The shooters

XI

[ONE]

Presidente de la Rua Suite

The Four Seasons Hotel

Cerrito 1433

Buenos Aires, Argentina 0700 10 September 2005 "Fuck it," Castillo said, more or less to himself. "We can either carry this off or we can't. And I don't think the Evil Leprechaun would be dazzled by uniforms. Yours or mine or both of ours. So it's civvies, Pegleg. Go change back."

Wrapped in a plush, ankle-length, terry-cloth robe with the Four Seasons logo embroidered on the chest, Castillo was in the large sitting room, standing by the plateglass windows that offered a view of the Retiro railway station and, at a distance, the River Plate.

First Lieutenant Eddie Lorimer, wearing a Class A uniform complete to green beret and ribbon decorations-and there was an impressive display of ribbons-stood between Castillo and the others in the room, the latter seated on couches and chairs and at the dining table.

Edgar Delchamps, reclined in one of the armchairs with his legs stretched straight before him, cleared his throat.

"For what it's worth, Ace," he began, "I agree with you. But that leaves unanswered the question of how do we dazzle the bastard?"

"Looking at the beautiful Mrs. Sieno just now, I realized how," Castillo said, and gestured at Susanna Sieno, who was sitting at the dining table. Her husband was on one of the couches, seated beside Tony Santini.

"Why do I think I'm not going to like this?" Susanna Sieno asked.

"Females are masters of deception," Castillo said. "They're born with the ability, which is why they run the world."

Mrs. Sieno gave Lieutenant Colonel Castillo an unladylike gesture, extending her center finger from her balled fist in an upward motion.

Castillo gestured dramatically toward her.

"Exactly! Right there the lady proves my point. Complete control. And how do they do that? They wing it, that's how. And that's what we're going to do."

When there was no response, save for several raised eyebrows, Castillo went on: "Think about it, lady and gentlemen. What we have in here are spooks, cops, soldiers, and, of course, a Marine."

He smiled at Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC, who was sitting at a small desk on which sat an AFC Corporation communications console. Bradley wore a dark gray Brooks Brothers suit-one of two identical garments, the first suits he had ever owned. Dick Miller told Castillo that he had taken Lester to Brooks Brothers in Washington as a morale booster after the Secret Service agents at the house kept treating him like an errand boy. Max, lying at Bradley's feet, had one paw on his highly polished black leather loafers. Due to the peso exchange rate, Bradley had acquired them for next to nothing-"Thirty bucks U.S.," he'd told Castillo, "for what would've run me more than a hundred back home-at one of the luxury leather-goods stores in downtown Buenos Aires.

"None of us are actors," Castillo went on in explanation. "And even if we were, we don't have time before Comandante Duffy shows up to write a script and memorize our lines. And even if we did that, sure as God made little apples we'd either forget them or blow them trying to deliver them. And it would look rehearsed. So…we'll wing it."

There was some nodding of understanding around the room.

"What we should do, I think," Castillo then said, "is make sure we're all on the same page, so herewith a recap: We've got the helicopters as far as Estancia Shangri-La, presuming of course there's no tropical storm off Montevideo to keep them from flying, and the Navy doesn't push them over the side or sail too far from the coast to cover their buttocks.

"One of the reasons Ordonez came through for us on that is because Duffy lied to him. I don't know about what, but he lied to Ordonez and that pissed Ordonez off. Right, Alfredo?"

El Coronel Alfredo Munz, who was sitting in the armchair facing Delchamps with his legs also stretched out, nodded.

Castillo continued: "We should keep Duffy's lying in mind. Then the question of what to do with the choppers-how to get them near Asuncion, how to refuel them en route, etcetera-comes up. We need Duffy to do all those things for us plus, of course, reassure any authorities who might spot the choppers that Argentina is not being invaded by the gringos.

"Then we get to the snatch-and-grab itself. We need Duffy not only to help but to do it our way. I want this op to go down as quietly as possible, which means I'm going to have to dissuade him from leaving bodies all over the place. I'll figure out how to do that later. Right now, getting him under control is the thing." He paused. "I can't think of anything else. Anyone…?"

He looked around the room to see if someone had a better idea. No one did.

"Okay, then," Castillo said. "Edgar, how about you sitting out the confrontation in my bedroom? What I'm thinking is that if we've done something stupid and are about to blow it, you can come in. That would surprise Duffy, take his mind off what we did wrong. And if you pick up on how we screwed up, you'll probably have a fix."

Delchamps nodded his agreement.

"Okay, Eddie and I will go change clothes. While we're gone, Alfredo, will you check on the Aero Commander? We may not need it if we screw this up, but if we don't, the sooner we get to Bariloche the better."

"It'll be waiting for us at Jorge Newbery, Karl," Munz said. "The owner owes me several large favors."

"Susanna, if you realize we're screwing up, you might consider flashing some thigh at him."

Susanna smiled, shook her head, and gave him the finger again.

The door chime bonged discreetly fifteen minutes later.

Castillo, now wearing a business suit and sitting on the couch as he sipped at a cup of coffee, signaled first with his right index finger for Eddie Lorimer to open the door and then, his eyebrows raised, signaled to all by holding up his right hand with the index and middle fingers crossed.

Everyone in the large sitting room took his meaning: Hope like hell we get away with this!

Lorimer pulled the door open. Comandante Liam Duffy of the Gendarmeria Nacional, in civilian clothing, looked somewhat disapprovingly at Lorimer and then at the others in the room.

Tony Santini and Manuel D'Elia were sitting at the dining table, on which a room service waiter was arranging tableware around chrome-dome-covered plates. Alfredo Munz was standing at the plateglass windows, drinking a cup of coffee.

"Well, good morning, Comandante," Castillo called cheerfully. "You're just in time for breakfast."

He pointed at the dining table.

Duffy, who did not look at all pleased with what he saw, ignored Castillo, eyed Max warily, looked curiously at the others, then crossed the room to Munz.

"So, Alfredo," Duffy said stiffly, and went through the hug-and-kiss rite.

Munz did not respond with anything close to warmth.

"Liam," he said simply.

"So what's going on, Alfredo? Who are these people?"

"Right now, Comandante," Castillo replied for him, "you don't have to know that."

"I thought you understood that if we are to work together, I am to know everything," Duffy said.

