The Hunters

by W. E. B Griffin

  “Is he all right?” Castillo asked, looking at Pevsner.

  “He’s fine,” Pevsner said.

  “And terribly embarrassed,” Anna said.

  “Well, give him my best regards,” Castillo said. “Don’t mention that you told me what happened. I can understand—sympathize with—his embarrassment.”

  [FIVE]

  “If you’ll excuse us, darling,” Pevsner said over their second cups of tea and coffee, “Charley and I are going to have a look at the helicopter.”

  “And then I’ll have to be getting back to Buenos Aires,” Castillo said. “So thank you for the breakfast. You saved my life.”

  He stood up and Anna gave him her cheek to kiss.

  Pevsner stood up, opened one of the French doors, and signaled for Charley to go ahead of him.

  When they were halfway across the lawn toward where the helicopter was parked, Pevsner said, “When do you want to talk about what you’re really out here for? Before you show me how that bastard cheated me on the avionics when I bought that helicopter? Or after?”

  “After,” Charley said, and then, after considering it, added: “Alek, I didn’t say he cheated you. I just said you don’t have the best equipment available. There’s a difference.”

  “No there’s not. I told him I wanted the best and I didn’t get it. That’s cheating.”

  “Cheating would be if he charged you for better avionics than you got. If he charged you fairly for what he sold you, that’s not cheating.”

  Pevsner didn’t argue but his face showed he had not accepted Charley’s argument.

  Christ, is he thinking of whacking the salesman?

  “Alek, an aircraft salesman with a beauty mark in the center of his forehead would make people ask questions. You want as few questions raised as possible.”

  Pevsner nodded, not happily, but the nod was enough to make Castillo think: That argument may have gotten home.

  “So that’s it, Alek,” Castillo said after pointing out to Pevsner where the new avionics would goon the instrument panel and in the avionics compartment. “Installation is no big deal. The new stuff will fit right in where they’ll take the old stuff out. Just make sure…just make sure your pilot watches the calibration.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that,” Pevsner said. “Thank you very much, Charley.”

  “Like I said, a small token of my appreciation for your courtesy.”

  “In anticipation of asking for another favor?”

  “Not right now anyway.”

  “Looking the gift horse in the mouth, how much is that equipment worth?”

  “Do you really care?”

  “I care about who paid for it,” Pevsner said.

  “If you’re really asking is there some kind of locator device—or something else clever in there—the answer is no. If your avionics guy is any good at all, he can check that for you.”

  “So who’s paying for it?”

  “Let’s just say that your friend Charley recently came into a considerable sum of money and wanted to share his good fortune.”

  “So I understand.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I heard you came into a lot of money. Nearly sixteen million dollars.”

  “You do keep your ear to the ground, don’t you?” Castillo asked, and then went on before Pevsner had a chance to reply: “So we are now in part two of our little chat, is that it?”

  “You tell me, Charley.”

  “Let’s talk about Budapest,” Castillo said. “You’re a Hungarian, right? Or at least have a Hungarian passport?”

  Pevsner didn’t reply.

  “Well, as someone who knows Budapest and keeps his ear to the ground, I guess you know who Eric Kocian is.”

  “I’ve heard the name.”

  “He’s a fine old gentleman,” Castillo said. “More important, he’s almost kin.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, he was a friend of my grandfather and my mother.”

  “Oh, yes. The Gossinger connection,” Pevsner said. “I forgot that.”

  “And Uncle Billy bounced me on his knee, so to speak, when I was a little boy.” He paused. “So you will understand how upset I was when some unpleasant people tried to kidnap him on the Szabadság híd and, when that failed, tried to kill him.”

  “Charley, sometimes people who put their noses in places they shouldn’t be…”

  “And how upset I was just the other day when the same people—I admit they were probably looking for my uncle Billy—came into my room in the Gellért and pointed Madsens at me. That so upset me that I actually lost control of myself.”

  “I’m really surprised to hear that,” Pevsner said.

  “I didn’t think,” Castillo said. “I just took them down. Which, of course, means I couldn’t ask who sent them.”

  “You don’t know who sent them?”

  “No. But I strongly suspect the people who made me lose my temper were either Stasi or Allamvedelmi Hatosag.”

  “But there is no Stasi anymore. Or Allamvedelmi Hatosag.”

  “In the United States, the Marines say, ‘Once a Marine, always a Marine.’ And who else do you know who uses the garrote to take people out?”

  “I don’t know anyone who uses the garrote,” Pevsner said. “And I can’t imagine why you’re telling me this.”

  “I’m about to tell you, Alek. You’re right. My uncle Billy does have the unfortunate habit of putting his nose in places other people don’t think he should. Like under rocks to see what slime the rock conceals. So I have this theory that whoever tried to kidnap my uncle Billy did so to see how many names he could assign to the maggots and other slimy creatures he’s found under the rocks. Sound reasonable to you?”

  “It could well be something like that, I suppose.”

  “The sad thing about all this is, these people were trying to close the barn door long after the cow got away.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Pevsner said.

