The shooters

X

[ONE]

Nuestra Pequena Casa

Mayerling Country Club

Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1220 9 September 2005 Castillo rapped a spoon against his coffee mug and waited silently until everybody who had gathered in the quincho was looking at him.

Then Castillo began: "An initial review of our current situation, gentlemen-and lady-suggested the possibility of some minor problems. A more detailed analysis indicates that we are really in the deep do-do."

That got the chuckles he expected.

"Let me trace the events from the moment Max found Lieutenant Lorimer sneaking through our shrubbery…"

Castillo had gotten as far into his recapitulation of what had happened since they had hurriedly left Argentina as the Chicago meeting of Special Agent Timmons's family-and the mayor-when Jake Torine appeared in the door of the quincho.

Castillo made a T with his hands, signaling Time out, and walked to the quincho door.

"Sorry to interrupt, Colonel," Torine announced, "but I really need a moment of your time."

Castillo gestured for Torine to follow him outside.

"I called Rucker," Torine said once they were alone. "Major Ward told me they're going to fly to Jacksonville Naval Air Station tomorrow, and then, the day after tomorrow, fly out to the Ronald Reagan."

"Why?"

"Jacksonville, Florida," Torine explained. "East Coast, almost at the Georgia border."

"I know where Jacksonville is, Jake. But why not go to Jacksonville the day after tomorrow, take on fuel, and then fly onto the Reagan? Their sitting around Jacksonville for a day will cause questions to be asked."

"Ward says the Navy wants to make sure they're not going to sink the aircraft carrier trying to land on it."

"That's bullshit, Jake. The pilots in the 160th are the best in the Army, the most experienced. And landing a Huey on a carrier is a hell of a lot easier than making an arrested landing with a fighter."

"That's what I told Truman Ellsworth," Torine said. He waited until he saw Castillo's reaction to that, then smiled and nodded.

"I called him," Torine went on, "and reminded him that he had suggested I call him if you had done something impulsive. And then I told him you had arranged to send choppers to South America aboard the Ronald Reagan, and I was afraid that the Navy didn't like it-proof being the 'orientation' they were insisting on-and was going to cause trouble."

He paused.

"I was good, Charley. I didn't know I had it in me."

"Maybe because you don't like Ellsworth any more than I do."

"That's a real possibility. My conscience didn't bother me at all."

"And what did our mutual friend have to say?"

"He said he'd call me right back. Five minutes later, Montvale called me. First thing, he asked where you were. I told him you were somewhere between Buenos Aires and Asuncion. Which is true. So then he said he would have to deal with this himself. He said it was a pity I wasn't in the States, because what he really would like to do is send me aboard the Reagan to keep an eye on things."

"And?"

"I told him I would be in the States tomorrow."

"And?"

"And he said, 'Don't plan on unpacking your bags when you get to Washington, Colonel, you're going for a little voyage.' To which I replied, 'What will I tell Castillo?' To which he replied, "I'll deal with Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, Colonel Torine. You don't have to worry about that.'"

"So the thing to do," Castillo said, "is get you back to the States as soon as possible. Which opens a new can of worms. For one thing, you just got here; you're tired, you don't want to-shouldn't-fly right back. The flip side of that is: What is the Evil Leprechaun going to say when I call him? He may consider the Gulfstream as one of the assets he wants me to share with him. So getting it out of here as soon as possible is probably smart."

"What about me taking Dave Yung and Colin Leverette to Montevideo?" Torine suggested. "Right now, I mean. Sparkman and I could crash in Two-Gun's apartment for a while-five, six hours, anyway-then leave for the States later today, tonight, or first thing in the morning."

"That'd work. But the worm that pops up there is: How do we get the airplane back here? Ambassador Lorimer, his wife, and the two guys from China Post will be on board."

"I can get another Gulfstream pilot from the Presidential Flight Detachment."

Castillo, visibly thinking, didn't reply.

"Isn't that what you meant?" Torine pursued.

Castillo didn't have time to reply. Edgar Delchamps was walking toward them from the house. Max decided Delchamps had come out to play, intercepted him, and dropped a tennis ball at his feet. Delchamps picked up the ball and threw it as far across the yard as he could, then walked up to Castillo and Torine.

"I just had a brilliant insight of my own," Delchamps announced. "Anybody interested?"

"I'm breathless with anticipation," Torine said.

"We're just spinning our wheels if we can't get the choppers off the Reagan and refuel them at Shangri-La. And the key to making that happen is Chief Inspector Jose Ordonez. If you can't get Ordonez to look the other way, we're fucked. And you don't know how much damage your new pal Duffy has done with him."

Castillo considered that a moment. "You're right," he said. "I don't suppose you had a solution to go along with your insight?"

"The obvious one: Go see him."

"Me? Or Alfredo? Or both? You remember the last time we saw Ordonez he said, 'So long, and don't come back'?"

"Why don't you ask Munz?"

"Jake and I had just about decided that he'd drop off Yung and Leverette in Montevideo on his way to the States," Castillo said. "No reason he couldn't take Munz with him. Or both of us."

He stepped into the quincho doorway and motioned for Alfredo Munz to come out. Then he raised his voice and announced to the others, "Something's come up that we have to deal with right away. Just sit tight."

Munz waited for Castillo to speak.

"Two questions, Alfredo: How much damage did Liam Duffy do to us with Ordonez?"

"I was about to suggest that we go see him," Munz said. "Until we do that, we won't know how much damage he's caused, and it's important that we know."

"Aren't we liable to cause more damage if I go? I just reminded Delchamps that the last time I saw him, he said, 'Good-bye, and don't come back.'"

"He knows you're planning an operation in either Argentina or Paraguay. That's none of his business. What he doesn't want-and will work very hard to prevent-is another operation in Uruguay."

"We're not planning anything in Uruguay," Castillo said, "except the refueling. And done right, that shouldn't take much more than a couple of hours." He paused, then added, "Well, let's go off on another tangent. Probably the best way to get the Hueys ashore is to launch them one at a time from the Reagan, one every forty-five minutes or an hour. And have them fly into and out of Shangri-La on different courses."

He looked at Torine for any input.

"You're the expert, Charley," Torine said.

"Four Hueys, or even two, flying overhead is going to attract more attention than just one," Castillo said.

"True," Torine agreed.

