Hunters pa-3

by W. E. B Griffin

  "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?"

  "Si."

  "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 it 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?" Tori
ne 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.

  Or maybe contempt.

  "I presume, Carlos, that you factored Abuela into your reasoning?"

  Contempt. No question about it. He only calls me "Carlos" when he's really angry, or disgusted, with me.

  "I spoke with her an hour or so ago. I told her I had to hold a meeting there and asked her to stay away."

  Fernando didn't reply.

  "You can't see the runway from the highway," Castillo said. "No one will know anyone unusual's there. And there will be Secret Service agents waiting for us."

  Fernando glowered at him but said nothing.

  "And one of the things you're going to do in San Antonio is make sure no one goes to the ranch."

  "For how long?" Fernando asked, icily.

  "For as long as it takes," Castillo said. "Fernando, we don't know who these people are, but we have to presume they have access to credit card databases, hotel registries, all of that sort of thing. Christ, Howard Kennedy even knew where I was when I used my cell phone! The minute Munz's family used a credit card, checked into a hotel, these bastards would know it. At the ranch, they won't use credit cards. And when they talk to Colonel Munz, they'll do it over the Secret Service communications system or a Delta Force radio. No one's going to locate them because they'll be invisible. If you can think of a better place I can put them, tell me."

  Fernando, shaking his head, threw up both hands in a gesture of resignation.

  "I don't like it, Carlos."

  Castillo looked at his wristwatch.

  "It's now eleven minutes after eight," he said. "If all goes the way we hope, the following things are going to happen: In the next couple of minutes, we'll hear from Solez, reporting that he met Artigas at the Buquebus terminal. Next-I'm guessing about eight-thirty-we'll hear from Yung that Senora Munz and the girls are in a taxi at Unicenter and headed for the terminal. Forty-five minutes or so after that-at 2115-we should hear from Artigas that they arrived all right and are in the process of getting on the boat. Fifteen minutes after that, we should hear that the boat has sailed. And three and a half hours-give or take-after that, we should hear from Yung and Artigas that they're in Montevideo and on their way to the Belmont House Hotel in Carrasco. When that happens, we can go to bed."

  "Where, Charley?" Torine asked.

  "You, me, and Fernando in the Four Seasons. There's no way we can get Max in there, Billy, which means you and Sandor will stay here."

  "There's only one guest room," Sieno said. "But it has two double beds."

  "Max has been in the best hotels in Europe," Kocian said. It was a challenge.

  "And I bet a lot of people talked about that, didn't they?" Castillo said, evenly. "The subject is not open for debate."

  "And what am I to be fed?" Kocian asked.

  "I was just thinking about that," Castillo said. "Obviously, we can't go to a restaurant. What about takeout? What's the name of that steak place by the embassy?"

  "The Rio Alba," Sieno furnished.

  "What about calling them after Santini checks in and get them to make half a dozen large lomos and a salad to match, plus papas Provencal, and then have Santini and Solez pick it up on their way here? It's almost on their way."

  "Good idea," Torine said.

  "Lomo?" Kocian asked, dubiously. Then, in Hungarian, added, "Some native dish, presumably? And what in God's name are papas whatever you said?"

  "And ask for some bones for Max," Castillo said, ignoring him. "And a couple of bottles of wine."

  "Is the wine drinkable in this country?" Kocian asked.

  "I think you will find it entirely satisfactory, Ur Kocian," Sieno said, in Hungarian. "And the beef is the best in the world. A lomo is filet mignon. The ones from Rio Alba weigh half a kilo. Papas Provencal are pommes frites with parsley, etcetera."

  "Why didn't you tell me you speak Hungarian?" Kocian demanded.

  "I thought everybody did," Sieno said, straight-faced. "I know the colonel does."

  Kocian saw the smile on Sandor Tor's face.

  "You find this amusing, do you, Sandor?" Kocian demanded.

  "I think everybody does, Ur Kocian," Torreplied.

  Castillo's cellular vibrated.

  "?Hola?"

  "I just gave those papers to Artigas," Tony Santini announced without preliminaries. "Want us to stick around until the bus leaves?"

  "I don't think so, Tony," Castillo replied after a moment. "I'm afraid you might be recognized. And when Yung gets there, he's obviously not an Argentine. Solez and Artigas can pass. So tell Solez to stick around and then take a cab here."