  “I mean that I know everything that Kocian learned and by now his files are in Washington. These people can’t put the cow back in the barn, in a manner of speaking. The only thing that any further kidnappings or murders are going to accomplish is to draw even more attention to them and I don’t think they want that. And if any further attempt is made to kill Kocian, or kidnap him, I will take that personally.”

  “As I said, I can’t imagine why you’re telling me this.”

  “Because I want you to get to these people and tell them what I just told you.”

  “What makes you think I even know who they are? Or if I did that I would go to them?”

  “Oh, you know who they are, Alek. They’re the people who told you about the sixteen million and…”

  “Has it occurred to you that Munz may have told me?”

  “He couldn’t have, Alek. He didn’t know about it,” Castillo said. “And on the way down here, I read Kocian’s files. Long lists of names. Some of them had data after their names. Some names, like Respin, Vasily, for example, and Pevsner, Aleksandr, had question marks after their names. Which meant they had come to Kocian’s attention and, when he got around to it, he was going to see what he could come up with.”

  Pevsner, his eyes again icy, met Castillo’s eyes but he said nothing.

  “Your name—names—were also on a list that I got from the CIA station chief in Paris,” Castillo said. “I didn’t have a chance to ask the CIA in Budapest what they have on you. But I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they have a file on you, would you?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if they did, but they don’t have anything tying me to the oil-for-food business because I wasn’t involved in that.”

  “So you keep telling me,” Castillo said. “Right now, Alek, you don’t have to worry about what the CIA has or doesn’t have on you. Right now, we’re friends, and the President has called off the CIA and FBI investigations of you. What you have to worry about is your other friends going after Ko
cian again. If that happens, the deal is off. Not only will I give Kocian’s files to every American intelligence agency, I’ll spread them around to anyone and everyone who might be the slightest bit interested.”

  “I thought you said Kocian’s files were already in Washington.”

  Castillo nodded. “They are. But I haven’t shared them with anybody. Yet.”

  Pevsner looked into his eyes again and again said nothing.

  Castillo stared him down and then asked, “Did I mention, Alek, that if there is another attempt to get at Kocian, I will take that personally?”

  “You did. But I wonder if you really understand who these people are. Don’t take offense, Charley, but you’re only a major. Could it be that your understandable affection for this man Kocian has clouded your judgment to the point where you think you’re more important than you really are? Can do things you really can’t do?”

  “Actually, I’m a lieutenant colonel now,” Castillo said.

  “All right, a lieutenant colonel,” Pevsner said, impatiently. “You take my point.”

  “Don’t underestimate lieutenant colonels. That’s all that Mr. Putin was in the KGB. Putin’s name, incidentally, is in Kocian’s files, too, and there are no question marks after it.”

  “You’re not actually thinking of going after Putin, are you?”

  “I’m just a simple soldier, Alek, who will do his best to follow his orders, wherever that leads me.”

  “‘Simple soldier’?” Pevsner parroted and chuckled. “And what exactly are your orders, Colonel Castillo?”

  “To locate and render harmless the people responsible for the murder of Masterson.”

  “‘Render harmless’?”

  “The way the ex-Stasi, or ex–Allamvedelmi Hatosag in Budapest, whichever they were, were rendered harmless.”

  “You’re not suggesting, are you, that if these people lose interest in your uncle Billy, you’ll lose interest in them?”

  “Absolutely not. I just want you to tell them there’s no longer a reason to kill Eric Kocian.”

  “From all you’ve been telling me about these people, they are not very nice people, Charley. They may well decide that rendering harmless someone who has been too interested in what they’ve been doing might discourage others from looking under other rocks.”

  “In your own interests, Alek, I’d try very hard to convince them that would not be wise.”

  “And they may well come after you.”

  “They already have,” Castillo said. “And nothing would give me greater pleasure than if they tried it again. The next time, I’ll take prisoners. I know some people who are very good in teaching people how to sing.”

  “And, of course, this is all hypothetical. I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

  Castillo laughed.

  “Alek, you’re one of a kind!” he said. “You said that with an absolutely straight face.”

  “There aren’t very many people, my friend Charley, who would be so brave, or stupid, to mock me,” Pevsner said and tried to stare Castillo down again and failed again.

  “I wasn’t mocking you, Alek. I said that with admiration. You would be one hell of a poker player.”

  Pevsner smiled. “Actually, I’m a rather good poker player. We must find the time to play sometime.”

  “I’d like that,” Castillo said.

  “Well, Charley,” Pevsner said. “This has been an interesting conversation, and it’s always a pleasure to see you, but I have a golf date…”

  “Thank you for the kleines Frühstück,” Castillo said.

  On the way back to Buenos Aires, Castillo—who looked carefully—couldn’t find anyone following him. Nevertheless, he twice left the Autopista and drove around crowded neighborhood streets before getting back on the Autopista.

  If anybody can trail me though all that, he’s a genius.

  Which is not the same as saying no one has.

  [SIX]

  The Restaurant Kansas

  Avenida Libertador

  San Isidro

  Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

  1305 8 August 2005

  When he pulled into the parking lot, Castillo saw that despite the some what chilly weather there were a few people sitting under umbrellas in the patio outside the bar and he went there and took a table.