"Whatever you decide to do, Karl," Munz said, "Ordonez would be more assured if he heard it from you than from me. Like me, Jose believes you can tell if a man is lying by looking into his eyes."

"I've got to ask this," Castillo said. "Would a little gift-hell, a great big gift-make any difference?"

"The very offer would probably kill any chance at all of him being willing to look the other way," Munz said. "What you're going to have to do, Karl, is convince him that his permitting your helicopters to enter-even secretly-Uruguayan airspace and using Shangri-La as a refueling place is in the best interests of Uruguay. That it won't cause any problems for Uruguay."

"Okay. So we go to Uruguay," Castillo said. "And right now."

He gestured for the others to follow him back into the quincho.

"Comandante Duffy's going to be annoyed when he finds out we've left here," Castillo explained. "But I will deal with that later when I call him from Montevideo. What I don't want to do is have any friction with him as we leave that might cause trouble about us going to Montevideo.

"I regard his threat to have us kicked out of the country-or arrested-as valid. But I think he's very interested in what he calls our assets, and I don't think he's going to blow that whistle until I tell him no, or until I do something suspicious.

"I am also convinced that the arrogant bastard thinks he's got me really scared. Which, as a matter of fact, he does. So we're going to go with exactly that-I'm scared and I'm leaving.

"What we're going to do is load in the van everybody who's going to Uruguay-that's Yung, Leverette, Sparkman, Munz, Torine, Bradley, and me-and have Neidermeyer drive us out to Ezeiza, where we will file a flight plan to Montevideo, then clear immigration and customs, and leave."

Castillo glanced at the others, who would remain at the safe house. Alex Darby, D'Elia, the Sienos, and Lieutenant Lorimer showed no signs of having any problem with that. But Castillo thought he saw questions in Sergeant Mullroney's eyes.

Questions, Castillo thought, that he's learned not to ask, thanks no doubt to our little incident in the mountains outside Vegas.

Maybe he's not completely stupid…

Castillo went on: "I think we can presume Duffy has a car-maybe two-sitting on us at the gate. We are not going to try, a la James Bond, to lose them in traffic. If they can't keep up, much better, but we're not going to look as if we're running away.

"We can also presume that if they have managed to follow us to Ezeiza, they'll follow us inside the terminal and learn what we're doing and tell Duffy. With a little luck, they'll also tell him we haven't tried anything sneaky.

"That'll give him the choice between letting us leave or trying to stop us, and he'll have to make that choice in a hurry. I think he'll decide, 'Okay, good riddance,' possibly because keeping us from leaving might be hard for him to do anyway. If we're brazen, he'll reason that's because we've destroyed everything-the radios, for example-that could get us in trouble. And he doesn't want the stink that would be made if a bunch of American tourists were stopped without cause. So I think we can make it to Uruguay.

"Once we're airborne, we'll call on the radio. If you don't hear from us, or if somebody comes knocking at the door, be ready to use the thermite grenades to torch the radios and anything else that's incriminating."

He looked at everybody and added, "If anybody has any better ideas, I'm wide open."

There was a moment's silence.

"What about Max?" Delchamps asked.

"What about him?"

"If you don't take him, Ace, that might give Duffy the idea you plan to come back. But if you do, what are you going to do with him? How are you going to get him back here from Uruguay? The Gulfstream's going to the States."

Castillo looked down at Max, who was lying with his head between his paws, his big eyes looking up at him.

"Max goes," he said after a moment. "You're right. Duffy would expect me to take him with me if I was leaving."

Did I say that because I believe it? Or because, quite clearly, I just again heard Abuela saying, "You don't even have a dog"-and I don't have the heart to just leave the big sonofabitch here not knowing if I am coming back.

He's saved my life, once for sure in Budapest and probably in the garage of the Sheraton Pilar, and I could hide behind that.

But the truth is, Castillo, that you're a goddamned softie.

You like the way he looks at you with those big, soft eyes.

"Okay, Lieutenant Lorimer, sound 'Boots and Saddles,'" Castillo ordered.

[TWO]

Suite 2152 Radisson Montevideo Victoria Plaza Hotel Plaza Independencia 759 Montevideo, Republica Oriental del Uruguay 1720 9 September 2005 Special Agent David W. Yung was smiling and shaking his head as he watched Jake Torine toss peanuts to Max, who snapped them from the air.

Chief Warrant Officer Five Colin Leverette, holding a bottle of beer, stood up from the minibar, looked at Yung, and announced, "Two-Gun is thinking about sex. He's shaking his head in disbelief and smiling."

"Close," Yung replied. "I'm thinking I can't believe the general manager believed Charley's yarn-'I'm an epileptic and this dog has been trained to alert me when he senses a seizure coming on.'"

"I was counting on him having seen that malady on Fox News," Castillo said, solemnly. "You always have to have an answer prepared, David."

"What our dog lover here was actually counting on working was that hundred-dollar bill he slipped the manager," Torine said.

"Max is up here, isn't he, despite those 'No Pets' signs in three languages on the door?" Castillo said.

"And a good thing for you that he is, Charley," Torine said. "You're going to need him to protect you from that cop when he learns you're back."

The telephone buzzed. Castillo signaled for Yung to pick it up.

"Thank you," Yung said in Spanish into the receiver. "We'll be right down." He hung up, looked at Castillo, and switched back to English: "The car from the embassy is here."

"That was quick," Leverette said.

"The embassy's only a couple of blocks from here," Yung explained, and then added, "Maybe I better take Max with me to protect me from Ambassador McGrory. I don't think he's going to be happy to see me."

"Nonsense," Castillo said. "He'll be thrilled. The secretary of State called him personally to tell him you're coming."

"That's what I mean," Yung said.

"Okay," Castillo said. "You get the keys to your apartment for Jake and Sparkman. And the keys to your car, if that's been fixed. All McGrory has to know about Jake and Sparkman is that they're pilots from the Presidential Flight Detachment, and will be leaving as soon as they get some rest. But tell him that, even if he doesn't ask; he's liable to be impressed with that. And then come back here and let us know how he reacted."

"Yes, sir," Yung said.

Castillo picked up on something in Yung's tone, something just shy of sarcasm.

"Dave," he said, "I learned a long time ago that it's better to piss off one of your guys by telling him again and again how to do something he already knows how to do than to take the chance he misunderstood you. If I didn't think you could handle McGrory, I wouldn't be sending you to the embassy."

Yung met his eyes, then smiled and shrugged.

