumably to order their lunch.

"So how do you like working for Alex, Alfredo?"

"It pays much better than SIDE did," Munz replied. "How is your female agent?"

"Thank you for asking. She's a lot better than she could be. I saw her a few days ago in Philadelphia."

"And the Mastersons? Are they well? Safe?"

"They are being protected by twenty-four Delta Force shooters and half of the Mississippi gendarmeria."

"I saw your President on television," Munz said. "When he said 'this outrage will not go unpunished.'"

"I saw that, too."

"Would it be reasonable to assume that you're somehow involved with doing that for him?"

"Where would you get an idea like that?"

"Where would Alfredo get an idea like what?" Pevsner asked as he came back into the breakfast room.

"The U.S. President promised he would punish those responsible for what he called 'this outrage,' the murders of Masterson and the sergeant…"

"The sergeant's name was Markham," Castillo interrupted. "Sergeant Roger Markham."

"… and I asked Karl if he was involved."

"And what did my friend Carlos say?"

"He asked me where I got an idea like that."

"Aha!" Pevsner said. "So if you're not involved in punishment, and you didn't come here to tell me something, to what do I owe the honor?"

"I came here to borrow your helicopter for a couple of days," Castillo said. "I just knew you'd be happy to loan it to me."

Pevsner's head snapped around to look at him.

After a moment, he said, "So he is alive and here."

"Who's alive and here?" Castillo asked.

"The man you asked Howard Kennedy to find for you."

"Did Howard find him?"

"You know he didn't, Carlos."

"The word on the street in Paris and elsewhere in the old country is that he's in either the Seine or the Danube. Didn't Howard tell you that? What was his name again?"

"Jean-Paul Lorimer, as you damned well know," Pevsner said.

"You told me you'd never heard of him, when I asked you," Castillo said.

"Sometimes it's better not to know people's names," Pevsner replied. "I know who a lot of people are who do things. Sometimes I can't put a name to them. I just know what they do."

"That's interesting," Castillo said. "Can I take that as a 'Yes, I'll be happy to loan you my helicopter'?"

"Let me offer a hypothetical situation," Pevsner said. "Let's suppose someone came to you in Texas and said,

'I want to borrow a horse. I have an errand to run.' And you said, 'But it's raining and if I loan you my horse, you will get soaking wet, and maybe even get your death of cold and die. Why don't you let me run your errand for you?' Wouldn't that make more sense?"

"Not if your idea of an errand is to send someone to the beauty parlor to put an Indian beauty mark on his forehead. I told Howard, in Paris, to tell you I want this sonofabitch alive."

"To do what?"

"I want to hear him sing. You know, like a canary. I want him to tell me not only who he thinks whacked Masterson and Markham, but everything else he knows about who got what and when and what for in the… you know what, Alex. A series of business transactions involving food, medical supplies, and oil."

Pevsner stared at him coldly for a long moment.

"And just to satisfy my curiosity, how would you go about making the canary sing?" Pevsner asked.

"You mean in case pulling his teeth with pliers didn't work?"

"Or the Chinese water torture."

"Well, first I would appeal to his sense of honesty and fair play. If that didn't work, then I would tell him I understood completely. And since I knew people were worried about him not being in Paris, I was going to send him back there. And there would be nothing to worry about the trip either, because I was going to give him enough Gamma Hydroxybutane so that when he woke up he was going to be in the Place de la Concorde. Chained naked in a sexually suggestive pose to one of the statues around the Obelisk of Luxor wearing lipstick and earrings and with a rose stuck up his ass."

"Oh, Charley!" Pevsner laughed. "What a wonderful picture! Unfortunately, I can't permit it."

"I'm not asking you for permission, Alex. All I want to do is borrow your helicopter for a day or two."

"You're not listening to me, Charley. I said I can't permit it. I have too much to lose if the canary sings."

"And you're not listening to me, Alex. You tend to forget what I tell you."

"I really don't want this to become unpleasant, Charley. I really like you, and you know that. I would be very unhappy-"

"Let me tell you how things really are, Alex."

"Okay, my friend, tell me how things really are."

"Right now, the pressure is off you because I went to the President and got it taken off. As far as I know-I was about to say 'correct me if I'm wrong,' but I don't think you would-your only connection with Oil for Food was to move things around in your airplanes. You didn't buy ten dollars' worth of aspirin and sell it to the Iraqis for ten thousand, and then kick back half to Saddam. Or anything like that. Right so far?"