Castillo didn't immediately reply. Instead-with a grunt-he pushed himself off the couch and walked to the dining table. He sat down and waved for Duffy to take a seat.

"I've had my breakfast," Duffy said curtly.

"Well, have a little more," Castillo said. "As my much-loved abuela is always saying, 'Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. It gives you the strength to attack the day's problems.'"

"I asked who these people are," Duffy said.

"Maybe we can get to that a little later," Castillo said.

"I want to know who they are and what they're doing here," Duffy said, his voice rising.

"Or?" Castillo asked, quietly.

"Or what?" Duffy responded.

"I didn't detect some sort of a threat in that request, did I? I really don't like to be threatened."

"What's going on here, Colonel?"

"Well, everybody but you is having their breakfast."

"You remember our conversation yesterday morning, I presume?"

"Yes, of course. Actually, I've given it a lot of thought."

"The twenty-four hours I gave you to leave the country unless your superiors authorize you to place yourself under my orders is about over, Colonel. And I am not amused by this…this whatever it is."

"Oh, come on, Duffy," Castillo said. "You didn't really think that little act of yours was going to work, did you?" He looked up at Duffy. "You're sure you don't want to sit down and have some of these scrambled eggs? They put little chopped up pieces of ham in them. Delicious!"

"Coronel Munz, you had best advise your Yankee friend that I'm serious!"

"So is Colonel Castillo serious, Comandante," Munz said.

"Actually, Duffy, I'm more of a Texican than a Yankee," Castillo said. "Wouldn't you agree, Manuel?"

"I would say that's so, Colonel," D'Elia said.

Duffy glared at D'Elia, as if trying to identify his accent, and then looked at Castillo.

"On the telephone you said that you had contacted your superiors and-"

"What I actually said," Castillo interrupted, "was 'I've been in touch with Washington.' And then I suggested we have breakfast. And you agreed. But then you come and say you've already had yours."

"All right, enough," Duffy said. "I am a man of my word, Colonel. I will not have you arrested if you leave the country by midnight tonight."

He walked to the door.

"At midnight tonight, I'll be somewhere in Patagonia," Castillo said. "When I know in which hotel…"

"The Llao Llao, Colonel," Munz furnished. "Confirmation came when you were in the bathroom."

"What an odd name," Castillo said. "The hotel Llao Llao, then, in San Carlos de Bariloche. I don't think we have our room numbers yet, but I'm sure the management will be able to tell you where we are when your people come to arrest us."

Duffy turned and looked at him in disbelief and anger.

"Duffy, you're not going to have me or anyone else arrested, and we both know that," Castillo said unpleasantly.

"I'm not?" Duffy flared. "You are under arrest for possession and use of an unauthorized radio transmitter."

"You don't give up, do you?" Castillo said. "Tell him about the radio, Tony."

"Just to make sure, Comandante," Santini said, "I checked with the communications ministry. They tell me that a radio telephone such as that is perfectly legal."

"We'll see about that at the police station," Duffy said. "You may also consider yourself under arrest, senor."

Santini forced back a grin.

"There's a small problem with that, Comandante," Santini said, straight-faced. "I've got one of these things." He waved a small plastic carnet. "I'm an assistant legal attache at the U.S. embassy. You have no authority to arrest me."

When Duffy didn't reply, Santini went on: "I also called the foreign ministry and told them that we were registering Nuestra Pequena Casa at the Mayerling Country Club in Pilar as the official residence of el Senor la Senora Sieno, which of course-as they also enjoy diplomatic status-gives the house and grounds diplomatic status and makes it inviolate to search."

Duffy looked at Castillo.

"You sonofabitch!" Duffy said.

"I'll tell you this one time, Duffy," Castillo replied coldly. "You can call me just about anything you want but a sonofabitch. If you ever call me a sonofabitch again, I'll break both of your arms."

Duffy shook his head in disbelief.

"Alfredo, this man is crazy," he said. "He has threatened violence-before witnesses; you, if no one else-against a comandante of the Gendarmeria Nacional."

"I didn't hear any threats, Liam," Munz said. "But if you ever hear one, pay attention. The colonel doesn't make them idly."

"Duffy," Castillo announced, then realized that all of Duffy's attention-confused or outraged or both-was focused on Munz.

"Duffy," he repeated more forcefully.

Duffy finally looked at him.

"Are you going to continue with this nonsense," Castillo went on, "or shall we start all over again?"

After a very long moment, Duffy asked, "What do you mean, 'start all over again'?"

"Well, I say, 'Good morning, Comandante. You're just in time for breakfast.' And then you say, 'How nice. I'm starved.' And then you come and shake my hand and sit down. And we have our breakfast, and we start talking about how we can help each other. You want to try that, Duffy, or do you want to cut your nose off to spite your face?"

They stared at each other for a long moment.

"Good morning, Comandante," Castillo said. "You're just in time for breakfast."

"I will listen to what you have to say," Duffy said finally.

"Well, that's not exactly what I hoped to hear you say," Castillo said, "but it's a start, and I'm willing to bend a little."

He waved Duffy into a chair and offered him a plate of scrambled eggs and ham. When Duffy shook his head, Castillo passed the plate to D'Elia.

Then Castillo put several spoonfuls of the egg and ham onto another plate. There was a basket of hard-crusted baguettes. Castillo took one, broke off a piece of the bread, then forked egg onto that. He generously applied salt and pepper, shook several drops of Tabasco on it, then popped the open-faced sandwich into his mouth and chewed appreciatively.

"Por favor, mi coronel?" D'Elia asked as he motioned with his hand for the bottle of hot sauce.

Castillo passed the Tabasco to him.

D'Elia then made a little sandwich much like Castillo's. Except that D'Elia was far more liberal with the application of Tabasco. When he had it in his mouth, his face showed his satisfaction with his efforts. He handed the Tabasco back to Castillo as Castillo finished constructing another little egg sandwich. When he had that one in his mouth, he passed the Tabasco to Duffy, who had been watching impatiently, but who took the bottle as a reflex action.

"I'd be careful with that," Castillo said. "They make it in Louisiana, and some men find it a little too spicy."

Duffy rose to the challenge. After he made himself a chopped ham and scrambled egg open-faced sandwich, he began to liberally polka-dot it with Tabasco.