"Yeah," he said simply.

Castillo raised his right arm and hand in the manner of a priest blessing one of the faithful. "Go forth and do good, Two-Gun," he said solemnly.

Yung smiled, shook his head, and started for the door.

Castillo waited until they had left, then turned to Munz.

"Let's get it over with," he said. "Call Ordonez."

Munz punched an autodial number on his cellular telephone. When it began to ring, Munz pushed the SPEAKER button.

"Ordonez," the familiar voice came over the speaker.

"Alfredo Munz, Jose."

"I've been waiting for your call, my friend."

"We're in the Victoria Plaza. 2152."

"I know. Stay there."

Munz exchanged glances with Castillo, who raised his eyebrows.

"Where are you?" Munz said into the phone.

"Sixty kilometers out of Punta del Este. I should be there in about an hour. Did you hear what I said about staying where you are?"

"Yes."

"That includes Colonel Castillo."

"Understood," Munz said, looking at Castillo again.

"They weren't supposed to permit Castillo or anyone with him to enter the country," Ordonez said. "When I pointed this out to them, they wanted to arrest you. I think I stopped that, but I would not try to leave the hotel."

"Yung and three others were with us; they were just picked up by an American embassy car."

"I know. Stay in the Victoria, Alfredo."

"Very well."

There was a change in the background noise, and Munz pushed the phone's END CALL button.

Munz said, "He apparently meant it when he said, 'Good-bye, and don't come back.' I don't know what to think, Karl."

Castillo silently raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

The door chimes sounded pleasantly almost exactly an hour later, and Munz went to the door and opened it.

Uruguayan Policia Nacional Chief Inspector Jose Ordonez, a trim, well-dressed, olive-skinned man in his late thirties, stepped into the room. He was visibly surprised to see Max-who sat with his head cocked, as if making up his mind about the visitor-but Ordonez didn't seem afraid of the dog; he ignored him.

He embraced Munz and kissed the air next to his cheek, then looked at Castillo. After a moment, he put out his hand.

"I won't say that I'm delighted to see you, Colonel Castillo," he said in Spanish.

"Nevertheless, good evening, Chief Inspector," Castillo replied in Spanish.

"Amazing," Ordonez said. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear he is a Porteno. The accent is perfect."

"Carlos is an amazing man, Jose," Munz said.

"May we offer you something to drink, Chief Inspector?" Castillo said.

"Yes, thank you," Ordonez said without hesitation. "Scotch, please, if you have it." He looked at an array of bottles on a credenza. "Some of that Famous Grouse single malt, if it wouldn't be an imposition."

"Not at all," Castillo said.

He remembered hearing that Uruguay consumed more scotch whiskey per capita than any other nation in the world, and that the present head of the family that had had the lock on importing the whiskey for generations was a Dartmouth graduate.

What remote corner of the memory bank did that come from?

He started to open the bottle.

"Just one lump of ice, please," Ordonez said. "And half as much gas-free water as whiskey."

"Coming up," Castillo said.

He made three identical drinks and handed Ordonez and Munz theirs.

They clicked glasses.

Ordonez walked to the window, pushed the curtain aside, and looked out.

"If this hotel had been built in 1939," he said, "Millington-Drake could have watched in comfort from here-for that matter, from the bar in the Arcadia-rather than having to climb all those stairs to stand in the rain over there."

"Excuse me?" Castillo asked.

"The Arcadia restaurant on the twenty-fifth floor. It has a bar."

Castillo's confusion showed on his face.

"You do know who Millington-Drake was, don't you, Colonel?"

"I have no idea who he was," Castillo said.

"Does the name Langsdorff mean anything to you?"

Langsdorff?

Who the hell is he talking about?

What the hell is he talking about?

Oh, hell!

You are a disgrace to the Long Gray Line, Castillo!

"Of course," Castillo said. "He's buried in Buenos Aires, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is," Ordonez said. "And from the towers of that building-come have a look-"

Castillo went to the window. In a moment, Munz and Max followed. Ordonez pointed to a tall building across the street, the open ornate masonry towers of which seemed to be fifty or sixty feet below them.

Ordonez said: "Sir John Henry Millington-Drake, the British ambassador, who was a close friend of my great-grandfather, climbed to the top of the towers you see there-it was raining hard, I understand; he must have gotten soaked-to watch the pocket battleship Graf Spee sail out of the harbor and scuttle herself. When the conditions are right, you can make out her superstructure."

"Interesting man," Castillo said, as the memory banks suddenly opened. "After seeing to the burial of his dead, and negotiating the terms of the internment of the rest of the crew, he put on his dress uniform and shot himself to prove that he had scuttled his ship to save the lives of his men; that he personally wasn't afraid to die. He positioned himself so that his body fell on the German Navy battle flag, rather than the Nazi swastika flag."

Ordonez said, "I thought perhaps you-as a graduate of your military academy-would know who Langsdorff was."

Yeah, I indeed know who he was.

An officer and a gentleman who lived and died by his code, Death Before Dishonor.

The motto that murderers, rapists, drug dealers, and other human scum in prisons now tattoo on one another to help pass the time.

"Of course," Castillo said.

"My great-grandfather told me, Colonel Castillo, that despite the public story that said it was Millington-Drake's eloquence and strong personality that caused the Uruguayan government to scrupulously follow international law and order the Graf Spee to leave Montevideo within the seventy-two-hour period required by the law, it was in fact enormous pressure applied by the United States government-which, as I'm sure you know, was, like Uruguay, ostensibly neutral in the war between the English and the Germans-that caused it to do so."

"I hadn't heard that," Castillo said. "But it seems credible."

"So what are you doing here, Colonel? You know-I'm sure you remember me telling you-you're not welcome here. So, again, what is it you're doing here?"

"I'm helping Ambassador Lorimer move onto Estancia Shangri-La."

"Ambassador Lorimer?"

"Jean-Paul Lorimer's father. He's a retired diplomat. You didn't know?"

Ordonez did not reply directly, instead asking: "Why on earth would he want to move to a remote estancia in Tacuarembo Province?"

"The Lorimers lost their home in New Orleans to Hurricane Katrina," Castillo said. "It is-or at least was-under fifteen feet of water."

"I understand that Mr. Lorimer-the late Mr. Lorimer-had an apartment in Paris. Wouldn't that be more comfortable for Ambassador Lorimer?"