Pevsner nodded, just perceptibly. "I'm a businessman, Charley. If people want me to airlift something somewhere, I'll do it."

"I understand. The point is, right now we have an understanding. You don't break any American laws and we don't come looking for you. The problem is that you're about to break an American law."

"What law would that be?"

"Interfering with an official investigation; obstructing justice."

Pevsner smiled.

"You're not suggesting that I would actually be charged with something like that? Come on, Charley."

"Oh, you wouldn't be charged with anything. But the arrangement would be broken, and the President would be free to really start helping Interpol in their so-far not very successful attempts to put the cuffs on you."

"As much as it pains me to even think of something like this, have you thought of what might happen to you before you could tell anybody anything?"

"You mean, maybe getting my throat cut? Or getting a beauty mark?"

"Those things seem to happen, Charley, to people who threaten me or, more important, the happiness of my family."

"You don't think I just walked in here cold, do you? If I'm not back where I'm expected within an hour-and it's a ten-minute drive-or I don't make a telephone call and say the right things, Ambassador Silvio will request an immediate meeting with the foreign minister. He will tell him he has just learned that Aleksandr Pevsner, who Interpol is searching so hard for, is living in the Buena Vista Country Club."

"What makes you so sure he doesn't already know?" Pevsner snapped.

"I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that he does. But that's not the same thing as being told he does by the American ambassador, is it? And the Argentines seem, at those levels of the government, to solve embarrassing problems by throwing people to the wolves. Wouldn't you agree, Alfredo?"

Pevsner glared at him.

"Think it over, Alex," Castillo said. "Very carefully."

"Goddamn you, Charley," Pevsner said, more sadly than angrily.

"And fuck you, Alex. I say that in the friendliest possible way."

"What do you want to do with the helicopter?"

"You really don't want to know, do you?"

"Hypothetically?"

"Hypothetically, if I knew (a) where somebody I wanted to teach to sing was located-in a foreign country; and (b) I knew that other people were trying to make sure that he didn't sing, what I think I would do would be to get him back home to the good ol' USA as quickly and quietly as possible. A helicopter would be useful if someone was, hypothetically, of course, thinking of doing something like that."

"You just told me, you realize, that Lorimer is not living in Buenos Aires. Or any other city. You want the helicopter to move him from someplace in the country to an airport. An airport large enough to take a plane that could fly him out of the country. You didn't, by any chance, come all the way down here in that Lear you had in Cozumel?"

"I'd love to keep playing twenty-questions with you, Alex, but I have to be running along. Are you going to loan me your helicopter or not?"

"Goddamn you, Charley."

"You already said that. Nice to see you, Alex." Castillo stood up. "I'll have to pass on the lomo sandwich and the beer. Thanks anyway."

"Sit down, Charley," Pevsner said. "You can have the helicopter."

"Thank you."

"What do I tell the pilot? Have you thought this through?"

"Tell your pilot to fly it to Jorge Newbery by five o'clock this afternoon. Tell him to park it at Jet-Aire. Have him top off the tanks, leave the key under the pad in the pilot's seat, and take three days off."

"Who's going to fly it?"

"I will. And when I'm through with it, I'll take it back to Jorge Newbery, give you a call, and your pilot can pick it up."

Pevsner nodded. He looked at Munz, and after a momentadded, "Take Alfredo with you. I'm sure he'll be useful."

"Absolutely not. But thank you just the same."

"Alfredo is not in the beauty spot business, if that's what you're thinking."

"But he could come back and tell you where we'd been, couldn't he?"

"If you'd already taken Lorimer out of the country, what difference would that make? What I'm thinking is that when it comes out-and it will-that you got to Lorimer before the other people looking for him did, it would be embarrassing for me if people knew you'd used my helicopter to kidnap him."

"Kidnap him? What a terrible thing to even think! What I'm thinking of, hypothetically, of course, is returning this poor, lost soul to the bosom of his loved ones."

"Of course. What I'm suggesting is that if something happened while you were carrying out this humanitarian mission of yours-officialdom asking questions you'd rather not answer, for example-Alfredo could deal with that better than you could."

Goddammit, he's right.

The question is, will Munz deal with the officialdom, or just wait for the opportunity to whack Lorimer?

Castillo looked at Munz.

"Are you wondering, Karl, if I have become an assassin for hire?" Munz asked.

"That occurred to me."

Munz met his eyes for a long moment.

"If I were in your place, I would wonder, too. The answeris no, I have not. I ask you to consider this: These people have changed my life, too. I bear-and my wife and my family shares-the shame of my being relieved and retired for incompetence. I would really like to find out who they are."