"Be careful," Munz warned.

Duffy popped the little sandwich in his mouth. He chewed and smiled…but then his lips contorted and his face broke out in a sweat.

"La puta madre!" he exclaimed, spitting out the sandwich into a napkin.

"I told you to be careful, and so did Alfredo," Castillo said, smiling and shaking his head sympathetically.

Duffy ignored that.

"What is it you wish to say, Colonel?" he said impatiently after taking a sip of water. "You said we should 'start talking about how we can help each other.'"

As Castillo began making himself another sandwich, he said, "Pegleg, why don't you tell Comandante Duffy what you told us about where you think these people are holding Special Agent Timmons? And the problems of extracting him?"

"'Pegleg'?" Duffy said without thinking.

"Show the comandante your leg, Pegleg," Castillo ordered.

"Yes, sir," Lorimer said, and hoisted his trouser leg.

"The knee is fully articulated," he said. "And it's titanium, so light I hardly know it's on there." Then, without breaking his cadence, he went on: "They're more than likely holding Timmons at a remote farm, most likely in Paraguay, but possibly in Argentina. Another possibility is that he's being held on a watercraft of some sort on the Rio Paraguay. Wherever it is-"

"Then you don't know where he's being held, I gather?" Duffy interrupted sarcastically.

"Not yet," Castillo answered for Lorimer. "Let him finish, Comandante."

"Wherever Timmons is being held, it will be difficult to approach without being detected. The moment they suspect that there will be visitors, they will take Timmons into the bush or put him in a small boat and hide it along the shore of the river. A variation of this scenario-a likely one because of their changed modus operandi-is that they've got Timmons at a plant where they refine the paste into cocaine hydrochloride. That sort of place would also be difficult to approach without detection-"

"Difficult? Impossible!" Duffy snorted.

"-as it will almost certainly be approachable over only one road. In this latter scenario, furthermore, there would probably be additional, better-armed and more-skilled guards, better communication, and a generator, or generators, to provide the electricity necessary for the refining operation in case the local power grid goes down. The availability of electricity would probably allow them to have motion-sensing and other intrusion-detecting devices."

"May I ask a question, Colonel?" Duffy said.

Castillo gestured that he could.

Duffy looked at Lorimer and said, "Where did you acquire this information, senor…? I didn't get your name."

"I didn't give it," Lorimer said. He looked at Castillo, and when Castillo just perceptibly nodded, Lorimer went on, "Special Agent Timmons and I were close in Asuncion. We talked."

"I was not aware that you were friends," Duffy said. "So were we."

"If that's so," Castillo put in, "then perhaps you might consider devoting more of your effort to the problem of getting Timmons and your two men back, instead of planning for the massacre of those who took them."

Duffy gave him a dirty look but didn't respond directly.

"How would you deal with the problems you see?" he asked Lorimer. "Starting with locating precisely where Timmons and my men are, presuming they're together?"

Castillo answered for him: "We're working on that as we speak."

"I'll let that pass for the moment," Duffy said to Castillo, then turned back to Lorimer. "How would you go about rescuing Timmons and my men?"

Lorimer looked to Castillo again for permission. Castillo nodded, and Lorimer replied, "A simple helicopter assault operation."

"Like the one staged at Estancia Shangri-La?" Duffy said, more than a little sarcastically.

"Not quite," Castillo said. "Shangri-La was supposed to be a passenger pickup, not an assault. We were really surprised when those people shot at us. We'll go into this one expecting resistance. And act accordingly."

"How many helicopters do you think you can borrow from Pevsner, Colonel? How many does he have? Enough for even a 'simple helicopter assault operation'?"

"Excuse me?"

"Isn't that why you're going to Bariloche?" Duffy asked, almost triumphantly. "To borrow a helicopter again from that Russian criminal Aleksandr Pevsner?"

"No, that's not why I'm going to Bariloche, not that that is any of your business. The helicopters involved in this operation will begin to arrive somewhere around midnight on the eighteenth of September. In one week, plus one day, plus however many hours between now and midnight. This is tentative; I haven't had much time to plan. And, frankly, I need your help with the planning."

Castillo noticed that that got Duffy's attention.

"Between now and then-this is where you come in, Comandante-we are going to have to set up refueling stations for the helos, a landing field between where I plan to initially land the aircraft-which is on the playing fields of the Polo Association in Pilar-and then somewhere near Asuncion. The landing field will need to be big enough for a JP-4 fuel cache for each helo every three hundred kilometers. And be an isolated field, of course. And we need a base of operations in Argentina, also isolated, where we can conceal the helicopters from anyone flying over, and from which we can operate into Paraguay."

Duffy considered all of this a moment.

"How many helicopters will you have?"

"Four, at least."

"And you think you'll be able to fly four U.S. Army helicopters across a thousand-fifteen hundred-kilometers of Argentina and get away with it? Undetected?"

"U.S. Army helicopters? No. But I don't think one or two Argentine Army helicopters flying anywhere-across the pampas or up the Rio de la Plata or the Rio Paraguay-are going to attract attention from anybody."

"Your helicopters will be painted like ours," Duffy replied, "is that what you're saying?"

Castillo nodded, and thought, Now I really have his attention.

I just have to sink the hook.

"Except maybe other Argentine Army helicopters?" Duffy pursued. "Their pilots might say, 'I wonder who that is?'"

"Mine will be flying nap of the earth, very low-"

"I know what nap of the earth means," Duffy protested.

"-and will have radar on board, which will permit my pilots to take evasive action should they detect any other aircraft in the vicinity."

"Like a sudden turn of course which will take them right over an airfield, or a city?"

"They're equipped with satellite navigation systems to keep that from happening," Castillo said. "And the pilots do this sort of thing for a living."

"You seem very sure of yourself, Colonel."

"This is what I do for a living, Comandante," Castillo said evenly. "Now, would you like to hear our very preliminary plans for the actual assault? I really need your input on this."

Duffy nodded without hesitation.

Got him!

Castillo glanced at Munz, who nodded just perceptibly. Castillo then motioned at D'Elia.

"This is Captain D'Elia, Comandante," Castillo said. "He will be in charge of the actual assault."

Duffy offered his hand.

"Mucho gusto, mi comandante," D'Elia said, then glanced at Castillo. "With your permission, mi coronel?"

