“Good afternoon, sir,” Castillo said.
“Good to see you again, Charley,” the ambassador said, rising from his chair to offer his hand. “Do I detect curiosity on your face? Perhaps because of my attire?”
“If I may say so, sir, you’re not your usual natty self.”
“I’m glad you asked,” Silvio said, as he sat down. “When Alex said you wanted to see me and here, rather than at the embassy, the problem then arose, ‘How was I going to get out here without having my SIDE escort wonder what I was doing at Our Little House?’”
“So you ditched the SIDE escort?” Castillo said, smiling.
“In a manner worthy of James Bond,” Silvio said. “I left the embassy, went to the residence, changed clothes, and went jogging. I led three SIDE stalwarts on a merry chase through the park until they were puffing with the exertion. Then I speeded up the pace until they were far behind. And then I just happened to see a car driven by one of Alex’s men, who stopped and offered me a ride.”
“Just happened to see it, huh? What they call a fortuitous happenstance?”
Silvio nodded. “I’ve always wanted to be the subject of an all-points bulletin,” Silvio said. “I can just see my good friend the foreign minister somewhat incredulously asking, ‘You’re telling me you lost the American ambassador?’”
Castillo chuckled, then said, “Thank you for coming, sir.”
“Thank you for asking me,” Silvio said. “Or aren’t you going to tell me what you’ve been doing? Or plan on doing?”
“Alex,” Castillo said, “is there someplace here where the ambassador and I can have a couple of minutes alone?”
Darby pointed through the plate-glass windows toward a small, tile-roofed building in the garden.
“How about the quincho?” he asked. “There’s even beer in a refrigerator out there.”
“That will do very nicely,” Castillo said.
Castillo helped himself to a bottle of Quilmes beer, and then offered one to Ambassador Silvio, who smiled and nodded and said, “Please.”
When Castillo handed him the bottle, the ambassador settled himself in an upholstered armchair and looked at him expectantly.
“I don’t think you want to know all of it, sir,” Castillo said.
“Tell me what you think you can,” Silvio said.
“Well, sir, the President was waiting for the Globemaster at Biloxi with a finding he had just made. . . .”
“. . . And that’s about it, sir,” Castillo concluded twenty minutes later.
Silvio, obviously considering what he had heard, didn’t reply for a moment.
“My Latin blood took over for a moment,” he said. “The first thing I thought was sympathy for Betsy Masterson and Ambassador Lorimer. To learn that your brother and your son was not only involved in that slimy oil-for-food business, but—indirectly, perhaps, but certainly—responsible for the murder of your husband and son. And the murder of a very nice young Marine. And the wounding of . . .”
He stopped and looked at Castillo. “I’ll understand if you’d rather not answer this. Is Dr. Lorimer on your list you intend to ‘render harmless’?”
“What I intend to do with him, sir, is take him to the States. Alive.”
Silvio nodded.
“I’m sure he could be a cornucopia of interesting information,” he said. “But that won’t keep Ambassador Lorimer and Betsy from having to learn what a despicable sonofabitch he is, will it?”
“Sir, I’m ashamed to say I never even thought about that before. What I want Lorimer to do is point me in the direction of those who murdered Mr. Masterson. They’re the ones I have been ordered to render harmless. Both Santini and Darby tell me the most likely scenario once I get him to the States is for him to be taken into the Witness Protection Program, which is run by the U.S. Marshal’s service, in exchange for his cooperation.”
Silvio grunted. “And if he doesn’t choose to cooperate?”
“I think he will, sir. He knows that people are looking for him. And he’ll understand, I think, that if we can find him, the people trying to find him to kill him— torture and kill him—can also find him. And I’ve had the fey notion that one thing I could tell him, to get him to cooperate, would be to threaten to take him back to Paris and turn him loose on the Place de la Concorde.”
“After making sure Le Monde, Le Figaro, and L’Humanité are informed that the missing UN diplomat can be found there? I don’t think that’s a fey notion at all; that makes a good deal of sense.”
“I didn’t think about telling the newspapers,” Castillo admitted.
“Is there anything I can do to help, Charley?”
“Would you be willing to call Ambassador McGrory and tell him the reason I didn’t go to see him?”
“He wanted to see you?”
“He doesn’t know what Yung is really doing in Montevideo . . .”
“And therefore feels he has the right to know what Yung is doing? Especially with you? What the telephone call from Secretary Cohen was really about?”
“Yes, sir. He told Yung if I went to Yung without going through the embassy first to tell me he wanted to see me immediately. I don’t think he has to know about the finding. I’d like to leave him in a position where he can truthfully say he knew nothing about this. Either what I’m going to do, or what Yung has been doing.”
“I understand. I’ll call him as soon as I get back to the embassy.”
“Thank you.”
“He’s going to be curious—from his standpoint, he has a right to know—what Yung’s role in what you’re going to do is going to be. Or, past tense, was. Can I tell him that after you’re gone?”
“Yung’s not going to have a role in what I’m going to do.”
“Okay,” Silvio responded. “That answers that, doesn’t it?”
What’s that look on Silvio’s face mean?
