Now Duffy smiled.
"On the other hand," Duffy said to Castillo, "you sound like a Porteno, Colonel. What did Holy Mother Church in Argentina do, send Porteno priests to New York?"
Castillo laughed.
"Actually, I'm a Texican," Castillo said.
"A what?"
"A Texican. One whose family came from Mexico a very long time ago, before Texas was a state. My family's from San Antonio."
"I am a great admirer of the Texas Rangers," Duffy said.
"I have two ancestors who were Texas Rangers, a long time ago."
"Sometimes we think of the colonel as the Lone Ranger," Delchamps said. "Can I ask what a Porteno is?"
"Somebody from Buenos Aires," Alex Darby offered, "who speaks with sort of a special cant."
"And a hijos de puta?" Delchamps pursued.
"Argentina is a society where people like narcos are held in scorn by men," Darby said, chuckling. "Hijos de puta is a pejorative."
"I believe you would say 'sonsofbitches,'" Duffy said.
"What did you have in mind, Comandante," Castillo asked, "when you said, 'If we are going to work together'?"
"Well, Jose and I had a very nice luncheon in the port restaurant in Montevideo. Do you know it?"
Castillo shook his head.
"You'll have to try it sometime. It's really excellent, if you like meat prepared on a parrilla. It's right across from the Buquebus terminal."
"Can we get to the point of this?" Castillo asked.
"During which," Duffy went on, nodding, "Ordonez told me, in confidence, of course, that what really happened at Estancia Shangri-La had nothing to do with narcos."
"Would you believe me if I told you I never heard of Estancia Shangri-La?"
"No. But I certainly understand why you would profess never to have heard of it. If I may continue?"
Castillo made a dramatic, sarcastic gesture for him to do so.
"I also learned from my friend Jose that his very dear friend, El Coronel Alfredo Munz, formerly the head of SIDE, was associated with you, Colonel. I had only the privilege of a casual acquaintance with El Coronel Munz before the Interior Ministry threw him to the wolves following the murder of Senor Masterson, but I had always heard that he was an honest man, despite the rumors that he was very close to a very bad man named Aleksandr Pevsner."
"Never heard of him, either," Castillo said. "You, Edgar?"
Delchamps shook his head.
Duffy's face first paled, then flushed.
"Enough of this nonsense," Comandante Liam Duffy said angrily. "Let me tell you what I know about you, Colonel Castillo. When the diplomat's wife was kidnapped, you suddenly appeared on the scene and were placed in charge of the situation. But by someone superior to the ambassador, because the ambassador was placed at your orders. You directed the protection of the Masterson family. After Masterson was murdered, you found out who had killed him, and when those hijos de puta went to the estancia of Masterson's brother-in-law, most probably to eliminate him and take possession of some sixteen million dollars, they were surprised to find you and a team of your men waiting for them, having traveled there by helicopter.
"You eliminated all of the bastards and took possession of the sixteen million dollars. You lost one of your men, and Colonel Munz suffered a wound. And these were not ordinary narcos. One of them was Major Alejandro Vincenzo of the Cuban Direccion General de Inteligencia."
He paused.
"Shall I go on, Colonel Castillo?"
"What is it that you want from me, Comandante?" Castillo asked.
"What I intend to do, Colonel, is find and deal with the criminales who murdered and kidnapped my men. I will make the point very strongly that this was unacceptable behavior. I'm very much afraid that in your efforts to free Special Agent Timmons, you will interfere with my plans to do this. That is something I cannot-will not-permit.
"From what both Ordonez and Munz tell me about you, you let nothing get in your way of what you consider your mission. So you have the choice, Colonel, between working under my orders or leaving Argentina. You have already broken many of our laws, and are obviously prepared to break whatever of our laws might interfere with your mission.
"Working under my orders will mean that I will have access to your assets, including money, intelligence, equipment, and personnel. More important, it will mean that you will take no action of any kind without my approval.