"Go ahead," Castillo said.

"Generally speaking," D'Elia began, "as I understand we not only intend to rescue our men but plan to take prisoners-and if we determine our people are being held at a refinery, or transfer point, to either seize or destroy both the drugs and the plant itself-"

"You are an Argentine, Capitan?" Duffy interrupted.

"No. But thank you, mi comandante, for your error. I have worked hard on the Porteno accent."

"Well, you could have fooled me," Duffy said.

We all fooled you, Duffy, Castillo thought.

And thank God for that!

I don't know what the hell I would have done if you had stormed out of here in a rage right after you came in.

"If I may continue?" D'Elia asked politely, then went on: "If we are to take prisoners and seize drugs, etcetera, the fact that Lieutenant Lorimer has told us these places are accessible only by one road works in our favor."

Duffy's face was expressionless.

"If there's only one way in," D'Elia explained, "there's only one way out."

Duffy nodded knowingly.

"That's where your men will come in, Comandante," D'Elia continued. "At the moment the assault begins-we call that 'boots on the ground'-the road will have to be cut. Not a moment before, which would alert them, nor a moment after, as it has been my experience that an amazing number of rats can get through even a very small hole in a very short period of time when they are frightened. And we intend to do our very best to badly frighten them."

Duffy again nodded his understanding.

Castillo looked at Munz, who very discreetly gave him a thumbs-up signal.

Castillo smiled at him, but thought, Why am I waiting for the other shoe to drop?

[TWO]

Above San Carlos de Bariloche

Rio Negro Province, Argentina 1755 10 September 2005 "There it is," Alfredo Munz said, pointing.

Castillo, in the pilot seat of the Aero Commander 680, looked where Munz was pointing out the copilot side window, then banked the high-winged airplane to the right so that he could get a better view below.

Darkness was rising, but there was still enough light to see a red-tile-roofed collection of buildings-the Llao Llao Resort Hotel-sitting on a mountainside sticking into and several hundred feet above the startling blue waters of a lake.

Lakes, Castillo corrected himself. Lake Moreno and Lake Nahuel Huapi.

Well, it looks like we cheated death again. The airport is only twenty-six clicks from here.

And I'm only half kidding.

He straightened the wings, then put his hand, palm upward, over his shoulder.

"Let me have the magic black box, navigator," he said.

Corporal Lester Bradley very carefully laid a small laptop computer in his hand, and Castillo very carefully lowered it into his lap.

He was navigating using a prototype AFC Global Positioning System device connected to the laptop. Aloysius Francis Casey himself had warned him that it was a prototype, its database incomplete, and he really shouldn't rely on it.

"It'll take me three, four days to come up with a good data chip for Argentina and that part of the world, Charley," Casey had told him in Las Vegas. "You got somebody down there I can FedEx it to?"

Since Aloysius Francis Casey was a man of his word, presumably the data chip was on its way-or shortly would be-to Mr. Anthony Santini, Assistant Legal Attache, Embassy of the United States of America, Colombia 4300, Buenos Aires, Argentina.

But the bottom line was that it hadn't arrived.

Still, what Castillo had-the prototype-looked a helluva lot better to him than the navigation system he'd found in the cockpit of the Aero Commander when they'd gone to Jorge Newbery.

There had been a bigger problem than aged avionics when they first went to get the airplane at Jorge Newbery. The Commander's owner had presumed that when Munz had told him he needed to borrow the aircraft, Munz had meant using the owner's pilot, and he had shown up with his pilot in tow.

Ordinarily, Castillo was a devout believer in the aviator's adage "There are old pilots and there are bold pilots, but there are very few old, bold pilots." And, accordingly, he really would have preferred a pilot experienced in (a) flying "his" own Aero Commander and (b) flying it around Argentina. Particularly since Castillo himself had not flown an Aero Commander for a long time.

But the unspoken problem was that after Bariloche, Castillo planned on going on to Asuncion…and intended en route to take the opportunity to make what the U.S. Army called a low-level visual reconnaissance of the area.

For some wild reason, Castillo believed that (a) the owner would not be too fond of such an activity and (b) even if the owner gave his blessing, the pilot would not be experienced in such low-level visual reconnaissance techniques.

After considerable discussion, the Aero Commander's owner had apparently decided that the "several large favors" he owed to el Coronel Munz outweighed his enormous reluctance to turn over his airplane to some gringo friend of Munz, even if that gringo sounded almost like a Porteno.

The owner's agreement had come with a caveat: that the owner's pilot take the gringo friend for "a couple of touch-and-goes," what was tactfully explained as being helpful "to familiarize one with the aircraft."

And what that familiarization flight had done was convince Castillo that while the airplane was obviously scrupulously maintained, most of its navigation equipment had been in its control panel when the aircraft was first delivered-some forty-odd years earlier. Clearly, none of it was going to be as reliable as what Aloysius Francis Casey had given Castillo in the form of a prototype laptop computer and was worried about his using.

All of this had taken time, of course, and it was quarter to one before Castillo finally managed to get Colonel Munz, Lieutenant Lorimer, Sergeant Mullroney, Corporal Bradley, and Max aboard and could take off on what he announced to the Jorge Newbery tower as "a local area flight, visual flight rules, destination private field near Pilar."

As Castillo retracted the landing gear, he suddenly remembered that another U.S. Army lieutenant colonel-the most decorated soldier of World War II, Audie Murphy, who later became a movie star-had been flying in an identical Aero Commander in 1971 when its wing came off in a thunderstorm over Roanoke, Virginia. Murphy, also a skilled aviator, crashed to his death.

"Right on the money, Alfredo," Castillo said, pointing to the GPS satellite map on the laptop screen. "The airport's twenty-odd clicks thataway."

"Pevsner's place is on the other side of the lake-Moreno," Munz replied, and pointed again. "I don't see how we can get over there tonight. It'll be dark by the time we get to the hotel."

"You'll think of something, Alfredo. You always do."

Then he reached for the radio microphone to call the Bariloche tower.