So you can pop them, Alfredo?

"I said the thought had occurred to me. It did, and I dismissed it," Castillo said.

Do I mean that? Or am I already wondering who I can trust to pop him the moment he looks like he's thinking of whacking Lorimer?

I guess I meant it.

But that doesn't mean I shouldn't seriously consider the selection of someone to pop him in case I'm wrong. Or prepare to do it myself.

"Thank you," Munz said.

"Why don't you tell your pilot to fly Alfredo to Jorge Newbery?" Castillo said. "That will make him less curious about what's going on."

Pevsner considered that and nodded.

The maid appeared with a tray laden with hard-crusted lomo sandwiches and a wine cooler filled with ice and beer bottles.

"Ah, our lunch," Pevsner said. Then he turned to Castillo. "Didn't you say something about having to call someone, Charley, to let them know you're with friends?"

"I was lying about that, Alex."

Pevsner looked at him, shook his head, and said, "You sonofabitch. I say that in the spirit of friendship and mutual trust, of course." [THREE] Nuestra Pequena Casa Mayerling Country Club Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1505 29 July 2005 Ambassador Juan Manuel Silvio, Ph.D., ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary of the President of the United States of America to the Republic of Argentina, was sitting in the living room attired in blue jeans, battered health shoes, and a somewhat ratty-looking sweatshirt on which was the faded logo of Harvard University. He had a beer bottle in his hand.

"Good afternoon, sir," Castillo said.

"Good to see you again, Charley," the ambassador said, rising from his chair to offer his hand. "Do I detect curiosity on your face? Perhaps because of my attire?"

"If I may say so, sir, you're not your usual natty self."

"I'm glad you asked," Silvio said, as he sat down. "When Alex said you wanted to see me and here, rather than at the embassy, the problem then arose, 'How was I going to get out here without having my SIDE escort wonder what I was doing at Our Little House?'"

"So you ditched the SIDE escort?" Castillo said, smiling.

"In a manner worthy of James Bond," Silvio said. "I left the embassy, went to the residence, changed clothes, and went jogging. I led three SIDE stalwarts on a merry chase through the park until they were puffing with the exertion. Then I speeded up the pace until they were far behind. And then I just happened to see a car driven by one of Alex's men, who stopped and offered me a ride."

"Just happened to see it, huh? What they call a fortuitous happenstance?"

Silvio nodded. "I've always wanted to be the subject of an all-points bulletin," Silvio said. "I can just see my good friend the foreign minister somewhat incredulously asking, 'You're telling me you lost the American ambassador?'"

Castillo chuckled, then said, "Thank you for coming, sir."

"Thank you for asking me," Silvio said. "Or aren't you going to tell me what you've been doing? Or plan on doing?"

"Alex," Castillo said, "is there someplace here where the ambassador and I can have a couple of minutes alone?"

Darby pointed through the plate-glass windows toward a small, tile-roofed building in the garden.

"How about the quincho?" he asked. "There's even beer in a refrigerator out there."

"That will do very nicely," Castillo said. Castillo helped himself to a bottle of Quilmes beer, and then offered one to Ambassador Silvio, who smiled and nodded and said, "Please."

When Castillo handed him the bottle, the ambassador settled himself in an upholstered armchair and looked at him expectantly.

"I don't think you want to know all of it, sir," Castillo said.

"Tell me what you think you can," Silvio said.

"Well, sir, the President was waiting for the Globemaster at Biloxi with a finding he had just made…" "… And that's about it, sir," Castillo concluded twenty minutes later.

Silvio, obviously considering what he had heard, didn't reply for a moment.

"My Latin blood took over for a moment," he said. "The first thing I thought was sympathy for Betsy Masterson and Ambassador Lorimer. To learn that your brother and your son was not only involved in that slimy oil-for-food business, but-indirectly, perhaps, but certainly-responsible for the murder of your husband and son. And the murder of a very nice young Marine. And the wounding of…"

He stopped and looked at Castillo. "I'll understand if you'd rather not answer this. Is Dr. Lorimer on your list you intend to 'render harmless'?"

"What I intend to do with him, sir, is take him to the States. Alive."

Silvio nodded.

"I'm sure he could be a cornucopia of interesting information," he said. "But that won't keep Ambassador Lorimer and Betsy from having to learn what a despicable sonofabitch he is, will it?"

