He walked quickly into the men’s room, into a stall, locked it, took out the pistol and worked the action by pressing the slide against the toilet paper holder. Then he put the pistol back in his shoulder holster, unlocked the stall door, and hurried out of the men’s room.
There was a moment’s panic when he couldn’t immediately locate Familia Munz. Then he saw them in the knot of people waiting to get on the escalator.
The younger girl saw him walking toward them, looked a little relieved, and smiled.
He smiled at her again, then made his way to the escalator.
XI
[ONE]
Piso 16, 1568 Avenida Arribeños
Belgrano, Buenos Aires, Argentina
1940 8 August 2005
When Paul Sieno opened the steel apartment door for Castillo and El Coronel Alfredo Munz, SIDE, retired, Castillo saw that the living room of the apartment was crowded. Eric Kocian was sitting in a dark brown leather armchair, his elegantly shod feet resting, crossed, on a leather ottoman. He had a wineglass in one hand and a cigar in the other.
Holding court, Castillo thought, smiling.
A table holding platters of cheese and cold cuts, bottles of wine and ginger ale, and glasses was between two matching couches. Sándor Tor sat beside Susanna Sieno on one of them. Sergeant Major Jack Davidson and Colonel Jake Torine sat on the other, with Corporal Lester Bradley squeezed in between them. Fernando Lopez sat in an armchair obviously dragged from someplace else.
Everyone looked at Castillo and Munz.
Castillo thought, Davidson’s wondering who the hell Munz is and what he’s doing here.
Mr. Sieno very probably knows who he is, so she’s really curious about what he’s doing here.
And everybody—including Jack, Mr. Sieno, even Eric Kocian—is looking at me because they have the mistaken notion that James Bond just walked in with the answers to all their questions.
The truth is, once I get everybody settled in the safe house in Mayerling, and Munz’s family safely through Uruguay and onto the Gulfstream, I don’t have any idea what I’m going to do.
Since I don’t know who the bad guys are, or even who they’re working for, how the hell can I find the bastards?
I’m an Army officer, not Sherlock Holmes.
“Looks like we’re going to need some more chairs, doesn’t it?” Paul Sieno observed and went in search of them.
Max, who had been lying beside Kocian’s chair, got to his feet, and, with his stub of a tail rotating like a helo rotor, walked quickly to Castillo, obviously delighted to see him.
Castillo squatted and rubbed Max’s ears.
“Until he started to behave like that to Colonel Castillo,” Kocian announced, “I thought Max to be an excellent judge of character.”
The remark earned the chuckles and laughs Kocian expected it to.
“Eric,” Castillo said, in Hungarian, “say hello, politely, to Oberst Munz.”
Kocian replied, in German, “Since I don’t speak a word of Spanish, how am I going to do that?”
Mr. Sieno smiled. She was obviously taken with the old man.
“Try German,” Castillo said.
“Guten Abend, Herr Oberst,” Kocian said.
“Guten Abend, Herr Kocian,” Munz replied.
“You’re a Hessian,” Kocian said, still in German. It was an accusation.
“I’m an Argentine,” Munz said, switching to English. “My parents were Hessian.”
“Karl, why didn’t you tell me the Herr Oberst speaks English?” Kocian demanded.
“You didn’t ask,” Castillo said, then, switching to English, went on: “Jack, this is Colonel Alfredo Munz. Kensington took a bullet out of his shoulder after the estancia operation.”
Davenport nodded.
“Alfredo, Jack and I have been many places together…”
Castillo felt a tug on his trouser leg. He looked down to see that Max had it in his mouth. Max let loose, then sat and offered Castillo his paw.
“I think your friend is telling you that nature calls, Charley,” Torine said, cheerfully.
“What?”
“Obviously, he’s been waiting for you,” Torine said. “He made it…uh…toothfully clear that he wasn’t going walking with any of us.”
“I would have been happy to take him, Karl,” Kocian said. “But you made that impossible.”
“What?”
“Had I known I was going to be held prisoner, Karlchen,” Kocian said, “I would never have left Budapest.”