That he doesn’t believe Yung won’t be involved?
That he’s surprised that he won’t be?
That he doesn’t like me keeping McGrory, a fellow ambassador, in the dark, to pick up the pieces after I screw up?
“Sir . . . there was a look on your face. Did something I said make you uncomfortable?”
“I guess I don’t have the poker face good diplomats are supposed to have,” Silvio replied. “And I certainly have no expertise in your area. But I was surprised that you’re not going to use Yung and then take him out of the country when you leave.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, won’t his position with AmbassadorMcGrory be compromised? McGrory will soon learn that Yung wasn’t what he believed him to be. And since you’re not going to tell him that you’re operating with the authority of a Presidential Finding, I’m sure he’ll go to the State Department with that. I would, in his shoes. Absent a Presidential Finding, an ambassador is responsible for anything any government agency is doing in his country. And has veto power over any action proposed. He’s not even going to know about this until it’s over. He’s going to be more than a little annoyed.”
“Yes, sir. I know. What I’m trying to do is leave the ambassador in a position where he truthfully can deny any knowledge of what I plan to do. Or did.”
“I understand. What I did was presume that you would take Yung with you, taking advantage of his expertise, and then take him out of the country when you left. And that, once your mission was accomplished, the secretary would tell Ambassador McGrory there were reasons for what had happened, and that she had decided it was best that he not be cognizant of those reasons. He wouldn’t like it, but he would understand.”
“And if I don’t take Yung with me, and Yung obeys my orders to tell McGrory nothing—I threatened him with the felony provisions of violating Top Secret- Presidential material, so I think he would keep his mouth shut—McGrory would blow his top?”
“And a number of senior officials in the State Department who have no legitimate reason to know, would know that something h
ad gone on in Uruguay . . .”
“And be curious and ask questions that shouldn’t be asked,” Castillo finished for him. “Which questions would come to—be leaked to—the Washington Post and the New York Times and other President-haters.”
Silvio nodded.
“With all the ramifications of that,” Castillo added.
“I’m sure you’ve thought of the risks involved, Charley. I’m not trying to tell you your business.”
“The truth is I didn’t think about it all,” Castillo confessed. “Mr. Ambassador, you just kept me from making a stupid mistake. A serious mistake. Thank you.” Then he blurted, “You know what Ambassador Montvale said about me?”
Silvio shook his head.
“Montvale said that I am someone ‘who was given more authority than he clearly will be able to handle.’ It looks like he’s right on the money, doesn’t it?”
“From what I’ve seen, Charley, you handle the authority you’ve been given very well.”
“I’m so drunk with my authority that it never even entered my mind to ask you what you thought about what I’m going to do. Which means I just about blew the investigation into the oil-for-food scandal out of the water, and embarrassed the President personally. That doesn’t strike me as handling my authority well.”
Silvio studied Castillo for a long moment, then asked, “How much sleep have you had in the past few days?”
“It shows, huh?”
“It shows. If you really want my advice, get yourself some rest.”
Castillo considered that, took a sip of his beer, then asked, “Can you recommend a quiet hotel near the airport in Montevideo?”
“As a matter of fact, I can. The airport’s in Carrasco. There’s a really nice hotel in Carrasco. The Belmont House. A little stiff on the pocketbook. But I was thinking you might get some rest today.”
“So was I, sir. You think I could get a couple of rooms there for tonight? For two days? How would I get the number to call? I really don’t want a record of me booking it through American Express.”
Ambassador Silvio reached into the pocket of his frayed blue jeans, took out his telephone, and punched the appropriate buttons.
“Juan Manuel Silvio here,” he said a moment later. “Please tell me that you’ll be able to accommodate two friends of mine—separate rooms—for tonight and tomorrow night.”
Thirty seconds later, he returned the cellular to his blue jeans.
“Done.”
“Thank you very much.”
“My pleasure. Anything else I can do?”
“Let me see if I can at least do this by myself,” Castillo said, and took out his cellular and punched the appropriate buttons.
“I’m glad I caught you, Yung,” he began.
“I’d offer to drive you to the airport,” Ambassador Silvio said, “but I don’t think that would be a very good idea inasmuch as I suspect there’s a good many people in uniforms looking for a man in a Harvard sweatshirt and blue jeans.”
Castillo smiled at him and chuckled.
“I meant what I said before about you keeping me from making a royal ass of myself, and more important, making the President look like one. Muchas gracias, amigo.”
Silvio made a deprecating gesture with his hand.
“What time’s your plane?” he asked. “Or are you taking the Lear? Or shouldn’t I ask?”
“You can ask me anything you want to,” Castillo said. “And I’ll tell you everything I think I can.”
“Okay. I will. How are things going so far? Just generally, if details may be inappropriate.”
“The first thing that can go wrong with this operation is that when I get to Jorge Newbery at five o’clock, a helicopter I borrowed won’t be there. Or it will be there and the man in it will shoot me. Or if it’s there and he doesn’t shoot me, it will be equipped with a pressure-sensitive detonator and a couple of pounds of Semtex, which will go bang when I pass through one thousand feet. Or if that doesn’t happen, the engine will quit when I am equidistant over the Rio Plate between Jorge Newbery and Corrasco. Aside from that, everything’s going swimmingly.”