"Sir, I'm ashamed to say I never even thought about that before. What I want Lorimer to do is point me in the direction of those who murdered Mr. Masterson. They're the ones I have been ordered to render harmless. Both Santini and Darby tell me the most likely scenario once I get him to the States is for him to be taken into the Witness Protection Program, which is run by the U.S. Marshal's service, in exchange for his cooperation."

Silvio grunted. "And if he doesn't choose to cooperate?"

"I think he will, sir. He knows that people are looking for him. And he'll understand, I think, that if we can find him, the people trying to find him to kill him- torture and kill him-can also find him. And I've had the fey notion that one thing I could tell him, to get him to cooperate, would be to threaten to take him back to Paris and turn him loose on the Place de la Concorde."

"After making sure Le Monde, Le Figaro, and L'Humanite are informed that the missing UN diplomat can be found there? I don't think that's a fey notion at all; that makes a good deal of sense."

"I didn't think about telling the newspapers," Castillo admitted.

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

"Would you be willing to call Ambassador McGrory and tell him the reason I didn't go to see him?"

"He wanted to see you?"

"He doesn't know what Yung is really doing in Montevideo…"

"And therefore feels he has the right to know what Yung is doing? Especially with you? What the telephone call from Secretary Cohen was really about?"

"Yes, sir. He told Yung if I went to Yung without going through the embassy first to tell me he wanted to see me immediately. I don't think he has to know about the finding. I'd like to leave him in a position where he can truthfully say he knew nothing about this. Either what I'm going to do, or what Yung has been doing."

"I understand. I'll call him as soon as I get back to the embassy."

"Thank you."

"He's going to be curious-from his standpoint, he has a right to know-what Yung's role in what you're going to do is going to be. Or, past tense, was. Can I tell him that after you're gone?"

"Yung's not going to have a role in what I'm going to do."

"Okay," Silvio responded. "That answers that, doesn't it?"

What's that look on Silvio's face mean?

That he doesn't believe Yung won't be involved?

That he's surprised that he won't be?

That he doesn't like me keeping McGrory, a fellow ambassador, in the dark, to pick up the pieces after I screw up?

"Sir… there was a look on your face. Did something I said make you uncomfortable?"

"I guess I don't have the poker face good diplomats are supposed to have," Silvio replied. "And I certainly have no expertise in your area. But I was surprised that you're not going to use Yung and then take him out of the country when you leave."

"Why?"

"Well, for one thing, won't his position with AmbassadorMcGrory be compromised? McGrory will soon learn that Yung wasn't what he believed him to be. And since you're not going to tell him that you're operating with the authority of a Presidential Finding, I'm sure he'll go to the State Department with that. I would, in his shoes. Absent a Presidential Finding, an ambassador is responsible for anything any government agency is doing in his country. And has veto power over any action proposed. He's not even going to know about this until it's over. He's going to be more than a little annoyed."

"Yes, sir. I know. What I'm trying to do is leave the ambassador in a position where he truthfully can deny any knowledge of what I plan to do. Or did."

"I understand. What I did was presume that you would take Yung with you, taking advantage of his expertise, and then take him out of the country when you left. And that, once your mission was accomplished, the secretary would tell Ambassador McGrory there were reasons for what had happened, and that she had decided it was best that he not be cognizant of those reasons. He wouldn't like it, but he would understand."

"And if I don't take Yung with me, and Yung obeys my orders to tell McGrory nothing-I threatened him with the felony provisions of violating Top Secret- Presidential material, so I think he would keep his mouth shut-McGrory would blow his top?"

"And a number of senior officials in the State Department who have no legitimate reason to know, would know that something had gone on in Uruguay…"

"And be curious and ask questions that shouldn't be asked," Castillo finished for him. "Which questions would come to-be leaked to-the Washington Post and the New York Times and other President-haters."

Silvio nodded.

"With all the ramifications of that," Castillo added.

"I'm sure you've thought of the risks involved, Charley. I'm not trying to tell you your business."

"The truth is I didn't think about it all," Castillo confessed. "Mr. Ambassador, you just kept me from making a stupid mistake. A serious mistake. Thank you." Then he blurted, "You know what Ambassador Montvale said about me?"

Silvio shook his head.

"Montvale said that I am someone 'who was given more authority than he clearly will be able to handle.' It looks like he's right on the money, doesn't it?"

"From what I've seen, Charley, you handle the authority you've been given very well."

"I'm so drunk with my authority that it never even entered my mind to ask you what you thought about what I'm going to do. Which means I just about blew the investigation into the oil-for-food scandal out of the water, and embarrassed the President personally. That doesn't strike me as handling my authority well."