[THREE]

The Llao Llao Resort Hotel

San Carlos de Bariloche

Rio Negro Province, Argentina 1955 10 September 2005 The general manager of the Llao Llao was about as unenthusiastic with the notion of providing accommodations to Max as the owner of the Aero Commander had been about turning his airplane over to a rich gringo. But as Castillo, holding Max's leash in one hand and his briefcase in his other, watched Munz discussing this with him, he knew that Munz was going to prevail.

And at the precise moment Castillo reached this conclusion, the problem of how to meet Aleksandr Pevsner at his home across the lake now that it was dark-really dark; there was no moon-solved itself.

"Mama!" a young female voice said enthusiastically in Russian. "Look at that dog!"

"Stay away from him!" a mother's voice warned.

Castillo turned.

Twenty or thirty feet down the wide, high-ceilinged, thickly carpeted lobby, there stood a tall, dark-haired, well-dressed man in his late thirties. With him was a striking blond woman-"Mama"-and a girl of thirteen or fourteen whose own blond hair hung down her back nearly to her waist-My God, Elena's about as old as Randy!-and two boys, one about age six, and the other maybe ten.

Behind them stood two burly men. One of them Castillo knew, but only by his first name, Janos. He was Pevsner's primary bodyguard. And Janos knew him, even if there was no sign of recognition on his face. Proof of that came when the other burly man put his hand under his suit jacket-and got a sharp elbow in the abdomen followed by the slashing motion of Janos's hand.

"It's all right, Anna," Castillo said to the mother in Russian. "Max only eats the fathers of pretty girls named Elena."

Simultaneously, Janos and Aleksandr Pevsner said, "It's all right."

Pevsner looked at Castillo and added: "I thought I saw you-I even asked Janos-but we decided, 'No. What would my friends Charley and Alfredo be doing in Patagonia with a dog the size of a horse?'"

"Can I pet him?" Elena asked. "Does he speak Russian?"

"He speaks dog, Elena," Castillo said, "but he understands Russian."

She giggled and went to Max, who sat down and offered his paw. She scratched his ears, and when he licked her face, she put her arms around his neck.

"So what are my friends Charley and Alfredo doing in Patagonia with a dog the size of a horse?" Pevsner asked.

"Would you believe we came to see the fossilized dinosaur bones?" Castillo said.

"Knowing that you never lie to me, I would have to."

"How about we heard you would be here and decided to buy you dinner?"

"It would be a strain, but I would have to believe that, too."

"We need to talk, Alek," Castillo said.

"That I believe. That's what I was afraid of," Pevsner said. "All right, tomorrow morning. I'll send the boat for you at, say, half past nine?"

"How about tonight?" Castillo said. "I'm really pressed for time."

Pevsner obviously didn't like that, but after a moment, he said, "We came for dinner. We could talk about what you want to talk about after dinner, if you like."

"That would be fine," Castillo said. "Thank you. And you'll be my guests at dinner, of course."

"That's not what I meant, as I suspect you know full well, friend Charley. But faced with the choice between the long face of Elena over dinner-having been separated from her newfound friend-or breaking bread with you, I opt for the less painful of the two."

"Alek!" his wife protested.

"It's all right, Anna," Castillo said. "What are friends for if not to insult?"

"I'm afraid that after dinner I will learn what you really think friends are for," Pevsner said. "Shall we go in?" He gestured toward the dining room. "Elena, the dog goes with the understanding he does not get fed from the table, understood?"

"Yes, Poppa."

"I don't think they'll let him in there, Alek," Castillo said. "This isn't Budapest."

"Yes, I know," Pevsner said. "In Patagonia, you have to have a substantial financial interest in the hotel if you want to bring a dog into the dining room."

Castillo smiled and shook his head.

The maitre d'hotel appeared, clutching menus to his chest.

"These gentlemen," Pevsner ordered, indicating Castillo and Munz, "will be dining with us. Their friends"-he pointed to Lorimer, Mullroney, and Bradley-"will dine with mine."

His Spanish was good, even fluent, but heavily Russian-accented.

"Bradley," Castillo ordered, "go to your room and see if I have any telephone calls. If it's important, tell me. Otherwise, just come down here and have your dinner."

"Aye, aye, sir," Bradley said.

A waiter arrived with a tray of champagne glasses almost as soon as the headwaiter had laid their menus before them. Two of the glasses held a bubbling brown liquid that Castillo decided was Coca-Cola for Sergei and Aleksandr. He was surprised when Elena was offered and accepted one of the champagne stems.

I don't need champagne if I'm going to be flying. I'll just take a sip when we get to the inevitable toast.

That came almost immediately.

Pevsner got half out of his chair, picked up his glass, and reached out with it to touch Castillo's.

"To dear and trusted friends," Pevsner said, and then moved his glass to tap the rims of the others, including his daughter's.

When that was over, Pevsner just about emptied his glass. Elena didn't do that, but she took a healthy ladylike sip.

They let her drink? Maybe she is older than Randy.

"When were you born, honey?" Castillo asked her.

"Sixteen November 1992, by the Western calendar," Elena said.

Jesus Christ! She is almost exactly as old as Randy. Thirteen.

"And her drinking champagne shocks you?" Pevsner said.

"Do you always think the worst of people, Alek?" Castillo asked, and then he turned to Elena and his mouth went onto autopilot: "What I was thinking, honey, is that you're just about the same age as my son."

Jesus Christ!

I just said "my son" out loud for the first time.

"I didn't know you had a family, Charley," Anna said. "You never said anything."

Castillo was aware of Munz's eyes on him.

"I have a grandmother, a cousin who is more of a brother, and his family. And a son-Randy-who was also born in November of 1992. He lives with his mother and her husband."

"You don't get to see him?" Elena asked, sympathetically.

"I saw him just a few days ago," Castillo said. "I gave him flying lessons as we flew over the Gulf Coast looking at the damage Hurricane Katrina had done."

"Was it as terrible as we saw on television?" Anna asked.

"If anything, worse. Unbelievable."

"Have you got a picture?" Elena asked.

"You're interested?"

She nodded.

"In my son? Or the hurricane damage?"

She giggled and blushed.

"Both," she said.

Castillo reached under his chair and picked up his soft leather briefcase.

"What's that?" Pevsner asked.

"My American Express card. I never leave home without it."

Pevsner exhaled audibly, smiled, and shook his head.

Castillo took out the envelope of photographs that Sergeant Neidermeyer had made for him and handed it to Elena.