"The ambassador told me the United Nations took his son's Paris apartment off his hands. At a very good price. He said he had the feeling they would rather he didn't go to Paris."

"So he decided to come here."

Castillo nodded.

"What are Yung and the others doing at your embassy?"

"The State Department-actually the secretary of State herself-called Ambassador McGrory to tell him to help Ambassador Lorimer in any way he can. They're going to see him about that."

Ordonez took a notebook from his pocket, read from it, then asked, "Who are Sparkman and Leverette?"

"Sparkman is the copilot of the Gulfstream. Leverette is the ambassador's butler. He's going out to Shangri-La and set things up. As soon as that's done, we'll fly the ambassador and his wife down here."

"All right, Colonel, that's your cover story, and it's a good one." He paused as he looked him in the eyes. Then he added: "Now let's get to the truth. Why are you here?"

"I just told you-" Castillo began, but when he saw Ordonez hold up his hand and was about to interrupt him, went on: "And…and…I need your help."

"To do what?" Ordonez asked matter-of-factly.

"I need to secretly move helicopters into Uruguayan airspace, refuel them, and fly them out of Uruguay."

"Using Estancia Shangri-La?"

"Using Shangri-La," Castillo confirmed.

"And what would the helicopters be used for?"

"One of our DEA agents in Paraguay is being held by drug dealers. My orders are to get him back from the people who have kidnapped him."

"You know who they are?"

Castillo shook his head.

"Or where they are holding this man?"

Castillo shook his head.

"Not even in which country?"

Castillo shook his head again.

"Then this man whom you have been ordered to rescue could be in Uruguay?"

"That's possible, but unlikely."

"Have you had the opportunity to meet Comandante Duffy of the Argentine Gendarmeria Nacional, Colonel?" Ordonez asked. "I know he was hoping to talk to you."

"I met Comandante Duffy this morning."

"Did he tell you that two of his men have been murdered, and two kidnapped, presumably by the same people who have taken your man?"

Castillo nodded.

"Did he tell you what he intends to do to the people who have done this? Or who he thinks may have done this?"

"He didn't spell it out in so many words, but he made it pretty clear that he intends to take them out."

"He intends not only to kill them, but to leave their bodies where they fall, as an example of what happens to people who murder gendarmes."

Castillo nodded.

"Much as you did with the people at Shangri-La," Ordonez added.

Castillo met his eyes for a moment.

Castillo then softly but angrily said, "Sorry, Ordonez, I can't-won't-let you get away with equating what happened at Shangri-La with the cold-blooded murder of Duffy's gendarmes."

"You're not going to deny that there were six bodies-seven, counting Lorimer's corpse-left lying in pools of blood at Estancia Shangri-La, are you, Colonel?"

"Actually, eight men died at the estancia," Castillo said, his voice rising. "I lost one of my men, and we damn near lost Alfredo. But we acted in self-defense. They opened fire on us, without warning. We returned it. They died. What the hell were we supposed to do, call a priest, give them the last rites, and bury them?"

"Jose," Munz said evenly. "Colonel Castillo went to Estancia Shangri-la with plans to take Lorimer back-alive-to the United States. Violence was neither planned nor expected."

"And you went with him, Alfredo, fully aware that kidnapping is just as much a crime in Uruguay as it is in Argentina," Ordonez said.

Munz, his eyes narrowed, nodded.

"And was making off with Lorimer's sixteen million dollars planned or expected?"

"We didn't know about the money until we went into Lorimer's safe," Castillo said.

"So you're admitting you stole the money?"

Neither Castillo nor Munz replied.

"What did you do with the money?"

"Alfredo and I spent most of it on whiskey and wild women," Castillo said.

Ordonez stared at him coldly.

"So tell me, Ordonez, what happens now?" Castillo asked after a moment. "You escort us to the Buquebus?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, obviously, our coming here has been a waste of time; you're not going to help us. But on the other hand, we've given you no reason to arrest us; we've broken none of your laws."

"Not today," Ordonez allowed. "Except, of course, the small matter of trying to get a senior police official to acquiesce in your violation of the laws of his country."

"We came to ask your help, Jose," Munz said with an edge in his voice. "Help in getting a fellow police officer-who happens to be an American-back from the hijos de puta who kidnapped him."

"The hijos de puta who have him also have two of Duffy's gendarmes," Ordonez replied evenly. "And have brutally murdered two of his gendarmes. And that's what worries me, Alfredo. That's who worries me."

"The narcos or Duffy?" Munz asked.

"You and I both know, Alfredo, that these people are not ordinary narcos. If they were, I'd probably be hoping-may God forgive me-that Duffy would be leaving bodies not suitable for viewing in their caskets all over Corrientes and Entre Rios Provinces and, for that matter, Paraguay. He's right that the kidnapping-and the murder-of police officers cannot be tolerated, and that leaving bullet-riddled bodies on the side of the road, or at narcotics refining plants, would send that message far more effectively than running them through a justice system where, sadly, justice is often for sale."

Ordonez paused a moment.

"But," he went on, "as I say, these are not ordinary narcos. Major Alejandro Vincenzo of the Cuban Direccion General de Inteligencia is proof of that."

Castillo thought: How the hell does he know that-and how the hell much more does he know?

"Excuse me?" Castillo asked.

"Certainly someone of your background, Colonel, has considered that Vincenzo was here-possibly, even probably, in Paraguay-long before Lorimer went missing in Paris. And as 'their' man on the scene was available to supervise the very professional kidnapping of Mrs. Masterson and the subsequent murder of her husband, when they wanted to locate Lorimer. And their sixteen million dollars."

"Can you define 'they' and 'their'?" Castillo asked.

"Obviously, Vincenzo was a Cuban. But what is the connection between the Russian FSB and the Cuban Direccion General de Inteligencia? There are two possibilities: One, no connection here in this instance; Vincenzo was here to (a) make money from the drug trade and (b) cause what trouble he could in the interests of Cuba. Or, two, the Russians are involved, for the same purposes-making money and causing trouble. I place more credence in the latter in no small measure because of the murder of Lieutenant Colonel Viktor Zhdankov of the FSB in Punta del Este, and the presence of your friend Aleksandr Pevsner."

"So far as I know, Pevsner is not under the FSB," Castillo said. "And, as a matter of fact, he as much as admitted to me that he had Zhdankov and Kennedy eliminated in Punta del Este."