  A strikingly good-looking waitress almost immediately appeared and he ordered a Warsteiner beer and a club sandwich, although after the pancakes he’d had at Pevsner’s house he wasn’t very hungry.

  He took a cellular phone from his briefcase and tried to turn it on. The panel didn’t light up.

  Dammit! The battery’s dead!

  What did you expect, Inspector Clouseau? That you could just throw the phone—with a probably mostly exhausted battery—into your briefcase and then expect it to work when you want to use it a week later?

  And what’s going to happen if I find someplace that has a charger that will fit? When the battery is completely dead, does that wipe out the memory?

  I have no damned idea at all where I can get Munz’s cellular number—or, for that matter, Darby’s or Santini’s or anyone else’s—if I can’t get them off this cellular!

  There was a pleasant chirp from the cellular. The cellular’s panel lit up. A smiling cartoon face appeared, as did the greeting, ¡HOLA!

  It works!

  Castillo said, aloud, “¡Hola, hola, hola!” and then punched an autodial number.

  El Coronel Alfredo Munz answered on the second ring.

  “Munz.”

  “How’s your arm?” Castillo asked, in German.

  There was a just-perceptible hesitation before Munz asked, “Same cellular number?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll call you,” Munz said and the connection was broken.

  Castillo took the phone from his ear and pushed the CALL END button. Something was really bothering Munz. It showed in his voice and what he said. If he was unwilling to speak on his cellular, that meant he suspected someone was listening to his calls.

  Well, I’ll find out what it is.

  He pushed another autodial button and Darby answered on the second ring.

  “¿Hola?”

  “Do they sell pancake flour in that embassy store?” Castillo asked.

  There was a moment’s hesitation and then Darby replied, “Yeah, I know they do.”

  “Send Ricardo Solez to get me five pounds of it,” Castillo ordered. “And have him get me a charger for my cellular. It’s a Motorola, model number…”

  “I know what it is; it belongs to me.”

  “I’ll explain later,” Castillo said. “Is there another black car available?”

  “Yes, there is.”

  “Maybe he could pick that up at the same time.”

  “You’re not going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “When I see you. I’m expecting another call, Alex. Have to break this off.”

  The cellular buzzed just as the beer and club sandwich were delivered.

  “¿Hola?”

  “Where are you?” Munz asked.

  “Kansas, in San Isidro.”

  “Are you alone? Driving?”

  “I’m alone. I’ve got a Cherokee registered in Mar del Plata.”

  “Do you know where Unicenter is, on the Panamericana?”

  Unicenter is the largest shopping mall in South America.

  “Yeah.”

  “You approach it from the Panamericana and it’s on your left, and when you turn in there are two garages, one for Jumbo, the other for Unicenter. Go into the Jumbo garage and park nose out close to the exit. Make sure your doors aren’t locked. Fifteen minutes.”

  The cellular went dead.

  What the hell is going on?

  Castillo got up from the table, found the good-looking waitress, and handed her money.

  “That was my wife,” he said with a smile. “I was supposed to pick her up fifteen minutes ago.”

  There was a
good deal of traffic and Castillo had a little trouble finding Unicenter. It was twenty minutes before he pulled into the huge Jumbo Supermer-cado’s parking lot.

  He drove slowly through it, looking for Munz. When he couldn’t find him, he backed the Cherokee into a slot as close to the exit as he could find, then turned off the ignition and checked to see the doors were unlocked.

  Not quite a minute later, he heard the rear door opening.

  “Don’t turn around,” Munz said. “Just get out of here. Turn left when you do. If there is no traffic at the next left, take that and get back onto the Panamericana. If there is traffic, don’t make the left. Check to see if anyone’s following.”

  There was a long line of cars and trucks inching along the street to the left, so Castillo continued straight. He looked into the outside mirrors to get a make on the cars immediately behind him and then adjusted the interior rearview mirror to see the backseat. He couldn’t see Munz.

  Which means he’s lying on the floor.

  “There’s a green Peugeot, a Volkswagen bug, and Fiat Uno behind us.”

  “Try to lose them,” Munz ordered.

  Castillo made an abrupt right turn and accelerated. Fifty yards later, he hit a speed bump.

  He heard Munz groan.

  Jesus, he must be lying on his wounded shoulder. That must have really hurt.

  “Sorry, Alfredo,” Castillo called.

  “Anybody behind you?”

  “No.”

  “Then slow down a little and keep weaving through the streets. You might as well head for Libertador.”

  “Who’s following us?”

  “I wish to hell I knew,” Munz said. “When you get to Libertador, turn toward the city. Look for a COTO supermarket on the left. Pull into the parking lot behind it.”

  As Castillo parked the Cherokee, he saw that the only people in the parking lot were women loading plastic bags of groceries into their cars.

  “Nobody followed us,” Castillo said. “And there’s nobody close in the parking lot. You want to come up front?”

  Castillo heard Munz sigh, then the sound of the rear door opening. A moment later, he slipped into the front seat.

  “So how are you, Alfredo?” Castillo asked, in German.