"Show these to your father and mother when you're finished," Castillo said.

"He's beautiful, Charley," Pevsner said some moments later. "His eyes are just like yours."

So much for the question "Does Abuela know?"

"Boys are 'handsome,' Alek," Castillo said, then glanced at Elena. "Girls are 'beautiful.'"

She smiled as she flipped to another photo.

"My boys are beautiful," Pevsner said. "And so is yours."

The waiter approached, excused his interruption, and said, "A cocktail before dinner?"

"Ginger ale for the children," Pevsner ordered. "Very dry vodka martinis, with onions, for my wife and myself. Alfredo?"

"I would like scotch," Munz said. "Single-malt Famous Grouse?"

The waiter nodded, and looked at Castillo.

"Nothing for me, thanks, I'm driving."

"Have one, friend Charley," Pevsner said. "I never trust a man who doesn't drink when I do."

"You never trust a man, period," Castillo said.

What the hell.

I'll just get off the ground in the morning a little later.

"I'll have what he's having," he said to the waiter. "Except hold the vegetables and vermouth."

[FOUR] Corporal Lester Bradley appeared at their table about the same time as the appetizers of prosciutto crudo with melon and pate de foie gras.

"Major Miller would like to speak to you, sir," Bradley announced. "He said it's really important."

I knew I shouldn't have had that martini.

"Excuse me, please," Castillo said, and stood. "I'll try to cut this as short as possible. C'mon, Max."

He signaled for Bradley to lead the way.

Castillo and Max followed him down the lobby to an elevator, which took them up to the second floor, then down a corridor almost to the end. Bradley unlocked a hotel room door, waved them ahead of him, and then followed them inside.

The control console was nowhere in sight, but Castillo saw a DirecTV dish fastened to the railing of the small balcony and remembered that there was a repeater mounted in the antenna; no cable was required.

Bradley took the control console from the shelf of a small closet and put it on a small table barely large enough to hold it.

For a five-star hotel, this room is pretty damn small.

He looked around the room and saw that the only furniture beside the bed and tiny table was a small chest of drawers and a small upholstered armchair. The chair was across the room from the table, with the control console now sitting on it.

"Will that work in my room without moving the antenna, Lester? This room's pretty small."

"This is your room, sir," Bradley replied. "Mine is even smaller."

A moment later, Bradley announced, "We're up, sir," and handed Castillo what looked very much like an ordinary wireless telephone handset.

"Why don't you sit, sir?" Bradley asked, nodding at the armchair.

When Castillo settled in the armchair, he learned that it was not only small but also uncomfortably close to the ground. His head was now as far off the ground as Max's, which Max interpreted to mean Castillo wanted to be kissed. Which he did.

Is this damn place designed for dwarfs?

Castillo looked at the handset. The AFC logo was discreetly molded into the plastic. He also saw that there was a thin soft black cushion on the earpiece.

Not for comfort. That's to muffle the incoming voice. Bradley won't be able to hear what Miller's saying, but needs to.

"Put it on speaker, Les," Castillo said, as he put the handset to his ear.

"Aye, aye, sir," Bradley said, and when he had pushed the appropriate button, went to the corridor wall and leaned on it.

It was either that or sit on my bed.

"Hello?" Castillo said into the handset.

"Where the hell have you been, Charley?" Major Richard Miller announced. "I've been trying to raise you for two hours."

"What's up?" Castillo replied, and then hurriedly added: "Are we secure?"

"According to my indicators we are."

"Okay, so what's so important?"

"Now you've got me worried, Charley. I therefore will talk in tongues. Four of the birds managed to land where they were going without sinking it. The reason I know this…Oh, to hell with it. I think this may damned well be blown anyway."

"What may be damned well blown?"

"The reason I know they're on the carrier is because a bluesuit-a commander-showed up here to personally deliver to you an Info Copy of an Urgent from the captain to the CNO. It took me five minutes to get the bastard to give it to me."

"What did it say?"

There was a rattling at the door to the hotel room, and it suddenly swung open.

"What the hell?" Castillo said, and then, "Hold one, Dick."

Castillo saw that the manager of the hotel was holding the door open for Pevsner and Janos.

"I don't recall inviting you up here," Castillo said angrily, in Russian.

"We have to talk, friend Charley," Pevsner said, matter-of-factly, also in Russian.

"It won't wait until after dinner?"

Pevsner shook his head, thanked the manager in Spanish, then closed the door on him. He turned to Castillo and, switching back to Russian, asked, "Do you have a weapon?"

"No, but Bradley does," Castillo said, and pointed at Corporal Bradley.

Bradley held his M1911A1.45 pistol in both hands, its hammer back and the muzzle aimed at the floor at Janos's and Pesvner's feet.

He didn't understand a word of the Russian, but he saw the look on my face, and he's taking no chances.

Neither is Max. He's on his feet and inching toward Pevsner and Janos.

"That's the pistol, Janos," Castillo said, almost conversationally, "that Bradley used to take down Colonel Komogorov in the hotel garage in Pilar after Komogorov put a bullet in you."

"We mean you no harm, friend Charley!" Pevsner said.

For some reason, I don't think that tone of anguish is phony.

"Put it away, Lester," Castillo ordered in English. He switched to Hungarian-"Down, Max!"-and then to Russian. "People who come barging into my room are likely to get shot. You might want to write that down, Alek."

"We came to make sure you had a gun in order to do just that," Pevsner said. "Janos, give it him."

Janos-very carefully, using his thumb and index finger-took what looked like a Model 1911 Colt pistol from his jacket's inside pocket and handed it to Castillo.

"That's an Argentine copy of your.45," Pevsner said. "Almost identical. A Ballester Molina stolen, I'm told, from the Argentine Army ten years ago."

In almost a Pavlovian act, Castillo ejected the magazine and worked the pistol's slide. A cartridge flew through the air and landed on the bed. Castillo picked it up, put it in the magazine, then put the magazine back in the pistol and dropped the hammer.

"What the hell is going on there, Charley?" Major Richard Miller's voice demanded over the speaker circuit.

"Turn the speaker off, Lester," Castillo ordered, and picked up the handset.

Pevsner looked as if he was going to leave the room.

Oh, what the hell!

"Stay, Alek," Castillo said.