"I suspected that, of course. And I appreciate your candor. Which leads us right now to what I was going to come to eventually. From this point on, we will tell each other the truth. Duffy has lied to me-"

"About what?" Munz asked.

"It doesn't matter, Alfredo. But it is one more reason that I am worried about him and this situation. I want to have nothing whatever to do with him as he goes after these narcos."

"Does that bring us back to my question about you escorting us to the Buquebus terminal?" Castillo asked.

"Listen to what I am saying, please, Colonel. I said I wanted to have nothing to do with Duffy in what he's going to do. I am prepared, with the understanding that we will tell each other the truth, to help you with your helicopters. The truth about everything, and that includes el Senor Pevsner."

Castillo met his eyes.

"So far as I know," Castillo repeated, "Pevsner is not under the FSB. That's the truth. He almost certainly has flown things around for them, but he has also flown things around for the CIA. But, again, so far as I know, he is no more an asset of the Federal'naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti than he is an asset of the Central Intelligence Agency."

Munz added: "And-other than what Carlos has just said-I found no connection between him and the FSB when I worked for him."

Ordonez looked at Munz a moment, nodded, then said, "I have to ask you something, Alfredo."

Munz made a Go on gesture.

"When you worked for him," Ordonez said, "who were you working for?"

"Argentina," Munz said. "But, since we're telling the truth, I never turned the money Pevsner paid me over to SIDE."

"One more indelicate question, old friend, I have to ask. Who are you working for now?"

"I am working for Carlos," Munz said, met Castillo's eyes, then looked back at Ordonez. "But we have the unspoken agreement between us that I am not working-and will not work-against Argentina. In this case, it should go without saying that these hijos de puta-or whoever else, the Direccion General de Inteligencia and/or the FSB-are working against the best interests of my country. My conscience is clear, Jose. Before God, I have not, will not, sell out my country."

"Thank you," Ordonez said. "The problem we have here-I'm sure you will agree-is that Duffy also believes he's working for his country. And can't-or doesn't want to-understand that his duty to Argentina is to turn over what he has to SIDE, and not embark on this mission to murder whoever killed and kidnapped his men." He let that sink in for a moment, then added, "I don't want you-by you, I mean you and Colonel Castillo-working with Duffy."

"And you think I want to?" Castillo said. "What if I have to?"

"Then I can't permit you to bring your helicopters into Uruguay."

"All I want to do is refuel helicopters at Estancia Shangri-La. They would be on the ground less than an hour, and they would not be coming back."

"An hour or two, plus whatever time it took them to reach the estancia, and then to leave Uruguayan air space," Ordonez corrected him.

"That's right," Castillo said.

"If I had your word, and Alfredo's, I could arrange it so that you will not be working with Duffy."

"I can't give you my word," Castillo said. "It's going to be hard-impossible-for me not to work with Duffy. Duffy's told me that unless I can get my superiors to order me to work under his orders and share my assets with him, I will have to leave Argentina within twenty-four hours. And I have to say this: If you hadn't run at the mouth, I wouldn't have that problem."

Ordonez considered that a moment, then almost visibly decided not to take offense.

"I 'ran at the mouth'-an interesting phrase-before I understood what Duffy was planning to do. And before I discovered that he had lied to me."

"But the cow's out of the barn. It doesn't matter who opened the barn door or when or why. The damage has been done."

"And have your superiors ordered you to work with Duffy?"

Castillo hesitated before replying.

"Okay. Truth time. I have not asked my superior. But I'm going to call Duffy, very soon, and tell him that I have been ordered to do whatever he wants me to do."

"You're taking that responsibility on yourself?"

"I have been ordered to get an American Drug Enforcement Administration agent back from his kidnappers. The order carried with it the authority to do whatever I have to do to get him-his name is Timmons-back. There is no point in me calling my superior when I know his answer will be to do whatever I have to do."

Ordonez nodded.

"Colonel," he said, "let me tell you about my superior, superiors. Nominally, I am under the authority of the minister of the interior. But when a situation has international implications, I get my directions from the foreign minister as well. Actually-for purposes of credible deniability-I get them from Deputy Foreign Minister Alvarez.

"It was Alvarez who decided with me that it was in the best interests of Uruguay to ascribe the murder of Lorimer at his estancia, the murders of Lieutenant Colonel Viktor Zhdankov of the FSB and Howard Kennedy in Punta del Este, and of course the deaths of Major Vincenzo and his five friends at Shangri-La to internecine warfare in the drug business.

"I don't know-and don't want to know-what, if anything, Alvarez told the foreign minister about what we had done, but there was no pressure from either the Foreign Ministry or the Interior Ministry on me to zealously pursue the people responsible for all those deaths." He paused, then added, "Which, of course, would have included you and your men.

"It seemed to be the best solution to the problem. While murder is a terrible crime, no Uruguayans had been murdered. Kennedy and Zhdankov were buried beside Vincenzo and the others in graves marked 'Unknown' in the Sacred Heart of Jesus church cemetery in Tacuarembo.

"David Yung-through the American embassy-was repatriating the remains of Lorimer, and it seemed unlikely that the Russians or the Cubans would ask questions about Zhdankov or Vincenzo. And you and I had the little chat in which I suggested you should leave Uruguay and not come back soon. When you agreed to do so, I thought the matter was closed.

"I was wrong about that, of course. The day before Duffy called me-two days before he came here-Alvarez told me our ambassador in Washington had called him to report that Senator Homer Johns…"-he paused and looked at Castillo to see if he knew who he was talking about, and when Castillo nodded, went on-"…to ask him what he could tell him-officially or otherwise-about the death of Lorimer, or if he had heard anything about your Special Forces having conducted an operation in Uruguay."

"And what did the ambassador tell him?" Castillo asked.

"That Lorimer was involved in the drug trade, and that he had heard nothing about Special Forces operating secretly in Uruguay. The senator then asked him to discreetly inquire again, and the ambassador agreed to do so.

"As it happens, the ambassador and I are old friends-Uruguay is a small country, and we have a saying, 'Don't worry if you don't know someone, he'll marry into your family by the end of the week.' But the ambassador and I are friends from school, and you'll remember it was he who I turned to for help in identifying the 7.62mm National Match cartridge case we found at Shangri-La.