Silvio studied Castillo for a long moment, then asked, "How much sleep have you had in the past few days?"

"It shows, huh?"

"It shows. If you really want my advice, get yourself some rest."

Castillo considered that, took a sip of his beer, then asked, "Can you recommend a quiet hotel near the airport in Montevideo?"

"As a matter of fact, I can. The airport's in Carrasco. There's a really nice hotel in Carrasco. The Belmont House. A little stiff on the pocketbook. But I was thinking you might get some rest today."

"So was I, sir. You think I could get a couple of rooms there for tonight? For two days? How would I get the number to call? I really don't want a record of me booking it through American Express."

Ambassador Silvio reached into the pocket of his frayed blue jeans, took out his telephone, and punched the appropriate buttons.

"Juan Manuel Silvio here," he said a moment later. "Please tell me that you'll be able to accommodate two friends of mine-separate rooms-for tonight and tomorrow night."

Thirty seconds later, he returned the cellular to his blue jeans.

"Done."

"Thank you very much."

"My pleasure. Anything else I can do?"

"Let me see if I can at least do this by myself," Castillo said, and took out his cellular and punched the appropriate buttons.

"I'm glad I caught you, Yung," he began. "I'd offer to drive you to the airport," Ambassador Silvio said, "but I don't think that would be a very good idea inasmuch as I suspect there's a good many people in uniforms looking for a man in a Harvard sweatshirt and blue jeans."

Castillo smiled at him and chuckled.

"I meant what I said before about you keeping me from making a royal ass of myself, and more important, making the President look like one. Muchas gracias, amigo."

Silvio made a deprecating gesture with his hand.

"What time's your plane?" he asked. "Or are you taking the Lear? Or shouldn't I ask?"

"You can ask me anything you want to," Castillo said. "And I'll tell you everything I think I can."

"Okay. I will. How are things going so far? Just generally, if details may be inappropriate."

"The first thing that can go wrong with this operation is that when I get to Jorge Newbery at five o'clock, a helicopter I borrowed won't be there. Or it will be there and the man in it will shoot me. Or if it's there and he doesn't shoot me, it will be equipped with a pressure-sensitive detonator and a couple of pounds of Semtex, which will go bang when I pass through one thousand feet. Or if that doesn't happen, the engine will quit when I am equidistant over the Rio Plate between Jorge Newbery and Corrasco. Aside from that, everything's going swimmingly."

Silvio shook his head.

"That's today. The list of what can go wrong tomorrow is a little longer," Castillo said.

"You will be in my prayers, Charley," Silvio said softly.

Castillo nodded at him.

"I'd love another beer, but I'm driving," Charley said. "But there's no reason you can't." [FOUR] Belmont House 6512 Avenue Rivera Carrasco Carrasco, Montevideo Republica Oriental del Uruguay 1925 29 July 2005 "Nice place," Castillo said as they stood at the reception desk of the small, luxurious hotel. "Looks more like a club than a hotel."

"Fidel Castro thinks so," El Coronel Alfredro Munz (Retired) said with a smile. "This is where he always stays when he's in Uruguay."

"If you would like a drink, gentlemen," the desk clerk said as he returned Castillo's passport and American Express card and Munz's National Identity Card and handed them keys to their rooms, "I'll have the bellman take your bags to your rooms."

He gestured toward the interior of the building. Castillo saw a small, wood-paneled bar with leather-upholstered chairs at small tables.

"I think that's a splendid idea," Castillo said. "I'm expecting a visitor at seven-thirty. A Mr. Yung. Would you point him toward us, please?"

"Certainly, sir."

Castillo walked into the bar and sat at one of the tables. Munz followed him but did not sit down.

"Will I be in the way, Karl?" Munz asked.

"Does 'in for a penny, in for a pound' mean the same thing in Spanish that it does in English?"

"Only to someone who speaks English," Munz said.

"And we both do," Castillo said. "Sit down, Alfredo."

A young waiter in a white jacket appeared.

"Do you have Famous Grouse?" Castillo asked.

"Yes, sir."

"A double, please. Water and ice on the side."

"That sounds good," Munz said.

"Aren't you taking a chance, Karl?" Munz asked when the waiter had gone to fill their order.

"That I'll really get Famous Grouse, you mean?" Castillo asked innocently. "Instead of some locally distilled copy thereof?"

"You know what I mean," Munz said.