He'll be able to hear only one side of the conversation.

And he already knows I work for the President.

Castillo spoke into the handset: "Excuse the interruption, Richard. The maid wanted to turn down the bed. You were saying?"

"I was about to read the message the bluesuit didn't want to give me."

"Please do."

"Skipping the address crap at the top…'(1) Pursuant to verbal order issued by DepSecNav to undersigned in telecon 1530 6 September 2005, four US Army HU1D rotary-wing aircraft were permitted to land aboard USS Ronald Reagan at 1305 10 September 2005.

"'(2) Senior officer among them, who states he is a US Army major but declines to further identify himself with identity card or similar document, also has refused to inform the undersigned of the nature of his mission, stating it is classified Top Secret Presidential, and neither the undersigned nor RADM Jacoby, USN, the Task Force Commander, is authorized access to such information.'"

"Good for him," Castillo said.

"It gets better," Miller replied. "'(3) US Army major was denied permission by undersigned to communicate with US Army LtCol Costello of Dept of Homeland Security using a non-standard satellite radio he brought aboard. He said LtCol Costello could quote clarify unquote the situation. He refused use of Reagan's communication services, stating he could not be sure of their encryption capabilities.

"'(4) US Army major has also refused inspection of cargo aboard helicopters, again citing classification of Top Secret Presidential.'"

"And, again, good for him," Castillo said. "Who screwed up and didn't clue the Navy in on what's happening?"

"I'm not finished," Miller said. "Get this: "'(5) Helicopters and their crews are presently on flight deck in what amounts to a standoff between members of my crew and the Army personnel."

"Oh, shit!" Castillo said.

"Continuing right along," Miller replied, "'(6) Further action was not taken because the US Army personnel are obviously American and they pose no threat to USS Ronald Reagan that cannot be dealt with.

"'(7) Urgently and respectfully request clarification of this situation and existing orders. It is suggested that contacting LtCol Costello, only, might be useful.' That's why the bluesuit didn't even want to give me this."

"Jesus Christ!" Castillo said.

"And we conclude with, '(8) USS Ronald Reagan proceeding.' The signature is 'Kenton, Captain USN, Captain, USS Ronald Reagan' and below that it says, 'Rear Admiral K. G. Jacoby, USN, concurs.'"

"What did Montvale have to say?"

"That's why I called you, Charley. I can't get through to Montvale."

"What do you mean you can't get through to him?"

"Your buddy Truman Ellsworth, who answers his line, says he's not available."

"He does?" Castillo said, coldly. "Get me the White House switchboard."

He saw Pevsner's eyes light up when he heard "White House."

Miller said, "Before you charge off in righteous indignation, would you be interested in hearing my probably somewhat paranoid assessment of the situation?"

"As long as it doesn't take longer than sixty seconds."

"What happened, I submit, is that General McNab went to the secretary of Defense and told him he had to move the Hueys down there black, under the authority of the Presidential Finding. So far, so good, as the secretary of Defense knows about the Finding and that he's being told, not asked. So the secretary of Defense got on the horn to the secretary of the Navy and told him to do it." He paused. "I don't know if the secretary of the Navy knows about the Finding. Do you?"

"No."

"Okay," Miller said. "I don't think he does, but it doesn't really matter. I'm pretty sure that the deputy secretary of the Navy doesn't. Agree?"

"He probably doesn't."

"The Urgent says the bluesuit captain got his orders to land the Hueys on his ship from the deputy on the phone. I think it's very reasonable to assume the bluesuit captain asked the deputy what the hell was going on, and the deputy couldn't tell him, because he didn't know any more than he was told, which was essentially, just do it, explanation to follow."

"Okay," Castillo agreed.

"Which causes the bluesuit captain to shift into cover-my-ass mode. So he goes and tells the admiral, who is in charge of the whole carrier group. Which causes the admiral not only to be pissed, because he's the admiral, and the deputy should have called him, not the captain, but also causes him to shift into his cover-my-ass mode."

"Probably," Castillo agreed.

"So the admiral says, 'There's nothing we can really do except wait for the Army choppers to land. Whoever's in charge of them probably will explain what's going on, and based on that we can decide how to best protect our beloved Navy from the fucking Army.

"And then the birds land on the carrier, and good ol' Major Bob Ward, in the sacred traditions of the 160th, ain't gonna tell nobody nothing-or show anybody anything, not even a bluesuit with stars-without permission from the guy running the operation, one C. G. Castillo. He is willing to get this permission, providing they let him set up his nonstandard radio which-for reasons I don't know; they were in their cover-my-ass mode, which may explain it-they were unwilling to do.

"So there's the standoff and why they sent the Urgent."

"Very credible," Castillo said, "but what's it got to do with Ellsworth not letting you talk to Montvale?"

"Let me finish," Miller said. "Montvale knew you were worried about the Navy giving us trouble because Jake Torine called him, right?"

"So?"

"And Montvale is going to get Jake on the carrier to make sure there's no trouble caused by the aforementioned impetuous light colonel Castillo, right?"

"So, again?"

"So, if you were Montvale and had NSA at Fort Meade in your pocket, and wanted to stay on top of the situation, wouldn't you task NSA to look for-'search filter: Army choppers on Navy ships, any reference'-and immediately give him any and all intercepts? Of course you would. And I'll bet that sonofabitch had the Urgent before I did."

"Where are you going with this, Dick?" Castillo asked.

I think I know, he thought, but I'd like confirmation.

"Montvale doesn't give a damn whether or not you get Timmons back, Charley. We both heard him say as much. He wants to protect the President, I'll give him that much, and he thinks your operation is going to blow up in everybody's face, including the President's. And Truman Ellsworth, for sure, and probably Montvale, would love to see you fuck up and embarrass the President, which would happen if you can't run the snatch-and-grab successfully. Which you can't without the choppers. That's why he was so helpful in arranging to get Jake onto the Gipper. Montvale, not you, would have sent him. That means Jake works for Montvale, which cuts you out of the picture.

"Then, and you know the sonofabitch is good at this, he whispers in the admiral's ear that no serious harm would be done if something happened to keep him from launching the choppers, and an embarrassing-to-the-Navy situation might well be avoided."

"Sonofabitch!"