“Forgive me for trying to keep you alive, Eric,” Castillo replied some what unpleasantly, in German.
Max was now at the door, looking back at Castillo.
Castillo looked at Sándor Tor and asked, in Hungarian, “You have a leash?”
Tor reached into a well-worn leather briefcase by the side of his chair and took out a chain leash.
Why do I suspect that briefcase also holds an Uzi?
“Okay, Max,” Castillo said as he took the leash, “I’m coming.”
“You want some company, Colonel?” Davidson asked.
“I can handle walking a dog, Jack,” Castillo snapped.
After an awkward moment’s silence, Sieno offered: “When you leave the building, turn right, Colonel. There’s a park a block away.”
“Thanks, Paul,” Castillo said. “And sorry I snapped at you, Jack. My ass is dragging.” He heard what he had just said and added: “Pardon the language, Mr. Sieno. Same excuse.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “And I’ve asked you to please call me Susanna.”
“I’ll be right back,” Castillo said.
“Max willing, of course,” Kocian said.
Max dragged Castillo through the lobby and out onto the street and headed for the first tree, which was to the left, away from the park Sieno had spoken of.
“Your call, Max,” Castillo muttered. “As if I have a choice.”
It became quickly obvious that Max did indeed have a massive need to meet the urinary call of nature.
“Can we go to the park now?” Castillo asked, in Hungarian, when he had finally finished.
Max looked at Castillo, considered the question, then dragged Castillo farther away from the park.
The apartment building next to 1568 Arribeños was brightly lit. But beyond it, the street quickly became dark, as there were no brightly lit buildings and the streetlights were not functioning.
Max sniffed every tree, came to an intersection, dragged Castillo across it, then across Arribeños, where he began nasally inspecting the trees there. When he had stopped at the third tree, there was a click and the sidewalk was brilliantly illuminated by floodlights mounted on an old mansion.
They were turned on by motion sensors.
Well, why not? That’s cheaper than burning floodlights all night.
Then he noticed the bronze sign mounted on the wall of the old building. It read EMBASSY OF THE DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF CUBA.
“Oh, shit!”
I am not really conversant with the security practices of the Cuban diplomatic service but it seems reasonable to assume that if they have gone to the trouble of installing motion-activated floodlights so they can see who is loitering in front of their embassy, said motion sensors more than likely also activate one or more surveillance cameras.
He looked at Max, who apparently had taken Castillo’s exclamation as a command and now was evacuating his bowels.
Max isn’t going to go anywhere until he finishes!
Our likenesses are now recorded and filed under Item 405 on the Suspicious Activity Log of the embassy security officer.
Congratulations, Inspector Clouseau, you’ve just done it again!
Aw, fuck it!
Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo, USA, turned to face the Cuban embassy, put his right hand on his abdomen, bowed deeply, and said, “Up yours, Fidel!”
[TWO]
“Have a nice long walk, did you?” Eric Kocian asked as Castillo and Max came back into t
he Sieno living room.
Max trotted over to Kocian, gave him his paw, allowed his head to be patted, then lay down by the footstool.
“The Cubans now have a floodlighted recording of Max making an enormous deposit on their sidewalk while I cheered him on.”
“What?” Kocian asked.
“That’s why, Colonel,” Sieno said, masterfully keeping a straight face, “I suggested you go to the park.”
“Max had other ideas,” Castillo said, then asked, “Can they make me?”
Sieno thought it over before replying.
“Anybody follow you here?”
“I don’t think so. I came back by…” He stopped. “From the embassy, I went down the hill, turned left, and came back that way. I didn’t see anybody following me.”
“Then I don’t see how. Let’s hope they think you were a wine-filled Argentine.”
“Yeah,” Castillo said. “Let’s hope.”
He looked around the room.
“Anything happen while we were talking our walk?”
“Ambassador Silvio called,” Torine said. “He said to tell you that Ambassador McGrory called him to tell him that Artigas has been transferred to Buenos Aires. Who’s Artigas?”