"On the other hand, you will have access to my intelligence and what few assets I have. Ordonez has told Munz I am a man of my word. I am. We have a more or less common goal. You want to get your man Timmons back from the narcos. Beyond that, I don't know. We share an interest in interdicting the flow of drugs, of course. But we both know that neither you nor I-or you and I together-can stop the trade. But we can, I believe, cost the hijos de puta a great deal of money. That's something.
"So what you are going to do now, Colonel Castillo, is go out to Nuestra Pequena Casa-which was rented under fraudulent conditions for illegal purposes-and get on that marvelous radio of yours-the possession and use of which are also offenses under Argentina law-and tell your superior of this conversation. If he is agreeable to our working together, Alfredo knows how to contact me. If not, I will give you twenty-four hours from noon today to get out of Argentina before I notify the Interior Ministry of your illegal behavior, and the foreign ministry of the actions of el Senor Darby, el Senor la Senora Sieno, and others, which I feel certain will merit their being declared persona non grata. Do I make myself clear, Colonel?"
Castillo met Duffy's eyes and nodded.
"I mentioned sharing my intelligence with you," Duffy said. "It has come to my attention that the narcos were aware you were coming to Argentina to deal with Special Agent Timmons's kidnapping. Their solution to that potential problem for them was to kidnap you, and failing that, to kill you. And, of course, your men. It was for that reason that my men were at Ezeiza and escorted you here. I didn't want that to happen to you until we had a chance to talk."
"Thank you very much for your concern," Castillo said with a sarcastic edge.
"It is nothing, Colonel. Have a pleasant day."
Duffy stood up behind his desk and threw the envelope of photographs back across the desk to Castillo.
"You may have those, Colonel," he said as he put on his suit jacket. "In case you might need a reminder that if the hijos de puta are willing to do this to my men, they'll certainly be willing to do the same to Special Agent Timmons."
Then he walked out of the room, leaving the door open.
Max lay down again, watching the door with his head resting between his front paws.
They heard the sound of an engine starting, of a car moving, then the sound of it bumping down over the bumps of the ramp, then the screech of the corrugated steel overhead door opening to the street.
Castillo looked at the others and found they were all looking at him.
"Gentlemen," he said. "Why don't we go out to Nuestra Pequena Casa and get some breakfast?"
He paused, then went on: "And if you have nothing better to do, please assemble your thoughts vis-a-vis getting your leader out of this fucking mess."
[TWO]
Mayerling Country Club
Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1125 9 September 2005 When Munz slowed the BMW as they approached the striped pole barrier to the country club, he looked over at Castillo, who was sitting beside him. Max had somehow managed to squeeze himself between Castillo's feet, and now had his head on Castillo's lap. Castillo, his head bent, was apparently asleep.
Munz smiled and shook his head.
"We're here, Karl," Munz announced. "Our gendarmeria escort has just left us."
Castillo's head immediately jerked erect.
"Would you believe I was thinking?" he asked.
"No," Jake Torine said from the backseat.
Torine was jammed in between Alex Darby and Edgar Delchamps.
"I was trying to make an
important decision," Castillo said.
"And did you?"
"I thought I would seek your wise counsel before reaching a final decision," Castillo said. "Based on your vast poker-playing experience."
"What the hell are you talking about, Ace?" Delchamps asked.
"When do I call that Evil Leprechaun sonofabitch and tell him I surrender?"
"Is that what you're going to do?" Darby asked.
Castillo did not reply directly. Instead, he went on, "Do I call almost immediately, as if my superior in Washington immediately caved in? Or in an hour-or two or three-giving Duffy the idea that my superior ordered me to surrender only after solemn thought, probably after he consulted with his superiors?"
"I gather you are not going to seek Montvale's sage advice?" Delchamps said. "Or anybody else's?"