"So, unofficially, I called him to see what else Senator Johns had had on his mind. He told me that the senator had told him he'd gone to see Ambassador Charles W. Montvale, who as your director of National Intelligence could be presumed to know about such things, and that Montvale had denied any prior knowledge of Lorimer's involvement in the drug trade and denied any knowledge of a Special Forces operation in Uruguay."

Ordonez looked more intensely at Castillo.

"I've always suspected Montvale is the man you answer to, Colonel. Do you?"

Castillo shook his head.

"I thought we were agreed to tell one another the truth," Ordonez said.

"I don't work for Ambassador Montvale."

"For whom, then? The secretary of Defense?"

Castillo shook his head again.

"Ah, then, the secretary of State," Ordonez said, clearly pleased with himself. "Of course. I should have thought of that. It explains a great deal. The authority you wielded in your embassy in Buenos Aires; the decision to keep Ambassador McGrory in the dark about your operation."

"I don't work for Secretary Cohen, either," Castillo said.

Ordonez's face showed that not only did he not believe that, but that the denial offended him.

Munz caught that, and said, "He doesn't, Jose."

"Well, who does he work for? Do you know?"

Munz was quiet a moment, then laughed.

"Yes, I do," he said. "But if I told you, I'd have to kill you."

"What did you say?" Ordonez asked incredulously.

"It's a useful phrase I've learned working for Carlos," Munz said.

"It's not said seriously?"

"You never know, Jose," Munz said. "You're not going to put it to the test, are you?"

"I may not be Sherlock Holmes," Ordonez said to Castillo, "but after we eliminate Montvale and your secretaries of State and Defense, there's not many people left, are there, from whom you could be taking orders?"

"What else did you learn from your old pal the ambassador?" Castillo asked, ignoring the question.

Ordonez looked at him for a long moment, as if deciding whether or not to pursue the question of who gave Castillo his authority and orders. Finally, he said: "He said that he had the distinct feeling that Senator Johns would like nothing more than proof that there had been a secret Special Forces operation in Uruguay and that Montvale had lied to him about it."

"Perhaps he doesn't like Ambassador Montvale. A lot of people don't," Castillo said. "I don't like him much myself. But I would hate to see him embarrassed by Senator Johns."

"And so would I," Ordonez said. "Because that would mean the decision Alvarez and I made about everything would come to light. The Cubans-and probably the Russians, too-would go to the United Nations to righteously denounce Uruguay-"

"I get the picture," Castillo interrupted. "And you're right, of course."

"-for not only permitting the imperialist Yankees to send their infamous Special Forces to murder innocent Cuban tourists and Czechoslovakian businessmen on Uruguayan soil, but then to shamelessly deny it."

Castillo was silent for a moment, then he said: "Just for the record…oh, hell."

"Go on," Ordonez said.

"I was going to split a hair," Castillo said. "My people at Shangri-La were not all Special Forces. It was not an SF unit that was sent here."

"I don't think, whatever the legalities, that anyone will believe that."

"That's what I decided. And the people who came here now to rescue Timmons are bona fide Special Forces."

"They're already here?"

"Just about all of them," Castillo said. "And the helicopter pilots are from the 160th-the Special Operations Aviation Regiment."

"And the helicopters, too, presumably?"

"No. I got the helicopters from a graveyard. By the time they get here, they'll be cleaned and black-"

"'Cleaned and black'?" Ordonez parroted.

"Anything that could indicate they belong to the U.S. Army will be removed. And they'll be painted in the color scheme used by the Argentine Army. They'll be more or less identical to the Hueys the Argentines are flying."

"And if nothing goes wrong and you manage to rescue your man without murdering everyone whoever so much as talked to the narcos, how do you plan to get your men and the helicopters out of Argentina or Paraguay?"

If he's not going to let me use Shangri-La to bring the choppers in, Castillo thought, what the hell does he care about the details of what's-not-to-happen?

What the hell is he hinting at?

"The men will leave the same way they came in, as tourists. I haven't given much thought to the helicopters."

"You weren't planning on flying them back to where they came from?"

"The 'field' from which they will have been flown into Uruguay is an aircraft carrier-the USS Ronald Reagan. By the time I can get Timmons back, it will have sailed around Cape Horn and be halfway up the Pacific coast to Valparaiso, Chile."

"So?"

"I understand some of the lakes in Argentina are very deep," Castillo said.

"You're not suggesting that you intend to…sink four helicopters in an Argentine lake?"

What the hell's going on here?

Why the curiosity? And it's damned sure not idle curiosity!

"What else would you suggest I do with them? I can't just leave them in a field somewhere. Or, for that matter, destroy them, torch them. They have to disappear. My orders are to come down here quietly, get Timmons back quietly, and leave quietly."

"Tell me, Colonel, are helicopters of this type readily available on the commercial market?"

"Sure."

"But wouldn't there be some means of tracing their history? All the way back to the factory?"

"The communists captured several hundred of them when Vietnam fell. Many of those have appeared at various places around the world."

Ordonez nodded and asked, "Involved with criminal activity of some sort?"

Castillo nodded.

I'll be a sonofabitch.

Does Mr. Clean, who Munz warned me was above taking a bribe, want my birds?

Confirmation of that wild theory came immediately.

"It would then be credible, if your helicopters somehow made their way to a field somewhere in Uruguay, for me to find them and announce that they probably had been in the use of drug dealers. Criminals who arrived at the field to refuel them, found no fuel, and had to abandon them."

"Whereupon they would enter the service of the Policia Nacional?" Castillo said.

Ordonez nodded, then asked, "Parts would be available for them?"

"Ordonez, if you let me refuel the choppers at Shangri-La, I'll fly them anywhere in Uruguay you say when I'm finished my operation. Even if I have to fly them there myself."

When Ordonez didn't immediately reply, Castillo added: "And I will get you all the parts you need for them. Either through government channels, or black."

"This 'black' would be better," Ordonez said. "It would continue to keep Ambassador McGrory out of the picture. Also, it would be better if you had someone other than yourself bring them back into Uruguay, Colonel."

"Then we have a deal?" Castillo asked.

Ordonez nodded and exhaled audibly.

"But let me clarify it, Colonel. I don't think it's quite what you're thinking. You haven't bribed me with a gift of helicopters for which you will no longer have a need and which in fact give you a disposal problem. What they represent is a sugar pill for me to accompany the bitter one I have to swallow-that of assisting you in an operation which is really none of my business and which I am really afraid is going to end in a disaster.