"I've learned that every once in a while, you have to take a chance," Castillo said. "I'm taking one on you not to interfere with this operation by either telling Alex about it until it's over or choking the canary before he can sing."

"When I went to work for Alex-"

"You mean full-time? After you were retired, in other words?"

Munz's face tightened. "When I was with SIDE I never gave Alex any information that in any way betrayed my duties or my country."

"Okay."

"I told Alex, before I went to work for him, that there were certain things I would not do," Munz said. "'Choking canaries,' as you put it, was among the things he understood I would not do."

"I'm sure Howard Kennedy made a deal very similar to yours," Castillo said. "But what I was wondering about, before I decided on 'in for a penny, in for a pound,' was whether or not the things you would not do included giving him information that might see my canary choked by somebody else."

"If you feel that way, why did you agree to my coming with you?" Munz asked icily.

"I agreed to your coming along after I decided that you're not the sort of man who could look at himself in the mirror after deciding that it would be morally justifiable to arrange for a canary to be choked, providing someone else did the choking."

Munz looked at him coldly but didn't reply.

"And because Alex was right," Castillo went on. "I think you're going to be useful. We're back to having to take a chance every once in a while."

"Like flying a single-engine helicopter across the River Plate? That was taking a chance, wasn't it? What if the engine had failed?"

"We would have drowned," Castillo said. "Unless you're a much better swimmer than I am."

Munz shook his head.

"The seats-like those on airliners-are flotation devices," Castillo said. "We might have had to float around in the river for a while, but I filed a flight plan, and if we hadn't showed up on time, they would have started looking for us. I don't like to take foolish chances, Alfredo, and don't."

The waiter appeared with a tray holding a bottle of Famous Grouse, glasses, a silver ice bucket, a silver water pitcher, and a pair of tongs. He was pouring whiskey into the glasses when Special Agent David William Yung, Jr., came into the bar. He was visibly surprised to see Alfredo Munz.

"Right on time," Castillo said, half-standing to offer Yung his hand. "You two know each other, right?"

"How are you, Colonel?"

"Mr. Yung," Munz said.

"I'm sure you're both wondering what happens next," Castillo said.

Their eyes reflected their interest.

"I'm going to have at least one more of these," Castillo said, raising his glass and taking a healthy swallow, "have some dinner, and go to bed." He paused and added, "A very wise friend pointed out to me that people who haven't had much sleep tend to make bad decisions. I haven't had much sleep, and I can't afford to make any more sloppy, much less bad, decisions. So just a question or two, Yung. What do you hear about visiting friends from Montevideo?"

"They'll be on the first Busquebus from BA. It gets here at about ten-thirty."

"And you found accommodations for them?"

"Yes, sir."

"You have those maps I asked you for?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you going to have any trouble waking up in time to pick up Munz and me here at the hotel at, say, seven o'clock in the morning?"

"I'll be here, sir."

"Where are we going?" Munz said. "Can I ask?"

"Generally speaking, we are going to reconnoiter the target. I'll be more specific in the morning." He paused. "I wonder where the restaurant is?"

"Right next to us," Munz said. "But it doesn't open until eight. In half an hour."

"Well, that'll give me time to finish this drink and have another," Castillo said.

He saw how they were both looking at him.

"What I'm doing now is running on my reserves. When I'm doing that, I can't get to sleep unless I dilute the adrenaline, or whatever the hell it is, with substantial quantities of alcohol."

"I understand," Munz said.

"Mr. Castillo, can I speak to you privately for a moment?" Yung asked.

"It won't wait until the morning? I wasn't kidding. I'm in no shape to make decisions."

"It won't take a moment, sir."

"Alfredo, order me another one, please. I will be back directly," Castillo said and stood up.

He followed Yung out of the bar and through the lobby to the street.

"Okay, what?" Castillo asked.

"I know we got off on the wrong foot, Mr. Castillo- my fault…"

"Water over the dam," Castillo said.

"And I just wanted to say I'm grateful you're not cutting me out of this. I thought, when you went back to Buenos Aires this morning, that's what was going to happen. So thank you. I'll do my damnedest."

Castillo thought, unkindly:

Jesus H. Christ! He's acting like a high school kid, blubberinghis gratitude to the coach for letting him back on the team after he got caught smoking in the boys' room. He thinks what's going to happen is some kind of a game.

So how do I handle this?

Castillo smiled at Special Agent Yung, then punched him on the shoulder.

"I'm glad you're going to be on the team, Yung," he said, hoping he sounded far more sincere than was the case.