"Two problems with that," Castillo said, "the first, of course, being that Montvale is not my superior. Second, my asking Montvale would permit him to happily run to the President-who is my boss-then sadly report that, as he predicted, the impetuous young colonel has gotten himself in a bind in Argentina. The idea there being to really put me in Montvale's pocket. So the only 'anybody else' I can call is my boss-'Good morning, Mr. President. The Lone Ranger here. A redheaded Argentine cop has got me by the balls and I really don't know what to do.'"
Delchamps chuckled.
"Make the call in two or three hours, Karl," Munz said, softly but seriously.
"Reasoning?" Castillo asked.
"Liam Duffy would be suspicious if you called him right away, that you did not consult with your superior and were lying to him. He expects that you do have a superior-far down the ladder from your President, but a superior, or superiors. If you wait the several hours, he will probably think that you have been ordered to cooperate with him. And will think that makes you less of a problem to him."
Castillo grunted, then looked at Darby.
"Alex?"
"I think you should follow Alfredo's advice," Alex Darby said. "He tends to be right."
"Jake?" Castillo said, turning.
"That's a decision someone of my pay grade is not qualified to make," Torine said.
"Edgar?"
"I go with Alfredo," Delchamps said.
"Okay. I'll call him in three hours," Castillo said.
"Karl," Munz said, "remember that Duffy said, 'Munz knows how to contact me.'"
"I remember," Castillo said. "So?"
"I suggest it might be better if I was your contact with Duffy."
Castillo was considering the implications of that when Delchamps said, "He's right again, Ace."
"Okay again, then," Castillo said.
He looked out the window. They were almost at Nuestra Pequena Casa.
"I thought with a little bit of luck I might never see this place again," he said.
Susanna Sieno opened the door of the house as they pulled up to it. Max got out first, climbing over Castillo into the rear seat and then jumping out the rear door as Darby opened it.
Castillo swore.
"Not very well trained, is he, Ace?" Delchamps asked innocently.
There was a man sitting in a straight-backed chair just inside the door. He stood up and came to attention as Castillo entered.
He was short, stocky, olive-skinned, had a neatly trimmed pencil-line mustache and a closely cropped ring of dark hair circling the rear of his skull, the rest of which was hairless and shiny. He was wearing a shiny blue single-breasted suit, a white shirt, and a really ugly necktie, which ended halfway down his stomach.
That Irish sonofabitch has had the balls to put a spy in here!
Confirmation of that seemed to come when the man said, "Buenos dias, mi coronel. A sus ordenes."
Castillo nodded, and replied in Spanish, "Good day. And you are?"
"Capitan Manuel D'Elia, mi coronel."
Castillo continued the exchange in Spanish: "And what are you doing here?"
"I am here for duty, mi coronel."
"Comandante Duffy sent you?"
"No, mi coronel."
"Then who did?"
"General McNab, mi coronel."
"You're an American?"
"Si, mi coronel."
"Where are you from, Captain?"
Captain D'Elia switched to English. "Miami, Colonel."
"It's not your day, is it, Ace?" Delchamps said. "He really got you."
Castillo flashed him a dirty look.
D'Elia said, "I sent Colin Leverette to Rucker-he said he knew you, sir-while I got the team moving from Bragg. And I brought up the rear. I got here yesterday morning. Mrs. Sieno brought me out here."
"Your whole team is here?"
"Yes, sir."
"Here here? Or someplace else?"
"I'm the only one here, sir. The others are stashed in hotels around Buenos Aires. Except our commo and intel sergeants who-at Mr. Darby's suggestion-I sent ahead to Asuncion."
"Where in Asuncion?"
Darby said, "They're in the Hotel Resort Casino Yacht amp; Golf Club Paraguay, Charley. Gambling, chasing ladies, maybe even playing golf-on your nickel-and incidentally looking around."
"They're not going to attract attention doing that?"
"They're traveling on Mexican passports, Colonel," D'Elia said. "Legitimate ones. They're Texicans."
He looked at Castillo to see if he understood the term.
"You're looking at one," Castillo said.
D'Elia smiled.
"With all possible respect, sir-and I admit you do talk the talk-you look like a gringo to me."