"I realized that I was going to have to help you, not because I want to, but because I have no choice but to hope-even pray-that you are successful. Your failure would be a disaster for me. Do we understand each other?"

Castillo nodded.

Ordonez went on, "You mentioned the Buquebus. Why don't you fly back to Buenos Aires?"

Castillo pointed at Max, who was lying beside him with his head between his paws, and said, "Yung told me that taking him on Austral or Aerolineas would be very difficult."

Ordonez considered that, then said: "And even if I helped you overcome the difficulties, it would still attract attention. Let me make a suggestion: If you could arrange to have someone meet you at the customs house at the International Bridge at Fray Bentos-Gualeguaychus, I'll fly you there in one of the Policia Nacional Hueys. We have four very old ones, two of which are flyable. It will perhaps make you understand why I am so interested in yours."

"That's very kind of you, Jose," Munz said.

"You, Alfredo, and your animal. Anyone else?"

"My communicator."

"Give me an hour to set it up," Ordonez said. "Call me when you're ready to go." He stood up. "I presume Alfredo will keep me advised of what's happening?"

Castillo nodded.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Ordonez said, offering Castillo his hand. He embraced Munz, went through the hug-and-kiss rite, and walked out of the room.

[THREE]

Embassy of the United States of America

Lauro Miller 1776 Montevideo, Republica Oriental del Uruguay 1835 9 September 2005 The Honorable Michael A. McGrory, the ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary of the President of the United States to the Republic of Uruguay, was a small and wiry, well-tailored man of fifty-five with a full head of curly gray hair. His staff referred to him as "Napoleon" and "Senor Pomposo." McGrory looked across his highly polished wooden desk at Special Agent David W. Yung, who sat beside Colin Leverette. Robert Howell, the embassy's cultural attache, stood near the door.

McGrory smiled and said to Yung, "If you'll be good enough to give me a minute alone with Mr. Howell-I need to speak with him on another matter-you can be on your way."

"Thank you, Mr. Ambassador," Yung said.

"And it's been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Leverette. If you need something for Ambassador Lorimer-anything at all-that either Mr. Yung or Mr. Howell can't arrange, please feel free to come see me at any time."

"Thank you very much, sir," Leverette said.

Yung and Leverette stood up, shook the ambassador's hand, and walked out of the ambassador's office, closing the door behind them.

"Well, Howell, what do you think?" McGrory asked.

"What do I think about what, Mr. Ambassador?" Howell replied.

While officially the cultural attache of the embassy, Howell was in fact the CIA's Uruguay station chief.

"What do we really have here?"

"Excuse me?"

"You don't see anything odd in Lorimer's father coming down here to live on that estancia in the middle of nowhere? With a butler?"

"I thought that was pretty well explained when Yung told us the ambassador lost his home in Hurricane Katrina, sir."

"And the presence of Yung? That didn't strike you as unusual?"

"I can think of a likely scenario, sir."

"Let's have it."

"It could very well be that the secretary, who I think has known the ambassador a long time, went out of her way to do what she could for the ambassador. She knows he has a heart condition. His son-in-law was murdered, and right after Mr. Masterson's remains were repatriated, the hurricane struck and destroyed the ambassador's home."

"Huh!" the ambassador snorted.

"And Yung, who was on the secretary's personal staff-"

"We learned after the fact," McGrory interrupted. "Nobody knew that when he was here."

"Yes, sir. Well, he was available. He was still accredited diplomatically down here. Yung probably struck her as the obvious choice to come here and set things up."

"Traveling in a private Gulfstream jet airplane. I wonder what that cost?"

"I don't like to think, Mr. Ambassador. But on the other hand, we know the ambassador's daughter came into her husband's money. And we know how much of that there is. It poses no financial strain on her to charter airplanes. Or, for that matter, to pay for the private security people who will be coming here with the ambassador."

"And none of this strikes you as suspicious?"

"I don't know what to suspect, Mr. Ambassador."

"Years ago, Howell, there was a terribly racist saying to the effect that one suspected an African-American in the woodpile."

"I'm familiar with the expression, sir, but I don't know what Ambassador Lorimer could be concealing."

"I'm not referring to Ambassador Lorimer," Ambassador McGrory said impatiently, stopping himself just in time from finishing the sentence with you idiot!

"You're referring to the butler, sir? Leverette?"

McGrory stared at Howell and thought, I can't believe this. This man works for the Central Intelligence Agency?

If he's typical, and I suspect he is, they should call it the Central Stupidity Agency.

"No," Ambassador McGrory said carefully, aware he was on the edge of losing his temper. After a moment, hoping his contempt wasn't showing, he went on, "That was a figure of speech, Howell, a figure of speech only. I was suggesting that there's something about this whole sequence of events that doesn't seem…"-he stopped himself just in time from saying kosher-"…quite right."

"And what is that, Mr. Ambassador?" Howell asked.

"If you've been in this business as long as I have, Howell, you develop a sense, a feeling," McGrory explained somewhat smugly.

"I understand," Howell said. "How may I help, Mr. Ambassador?"

"You can keep a close eye on Yung and that man Leverette. See if they do anything suspicious; see who they talk to."

"Yes, sir."

"I think the best way to handle this is just report everything you see or hear."

"Yes, sir."

"Any time of the day or night."

"Yes, sir."

Ambassador McGrory dismissed Howell with a wave of his hand, then rose from his desk and walked to the window. It provided a view of the Rambla, the road that ran along the Atlantic Ocean beach.

The water was muddy because it bore all the silt-and God only knows what else-from the River Plate. It didn't become clear-really become the Atlantic Ocean-until Punta del Este, a hundred-odd kilometers north.

McGrory stood at the window for perhaps three minutes, debating whether or not to call his brother-in-law. He really didn't like Senator Homer Johns. While McGrory admitted that his brother-in-law had had a lot to do with his being named ambassador to Uruguay, it was also true that Homer not only reminded him of this entirely too often, but accompanied the reminder with some snide observation about McGrory's slow movement up the ranks of the foreign service.

McGrory didn't know why Homer bitterly hated the director of National Intelligence, Ambassador Charles W. Montvale, but he suspected it was because Montvale and not Homer had gotten that job when it was created after 9/11. Homer was on the Senate intelligence committee and thought the job should have been his.