  "I was thinking of giving Artigas my car," Santini said. "That'd give them wheels when they get there. And it's an embassy car with a radio and CD plates, so no trouble getting it…"

  "Good idea."

  "Anything else you want me to do?"

  "Take a cab to Rio Alba and pick up our supper," Castillo said. "Paul's about to order it."

  "That's one of your better ideas, Charley."

  "According to Napoleon, an army moves on its stomach. I'm surprised you didn't know that."

  Santini chuckled.

  "Tell Paul to order me a large bife chorizo," Santini said and broke the connection.

  Sieno got the Rio Alba on the telephone and placed the order.

  "So now all we have to do is wait, right?" Torine asked when he saw Sieno hang up.

  "So that nobody falls asleep while we're waiting," Castillo said, "I thought we'd talk about briefcase-sized nuclear bombs."

  Torine looked at him with a puzzled look on his face.

  "Why do I have this odd feeling that you're serious?" he asked.

  "I am," Castillo said.

  "What's that about?"

  "Jack Britton heard from an undercover counterterrorism cop that the same people who were involved in stealing the 727 have bought a hundred-odd-acre farm outside Philadelphia. On the farm are some old iron mines. They are stocking them with food and intend to use them as shelters when someone sets off a briefcase-sized nuke in Philadelphia."

  "How reliable is Britton's source?" Torine asked, incredulously. "That sounds awfully far-fetched, Charley."

  "I know. But it can't be ignored."

  "Britton believes this?" Fernando asked.

  "Britton thinks it can't be ignored," Castillo said. "He's up there now with some Secret Service guys and some state cops he knows, looking around. I'm going there from Midland, on my way to Washington. So let's talk about nukes. You went to nuke school, right, Jake?"

  "In my youth, I flew B-29s," Torine said. "I don't know how many nuke schools I've been to. But no nuke I ever heard about would fit in a briefcase."

  "Briefcase, no," Sieno said, matter-of-factly. "Suitcase, yes. There are some people in the agency who believe an agent named Sunev-"

  "Who?" Castillo asked.

  "Sunev," Sieno repeated. "A Russian defector. I forget his first name, if I ever knew it."
<
br />   "KGB Colonel Pyotr Sunev, by chance?" Kocian asked, politely.

  "Yeah, that's him," Sieno said.

  "You know about this guy, Billy?" Castillo asked.

  "His name came up several times. He's a friend of your good friend Mr. Pevsner."

  "I'll want to hear about that, Billy, but first I want to know what the agency believes about what this guy said."

  "Sunev testified before a congressional committee-I saw the tapes a half dozen times; he wore a black bag over his head so he couldn't be recognized-five, six years ago. He said that during the Cold War, he'd been assigned-he was a spook at the Soviet mission to the UN-to find drops across the country for weapons, including SADMs and the communications equipment necessary to make them go off. He was a little vague about whether he'd actually set up the drops or where they were."

  "And the agency believes this guy?" Torine said.

  "What's a SADM?" Fernando Lopez interrupted.

  "Nuclear suitcase," Sieno said. "The Russians call them 'Special Atomic Demolition Munitions.'"

  "Okay, let's go to basics," Castillo said. "What does a SADM look like?"

  "The Pu-239 looks like a suitcase," Sieno said. "It's about two feet wide, sixteen inches high, and eight inches deep. A small suitcase, but larger than a briefcase." He demonstrated with his hands, then went on: "There's another one-I forget the nomenclature-that comes in two pieces, each about the size of a footlocker. It produces a ten-to twenty-kiloton explosion. The little one probably has a three-to five-kiloton bang."

  "And the agency believes this guy hid these weapons in the States?" Torine asked.

  "He didn't say he hid them, Colonel," Sieno said. "He's a slippery bastard. he said he'd, quote, been assigned to find drops for them, unquote. Some people in the agency believe that."

  "Does anybody at the agency believe that nukes are hidden in the States?" Castillo asked.

  "Some do," Sieno said.

  "Where is this guy now?" Castillo asked. "I think I'd like to talk to him."

  "Probably in Moscow," Sieno said. "The agency went through the whole business of getting him a new identity-he became a Latvian, teaching Eastern European history at Grinnell-then, one bright early spring day in 2000, he and his family disappeared."