"And you don't, fortunately," Castillo said. "What about your sergeants in Asuncion?"
"No one will think they're gringos, Colonel."
"And the rest of your team?"
"Everybody but Colin Leverette can pass-has passed-as a native Latino. That's presuming Paraguay isn't that much different from Bolivia or Venezuela. Or Cuba, for that matter, although not everybody on my team has had the chance to see how Castro has fucked up the land of my ancestors."
"Colin told me he'd been to Cuba," Castillo said.
"He did fine in Cuba as a Brazilian," D'Elia said. "In Venezuela-not so many black-skinned folks-he also passed himself off as a Brazilian. He speaks pretty good Portuguese."
"He also speaks pretty good Pashtu," Castillo said.
"So do I," D'Elia said in Pashtu. "Darby and I were talking about that. We must have just missed each other over there, sir."
"You knew Alex there?"
D'Elia nodded.
"And Mrs. Sieno and I have been exchanging Cuban war stories," he said.
"Under those circumstances, welcome, welcome, Captain," Castillo said. "Just as soon as we get something to eat, I'll bring you up to speed on what's going down."
He turned to Susanna Sieno.
"How about mustering the troops in the quincho, Susanna?"
"Everybody?"
Castillo nodded, then understood her question.
"Ask Sergeant Mullroney and Lieutenant Lorimer to come watch us eat first, please. Then muster them in the quincho."
"Sit down, please, Sergeant Mullroney," Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo said politely when the Chicago detective came into the dining room of the main house with Lorimer. "While we talk about what we're going to do with you."
Mullroney sat down across the table from Castillo; Lorimer sat down between Torine and Delchamps.
A plump, middle-aged woman and a younger one began distributing ham and eggs and plates of rolls.
Her daughter? Castillo wondered.
Whoever they are, they wouldn't be here if Susanna didn't trust them.
Castillo pushed a coffee thermos across the table.
"Has Charley here been a good boy, Eddie?" Castillo asked.
"A very good boy, sir," First Lieutenant Edmund Lorimer said.
"Then we mustn't forget to give him a gold star to take home to mommy-I mean, the mayor-mustn't we?"
"No, sir, we mustn't. I'll be sure to
do that. May I ask when that will be, Colonel?"
"First thing tomorrow morning," Castillo said. He looked at Mullroney for a long moment, then asked, "No comment, Sergeant?"
"You know the mayor's not going to be happy if you send me home, Colonel," Mullroney said after a moment.
"I guess not," Castillo said. "But the situation here-already bad-got worse about an hour ago, which leaves me with two choices. Making the mayor unhappy by sending you back home, or watching this operation blow up in my face-which, as you know, Sergeant, means in the President's face-which is not really an option."
"Lorimer just told you I haven't been giving anybody any trouble," Mullroney protested.
"That's because Lieutenant Lorimer has been sitting on you, under my orders to take you out if you even looked like you were thinking of doing something you shouldn't. So you behaved, and you get to go home-alive-with that gold star I was talking about."
"You really don't want to piss off the mayor, Colonel," Mullroney said.
"No, I don't, and I don't think I will. Making him unhappy and pissing him off are two different things. Do you know what we mean by a Gold Star for Mommy, Sergeant?"
Mullroney didn't reply, and his face showed embarrassed confusion.
"I will send a letter to the mayor with Colonel Torine," Castillo said, "with copies to the President and the director of National Intelligence, saying how much we appreciate his offering us your services, and how hard you have tried to be of use, but that I have reluctantly concluded you just don't have the investigative, analytical, and other skills necessary, and that I decided the best thing to do to ensure the success of the operation was to send you home."
"You sonofabitch!" Mullroney said.
Castillo went on as if he hadn't heard him: "Now, that will almost certainly make the mayor unhappy, but I think if he's going to be pissed off at anybody it will be at you, Sergeant Mullroney, for not being able to cut the mustard. I don't think that will make you too popular with Special Agent Timmons's family, either."
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