"And he knows you're out of touch. And he knows, that being the case, when I got the Urgent, I would try to call him. So he tells Ellsworth that he's not available to me. I think he's betting that I wouldn't call the President. And if I did, so what? All that would mean was that the Lunatic's Chief of Staff is as loony as he is. And if the President asked him what the hell's going on, Montvale could pull the rug out from under you-for this operation and generally."

"Yeah, except the lunatic found out and is perfectly willing to get on the horn to the President."

"Permission to speak, sir?" Miller said.

Castillo sensed that Miller was not being clever. He had used the phrase a subordinate officer uses when his superior officer is about to do something the subordinate thinks is wrong.

"Granted."

"Sir, how often do you think Admiral Jacoby gets phone calls from the White House switchboard?"

It was a moment before Castillo answered.

"Where's Torine now?" he asked.

"Forty minutes ago, he was about to land at MacDill."

"As soon as we get off here, contact him, bring him up to speed on what's happened. Tell him Montvale is not to know we're onto him, and to call me once he's on the Gipper."

"Okay, but what's happened? I must have missed something."

"Stay on the line while I brighten Admiral Jacoby's dull daily routine with a call from the White House."

"White House," the pleasant professional female voice answered. "What can I do for you, Colonel Castillo?"

"I need Rear Admiral K. G. Jacoby on a secure line. He's aboard the USS Ronald Reagan, which is somewhere between Norfolk and Key West."

There was a moment's pause, then the operator replied: "The difficult we do immediately, sir; the impossible takes a little longer. I'll have to go through the Navy. That'll take a little time. Can I call you when it's set up?"

"Can I stay on the line?"

"Certainly."

"Navy."

"White House. We need a secure encrypted voice connection to the USS Ronald Reagan. It's in the Atlantic some-"

"We know where she is, thank you very much, White House."

"Reagan."

"Navy. Establish secure encrypted voice connection."

"Hold one, Navy."

"Navy, Reagan. This connection is encrypted Class Two."

"Reagan. The White House is calling. Request upgraded encryption."

"Hold one, Navy."

"Navy, Reagan. This connection is now encrypted Class One."

"White House, Navy. You read?"

"Reagan, this is the White House. We're calling Rear Admiral K. G. Jacoby."

"White House, Reagan. Ma'am, the admiral is in his cabin. He has only Class Two encryption on that line. It will take a minute to get him to the secure voice communication room."

"We'll wait. Thank you."

"Radio, voice commo room."

"Go."

"We have Admiral Jacoby. Encryption status Class One."

"White House, Navy. You read?"

"Admiral Jacoby?"

"Speaking."

"This is the White House. Please hold for Colonel Castillo. Go ahead, Colonel."

"We have verified Class One encryption?"

"Yes, sir, we do."

"Good evening, Admiral. My name is Castillo."

"Yes, sir?"

"Sir, I'm a lowly lieutenant colonel."

"What's this all about, Colonel?"

"Sir, I am in receipt of your Urgent referring to the Army helicopters you now have aboard. Your message referred to me as 'Costello.'"

"Sorry about that."

"Sir, getting my name wrong apparently is not the only communications problem we are having."

"Is that so?"

"Sir, it was intended by the secretary of Defense that you or Captain Kenton receive your orders regarding the helicopters from the secretary of the Navy. According to your Urgent, Captain Kenton spoke with the deputy secretary."

"That is correct, Colonel. Frankly, I wondered why the deputy secretary didn't call me."

"Sir, I had nothing to do with that call. But I am calling to do what I can to straighten out the mess. Let me begin by saying the helicopters are involved in an operation classified Top Secret Presidential."

"I've heard nothing of the kind, Colonel."

"Yes, sir. I understand. But that being the case, it is the reason the Army officer in charge was unable to explain what he's doing or permit inspection of his helicopters. Unless I'm mistaken, there is no one aboard the Reagan with that security clearance."

"Excuse me, Colonel, is there some way I can verify what you're telling me? This is highly unusual."

"Yes, sir, it is. May I suggest, sir, that you contact the secretary of Defense? Or, alternatively, wait until Colonel Jacob Torine, USAF, arrives on the Reagan."

"What did you say?"

"The director of National Intelligence, Ambassador Montvale, as we speak, is arranging for Colonel Torine, who is my deputy, to be put aboard the Reagan-"

"Your deputy? You gave me to believe you are a lieutenant colonel."

"I am, sir. And Colonel Torine is my deputy. We have both been detached from our respective services, sir, for this duty, and normal military protocol does not apply."

"I will be damned!"

"I admit it often causes some confusion, sir. But as I was saying, sir, Colonel Torine will arrive on the Reagan probably within a matter of hours, and he'll tell you what he can about what is being required of you. In the meantime, sir, I would be grateful if you could do several things."

"Such as?"

"Sir, please permit the major to establish communication with us using the equipment he has with him. That is so much simpler for us than going through the White House switchboard."

"Well, I can't see any reason why that can't be done."

"And, Admiral, the sooner you have the helicopters moved to the hangar deck and the paint stripping started, the better."

"I don't know anything about any paint stripping, Colonel. What's that all-"

"Colonel Torine will explain what has to be done, sir, when he comes aboard." He paused, crossed his fingers, and went on: "Sir, with respect, I suspect you're having trouble accepting all this. May I ask, sir, that you immediately communicate with the secretary of Defense to get his assurance?"

There was a moment's silence, and then Admiral Jacoby said, "I think we can hold off, Colonel, until your deputy comes aboard. But in the meantime, I'll have the aircraft moved to the hangar deck and the paint stripping started."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Break it down, White House."

Admiral Jacoby just had time to say "shit" before a hissing announced the connection was gone.

"How'd I do, Dick?"

"I think you ruined the admiral's day."

"He was about to ruin mine. You know what to tell Jake, right?"

"He just took off from MacDill. That's next."

"Thanks a hell of a lot, Dick," Castillo said, then signaled to Lester to break the connection.

Castillo looked at Pevsner.

"Now that that's done, you want to tell me about the pistol?" Castillo said.

"People are trying to kill you, friend Charley."

"You mean right here and now? Or can we go finish our dinner?"

"We will talk after dinner," Pevsner said.

Castillo picked up the Argentine.45, slipped it into the waistband at the small of his back, and gestured for Pevsner to precede him out of the room.