“An FBI agent—one of those in Montevideo looking for laundered money. He’s clever. He pretty much figured out what happened at Lorimer’s estancia, so I figured the best way to make sure he kept his mouth shut was to have him assigned to OOA.”
Torine nodded.
“We haven’t heard from Alex Darby?” Castillo asked. “Or anyone else?”
“Alex Darby three or four times,” Sieno said. “The last bulletin was half an hour ago. He expected then to finally have the owner, the escribiano, and the lawyer all in one place in the next few minutes.”
“Explain that, please,” Castillo said.
“One of the interesting requirements of Argentine law is that when you sign a contract—like a lease on a house in Mayerling—all parties have to be present at a meeting at which the escribiano, who is sort of a super notary public, reads the whole thing, line by line, aloud. The lawyer’s function is to explain any questions about the contract.”
“They do about the same thing in Mexico, Gringo,” Fernando Lopez said.
“Mr. Darby said that Kensington has the radio set up, and it shouldn’t take more than an hour or so to finish signing the lease—presuming all parties did, in fact, show up—and wants you to call him and tell him whether you want to move in out there tonight.”
“Are there sheets and blankets, etcetera?” Castillo asked. “Food?”
“I don’t know about the sheets and blankets,” Sieno said. “But I don’t think there will be food. And the Argentines have another interesting custom. When they move out of someplace, they take the lightbulbs with them.”
“Great!” Castillo said.
“There’s a Jumbo supermarket in Pilar that would have everything we need,” Susanna Sieno said.
“If you were to go out there and shop, who would watch the Cuban embassy?”
“Most of that’s automated,” she said. “And Paul will be here. Won’t he?”
“He will. Can I ask you to do that?”
“Certainly.”
“Lester will go with you,” Castillo said. “Go to Pilar, please, and buy what you need in the Jumbo, but don’t go to Mayerling until we hear from Darby that it’s a done deal and the owner and the others have left.”
“You want me to use our car?” she asked.
“There’s CD plates on it?”
“We have one of each,” she said.
“Take the one with regular plates,” Castillo said.
She nodded.
“Can we get Lester a weapon?” Castillo asked.
The faces of both Sieno and his wife showed their surprise at the request.
Davidson chuckled.
“There are those who refer to Corporal Bradley as Deadeye Dick,” he said. “He’s one hell of a shot.”
Corporal Bradley, who had stood up and was standing almost at attention, blushed.
“Mr. Darby,” Sieno began, pointing to the large duffel bag that Castillo had seen him take out of the Cherokee when he’d first come to the apartment, “he didn’t know what you would want, so I brought two M-16s, a riot gun, a couple of Glocks, and a couple of 1911A1 .45s.”
“Your call, Corporal Bradley,” Castillo said.
“Considering the circumstances as I understand them, sir,” Bradley said, “and the superior ballistics of the .45 ACP round over the 9mm, if I may I’d like one of the M-16s and a 1911A1.”
“So ordered,” Castillo said.
Sieno smiled. “You’re one of those, are you, Corporal, who doesn’t think much of the 9mm?”
“Yes, sir. Actually, it’s been proven conclusively that it’s inferior to the .45 ACP,” Bradley proclaimed, professionally. “And as a result of that determination, the formerly obsolescent Model 1911A1 has been declared optional standard by the Marine Corps and, if I’m not mistaken, by Special Operations.”
“So it has, Deadeye,” Davidson said, smiling at Sieno. “Any other weapons questions for the corporal, Paul?”
“I think I’d better wrap the M-16 in a blanket or something,” Susanna said, not completely able to restrain a smile, and walked out of the living room.
There was a clatter of metal.
Castillo saw that Bradley was now sitting on the floor by the duffel bag that held the weapons. He had already begun fieldstripping one of the 1911A1 pistols, had dropped a part—and was already snatching it from the floor.
Christ, that was fast!
“I have twenty bucks that says Deadeye can fieldstrip that weapon faster than anyone in this room,” Jack Davidson said, admiringly. “Including, with all respect, Colonel, sir, the senior special operator among us.”