Silvio shook his head.
“That’s today. The list of what can go wrong tomorrow is a little longer,” Castillo said.
“You will be in my prayers, Charley,” Silvio said softly.
Castillo nodded at him.
“I’d love another beer, but I’m driving,” Charley said. “But there’s no reason you can’t.”
[FOUR]
Belmont House 6512 Avenue Rivera Carrasco Carrasco, Montevideo República Oriental del Uruguay 1925 29 July 2005
“Nice place,” Castillo said as they stood at the reception desk of the small, luxurious hotel. “Looks more like a club than a hotel.”
“Fidel Castro thinks so,” El Coronel Alfredro Munz (Retired) said with a smile. “This is where he always stays when he’s in Uruguay.”
“If you would like a drink, gentlemen,” the desk clerk said as he returned Castillo’s passport and American Express card and Munz’s National Identity Card and handed them keys to their rooms, “I’ll have the bellman take your bags to your rooms.”
He gestured toward the interior of the building. Castillo saw a small, wood-paneled bar with leather-upholstered chairs at small tables.
“I think that’s a splendid idea,” Castillo said. “I’m expecting a visitor at seven-thirty. A Mr. Yung. Would you point him toward us, please?”
“Certainly, sir.”
Castillo walked into the bar and sat at one of the tables. Munz followed him but did not sit down.
“Will I be in the way, Karl?” Munz asked.
“Does ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ mean the same thing in Spanish that it does in English?”
“Only to someone who speaks English,” Munz said.
“And we both do,” Castillo said. “Sit down, Alfredo.”
A young waiter in a white jacket appeared.
“Do you have Famous Grouse?” Castillo asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“A double, please. Water and ice on the side.”
“That sounds good,” Munz said.
“Aren’t you taking a chance, Karl?” Munz asked when the waiter had gone to fill their order.
“That I’ll really get Famous Grouse, you mean?” Castillo asked innocently. “Instead of some locally distilled copy thereof?”
“You know what I mean,” Munz said.
“I’ve learned that every once in a while, you have to take a chance,” Castillo said. “I’m taking one on you not to interfere with this operation by either telling Alex about it until it’s over or choking the canary before he can sing.”
“When I went to work for Alex—”
“You mean full-time? After you were retired, in other words?”
Munz’s face tightened. “When I was with SIDE I never gave Alex any information that in any way betrayed my duties or my country.”
“Okay.”
“I told Alex, before I went to work for him, that there were certain things I would not do,” Munz said. “‘Choking canaries,’ as you put it, was among the things he understood I would not do.”
“I’m sure Howard Kennedy made a deal very similar to yours,” Castillo said. “But what I was wondering about, before I decided on ‘in for a penny, in for a pound,’ was whether or not the things you would not do included giving him information that might see my canary choked by somebody else.”
“If you feel that way, why did you agree to my coming with you?” Munz asked icily.
“I agreed to your coming along after I decided that you’re not the sort of man who could look at himself in the mirror after deciding that it would be morally justifiable to arrange for a canary to be choked, providing someone else did the choking.”
Munz looked at him coldly but didn’t reply.
“And because Alex was right,” Castillo went on. “I think you’re going to be useful. We’re back to having to take
a chance every once in a while.”
“Like flying a single-engine helicopter across the River Plate? That was taking a chance, wasn’t it? What if the engine had failed?”
“We would have drowned,” Castillo said. “Unless you’re a much better swimmer than I am.”
Munz shook his head.
“The seats—like those on airliners—are flotation devices,” Castillo said. “We might have had to float around in the river for a while, but I filed a flight plan, and if we hadn’t showed up on time, they would have started looking for us. I don’t like to take foolish chances, Alfredo, and don’t.”
The waiter appeared with a tray holding a bottle of Famous Grouse, glasses, a silver ice bucket, a silver water pitcher, and a pair of tongs. He was pouring whiskey into the glasses when Special Agent David William Yung, Jr., came into the bar. He was visibly surprised to see Alfredo Munz.
“Right on time,” Castillo said, half-standing to offer Yung his hand. “You two know each other, right?”
“How are you, Colonel?”
“Mr. Yung,” Munz said.
“I’m sure you’re both wondering what happens next,” Castillo said.
Their eyes reflected their interest.
“I’m going to have at least one more of these,” Castillo said, raising his glass and taking a healthy swallow, “have some dinner, and go to bed.” He paused and added, “A very wise friend pointed out to me that people who haven’t had much sleep tend to make bad decisions. I haven’t had much sleep, and I can’t afford to make any more sloppy, much less bad, decisions. So just a question or two, Yung. What do you hear about visiting friends from Montevideo?”
“They’ll be on the first Busquebus from BA. It gets here at about ten-thirty.”
“And you found accommodations for them?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have those maps I asked you for?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you going to have any trouble waking up in time to pick up Munz and me here at the hotel at, say, seven o’clock in the morning?”
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