Homer hadn't been at all sympathetic when McGrory had called him and told him how the deputy foreign minister, Alvarez, had as much as called him a liar in his own office when he had told him that there were no Special Forces teams operating in Uruguay; that anything like that could not take place without his permission.

And the senator hadn't been at all impressed when McGrory told him that he had figured out what had really happened with Lorimer at his estancia-that Lorimer had been a big-time drug dealer on the side, using his United Nations diplomatic passport whenever that helped.

The first time he'd told that to the senator, the senator's reply had been "Mike, that's the most absurd bullshit you've ever tried to hand me."

And Homer hadn't even apologized when McGrory had called him to report (a) the Uruguayan cops had finally figured out what had happened, a drug deal gone bad, just as McGrory had said, and (b) that he had gotten this from Deputy Foreign Minister Alvarez, together with an apology for what Alvarez had said to him in the beginning.

He'd gotten back a little at Homer-he didn't want to go too far with that, of course; there were more important diplomatic posts than Uruguay, and his brother-in-law could be helpful again in that regard-the last time Homer had called.

Homer said he'd just gotten word from a good source-a woman who had been canned by the CIA and was highly pissed-that Montvale had indeed sent a Special Forces team to Uruguay to keep Lorimer from running off at the mouth. Homer said she'd also supplied the name of the guy in charge: Castillo.

McGrory had smiled knowingly at the purported news.

"Homer," he'd said, "I know all about Castillo. He works for the Department of Homeland Security, and he just happened to be in Argentina and was put in charge of protecting the Masterson family until they could get out of Argentina. That's all. He's a lousy major, is all. I think your source is full of shit."

"You know about this Castillo, do you?"

"Yes, I do. Lorimer was killed by drug people, not by Special Forces."

"I don't know, Mike, my source sounded pretty sure of herself."

"Why did she come to you, Homer? As an outraged citizen? Or a disgruntled employee trying to make trouble for the CIA? Why'd she get fired?"

"She didn't tell me that," Homer had said, and then added: "She does have a reputation around town for sleeping around."

"Well, there you have it, Homer."

"Maybe. But what I want you to do anyway, Mike, is keep your eyes and ears open. I want to hear of anything at all that happens down there that's out of the ordinary. Let me decide whether or not it's important."

Okay, Ambassador McGrory thought, still looking out his window at the muddy waters of the River Plate, on the one hand, while Ambassador Lorimer coming down here is a little odd, it is true that New Orleans is under water, and that his daughter, Masterson's widow, now has her hands on that sixty million dollars Jack the Stack got when that beer truck ran over him. So having a butler and flying around in a chartered jet airplane isn't so strange.

What the hell could a retired old ambassador with a heart condition be into but waiting to die?

And on the other hand, Homer said he wants to hear anything out of the ordinary; to let him decide what's important.

So I'll call him and tell him about this.

And he can run it past his source, the lady with the round heels reputation who got canned from the CIA, and see what she has to say.

And when some other post-Buenos Aires, for example-comes open, he can remember how useful I have been to him whenever he asked for something.

McGrory went to his desk, picked up the telephone, and told the operator to get Senator Homer Johns-and not anyone on Johns's staff-on a secure line.

[FOUR]

Suite 2152 Radisson Montevideo Victoria Plaza Hotel Plaza Independencia 759 Montevideo, Republica Oriental del Uruguay 1915 9 September 2005 "How'd it go, Dave?" Castillo asked as Yung, Howell, and Leverette came into the room.

"I didn't tell McGrory that Jake and Sparkman were from the Presidential Flight Detachment-"

"Jesus Christ!" Robert Howell suddenly said as Max walked toward him. "Where'd that dog come from?"

"I keep him around to eat people who don't do what I tell them," Castillo said. "Why didn't you, Dave?"

"I thought it would be better to let him think the Gulfstream was a charter."

Castillo considered that a moment.

"Good thinking. You were right and I was wrong," he said. "And he bought that?"

Yung nodded. "But after that, I wondered if he was going to wonder why I had sent the pilots of a chartered aircraft out to my apartment and not to a hotel."

"And you think he will?"

"I don't know. But it's too late to do anything about it."

"Even if he actually comes looking for them, it's not a problem," Munz said. "While you were telling the manager about your seizure problem, Jake gave them his credit card for this room; it's in his name."

"'Seizure problem'?" Howell asked.

"Don't ask," Yung said. "It will make you question the sanity of our leader."

"I asked how it went," Castillo said.

"I don't think there's a problem," Howell said. "So how'd you make out with Ordonez?"

"We get to use the estancia…Dave told you what's going down?"

Howell nodded.

"Ordonez gets the choppers when we're through with them. But, and this is important, he gets them-what did he say?-as a sugar pill to accompany the bitter one he has to swallow of helping us to help Duffy in something that's none of his business. In other words, it wasn't a bribe."

Howell nodded.

"So what happens now?" he asked.

"How are you planning to go to the estancia, Dave?" Castillo said.

"My car is fixed. I really can't believe it. The last time I saw it, it was full of double-aught buckshot holes."

"Okay. That means you can take the radio with you. Colin'll need communication, but not a communicator, right, butler?"

Leverette replied with a thumbs-up gesture.

"I don't see any need for you to drive all the way out there and then back, do you, Bob?"

Howell shook his head.

"Ordonez is going to chopper us to the international bridge at-what's the name of that place, Alfredo?"

"Gualeguaychu," Munz furnished, making it sound like Wally-wha-chew.

"Where someone-one of us-will meet us and drive us into Buenos Aires."

"Not to the safe house?"

"I'm going to the Four Seasons, where I will entertain Comandante Duffy at breakfast. But on the way to…wherever the international bridge is."

"Gualeguaychu," Munz repeated.

"How do you spell it?"

Munz spelled Gualeguaychu.

"No wonder I can't pronounce it," Castillo said. "On the way to Wally-wha-chew I'm going to suggest to Ordonez that he go home by way of the estancia. A couple of words from him to the local cops who are sitting on the place will make Colin's job easier and get them accustomed to helicopters dropping in unannounced."

Yung nodded.

"You seem to be in pretty good spirits, Charley."

"Compared to this morning, you mean?"

Yung nodded.

"This morning, after meeting with the Evil Leprechaun, I thought this operation had no chance at all of succeeding. Now I think the odds are one in, say, eight or ten that we can carry it off. That's a hell of an improvement, wouldn't you say?"