“No bet,” Castillo said.
Corporal Lester Bradley made no move or sound to show that he had heard any of that exchange, but the usually pink skin of his neck and cheeks, now a dark rose color, suggested that he had.
Davidson pointed at him and shook his head admiringly.
Ninety seconds after Mr. Susanna Sieno and Corporal Lester Bradley had left the apartment, Castillo’s cellular vibrated.
And I still haven’t charged this thing!
“¿Hola?”
“Carlos?”
“Sí.”
“Our friends Ricardo and Antonio have just left here for the bus terminal with those papers Alfredo was interested in.”
Castillo recognized the voice of Ambassador Silvio. It took him a moment to understand Antonio was Tony Santini.
“If they miss the bus, Antonio said he’d call both of us.”
“Well, let’s hope they don’t miss it. Thanks for the call.”
“We’ll be in touch.”
Castillo broke the connection and looked at Munz.
“That was Ambassador Silvio. The passports, with visas, are now on their way from the residence to the Buquebus terminal. Charge the cellular.”
Munz nodded but said nothing.
“‘The passports, with visas, are now on their way from the residence to the Buquebus terminal. Charge the cellular,’” Jake Torine parroted. “Am I cleared for an explanation of that?”
“Absolutely. The battery in this is almost dead,” Castillo said. “I didn’t want to forget to charge it before I delivered the briefing, so I said it out loud.”
Torine smiled and shook his head.
“There’s a charger in the bathroom,” Sieno said. “That’s one of Mr. Darby’s phones, right?”
Castillo nodded and said, “Thanks.”
“I was wondering, Gringo, when you were going to get around to telling us what’s going on,” Fernando said. “But I was too polite to ask.”
“Good,” Castillo said.
Fernando gave him the finger.
Sieno returned with a cellular charger and, after some shifting of chairs, managed to get i
t plugged in and the cellular plugged into it.
“Okay,” Castillo said. “What’s going on now is that Colonel Munz’s family—his wife and two teenage daughters—are going to the States. He is concerned, with good cause, for their safety. Ambassador Silvio has given them the necessary visas. He called to tell me that Solez has just picked up their passports at the embassy and is taking them to Artigas, who is waiting for them at the terminal. They are now at Unicenter, where Yung is sitting on them. They will go to the terminal just before the ferry sails for Montevideo. Artigas will have their tickets, and they will leave the country using their National Identity Cards, not their passports. Yung and Artigas will sit on them during the boat ride, get them into the Belmont House Hotel, in Carrasco, not far from the airport, and sit on them there.
“As soon as we’re set up in the safe house in Mayerling tomorrow, we’ll take the Gulfstream to Montevideo. While Colonel Torine is getting the weather and filing the flight plan, Yung and Artigas will bring them to the airport, give them their passports, they’ll pass through Uruguayan customs, and we’ll head for the States.”
“Where in the States?” Torine asked.
“First, San Antonio,” Castillo said. “To drop off Fernando.”
“We can’t make that nonstop,” Torine said. “It’s forty-five, forty-six hundred miles from here or Montevideo. Where do you want to refuel?”
“How about Quito, Ecuador?” Castillo replied.
“That’ll work. It’s about twenty-five hundred miles from here to Quito, and another twenty-one hundred from Quito to San Antone.”
“Once we’re gone, Artigas will come here and go out to the safe house. Yung will accompany Lorimer’s body on an American Airlines flight to Miami—nine-something tomorrow night—and then on to New Orleans.”
“Where are you headed, finally, in the States?” Fernando asked. “Washington? I mean, you could drop me in Miami. You don’t have to make a special stop at San Antonio for me.”
Castillo looked at his cousin. Well, I knew this was coming.
“San Antonio’s on our way,” Castillo explained. “Colonel Munz’s family will be staying at the ranch in Midland.”
Castillo saw the look of surprise on Fernando’s face was quickly replaced with one of anger.
The Hunters Page 42
