“You seem to be in pretty good spirits, Charley.”
“Compared to this morning, you mean?”
Yung nodded.
“This morning, after meeting with the Evil Leprechaun, I thought this operation had no chance at all of succeeding. Now I think the odds are one in, say, eight or ten that we can carry it off. That’s a hell of an improvement, wouldn’t you say?”
XI
[ONE]
Presidente de la Rua Suite
The Four Seasons Hotel
Cerrito 1433
Buenos Aires, Argentina
0700 10 September 2005
“Fuck it,” Castillo said, more or less to himself. “We can either carry this off or we can’t. And I don’t think the Evil Leprechaun would be dazzled by uniforms. Yours or mine or both of ours. So it’s civvies, Pegleg. Go change back.”
Wrapped in a plush, ankle-length, terry-cloth robe with the Four Seasons logo embroidered on the chest, Castillo was in the large sitting room, standing by the plateglass windows that offered a view of the Retiro railway station and, at a distance, the River Plate.
First Lieutenant Eddie Lorimer, wearing a Class A uniform complete to green beret and ribbon decorations—and there was an impressive display of ribbons—stood between Castillo and the others in the room, the latter seated on couches and chairs and at the dining table.
Edgar Delchamps, reclined in one of the armchairs with his legs stretched straight before him, cleared his throat.
“For what it’s worth, Ace,” he began, “I agree with you. But that leaves unanswered the question of how do we dazzle the bastard?”
“Looking at the beautiful Mrs. Sieno just now, I realized how,” Castillo said, and gestured at Susanna Sieno, who was sitting at the dining table. Her husband was on one of the couches, seated beside Tony Santini.
“Why do I think I’m not going to like this?” Susanna Sieno asked.
“Females are masters of deception,” Castillo said. “They’re born with the ability, which is why they run the world.”
Mrs. Sieno gave Lieutenant Colonel Castillo an unladylike gesture, extending her center finger from her balled fist in an upward motion.
Castillo gestured dramatically toward her.
“Exactly! Right there the lady proves my point. Complete control. And how do they do that? They wing it, that’s how. And that’s what we’re going to do.”
When there was no response, save for several raised eyebrows, Castillo went on: “Think about it, lady and gentlemen. What we have in here are spooks, cops, soldiers, and, of course, a Marine.”
He smiled at Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC, who was sitting at a small desk on which sat an AFC Corporation communications console. Bradley wore a dark gray Brooks Brothers suit—one of two identical garments, the first suits he had ever owned. Dick Miller told Castillo that he had taken Lester to Brooks Brothers in Washington as a morale booster after the Secret Service agents at the house kept treating him like an errand boy. Max, lying at Bradley’s feet, had one paw on his highly polished black leather loafers. Due to the peso exchange rate, Bradley had acquired them for next to nothing—“Thirty bucks U.S.,” he’d told Castillo, “for what would’ve run me more than a hundred back home—at one of the luxury leather-goods stores in downtown Buenos Aires.
“None of us are actors,” Castillo went on in explanation. “And even if we were, we don’t have time before Comandante Duffy shows up to write a script and memorize our lines. And even if we did that, sure as God made little apples we’d either forget them or blow them trying to deliver them. And it would look rehearsed. So…we’ll wing it.”
There was some nodding of understanding around the room.
“What we should do, I think,” Castillo then said, “is make sure we’re all on the same page, so herewith a recap: We’ve got the helicopters as far as Estancia Shangri-La, presuming of course there’s no tropical storm off Montevideo to keep them from flying, and the Navy doesn’t push them over the side or sail too far from the coast to cover their buttocks.
“One of the reasons Ordóñez came through for us on that is because Duffy lied to him. I don’t know about what, but he lied to Ordóñez and that pissed Ordóñez off. Right, Alfredo?”
El Coronel Alfredo Munz, who was sitting in the armchair facing Delchamps with his legs also stretched out, nodded.
Castillo continued: “We should keep Duffy’s lying in mind. Then the question of what to do with the choppers—how to get them near Asunción, how to refuel them en route, etcetera—comes up. We need Duffy to do all those things for us plus, of course, reassure any authorities who might spot the choppers that Argentina is not being invaded by the gringos.
“Then we get to the snatch-and-grab itself. We need Duffy not only to help but to do it our way. I want this op to go down as quietly as possible, which means I’m going to have to dissuade him from leaving bodies all over the place. I’ll figure out how to do that later. Right now, getting him under control is the thing.” He paused. “I can’t think of anything else. Anyone…?”
He looked around the room to see if someone had a better idea. No one did.
“Okay, then,” Castillo said. “Edgar, how about you sitting out the confrontation in my bedroom? What I’m thinking is that if we’ve done something stupid and are about to blow it, you can come in. That would surprise Duffy, take his mind off what we did wrong. And if you pick up on how we screwed up, you’ll probably have a fix.”
Delchamps nodded his agreement.
“Okay, Eddie and I will go change clothes. While we’re gone, Alfredo, will you check on the Aero Commander? We may not need it if we screw this up, but if we don’t, the sooner we get to Bariloche the better.”
“It’ll be waiting for us at Jorge Newbery, Karl,” Munz said. “The owner owes me several large favors.”
“Susanna, if you realize we’re screwing up, you might consider flashing some thigh at him.”
Susanna smiled, shook her head, and gave him the finger again.
The door chime bonged discreetly fifteen minutes later.
Castillo, now wearing a business suit and sitting on the couch as he sipped at a cup of coffee, signaled first with his right index finger for Eddie Lorimer to open the door and then, his eyebrows raised, signaled to all by holding up his right hand with the index and middle fingers crossed.
Everyone in the large sitting room took his meaning: Hope like hell we get away with this!
Lorimer pulled the door open. Comandante Liam Duffy of the Gendarmería Nacional, in civilian clothing, looked somewhat disapprovingly at Lorimer and then at the others in the room.
Tony Santini and Manuel D’Elia were sitting at the dining table, on which a room service waiter was arranging tableware around chrome-dome-covered plates. Alfredo Munz was standing at the plateglass windows, drinking a cup of coffee.
“Well, good morning, Comandante,” Castillo called cheerfully. “You’re just in time for breakfast.”
He pointed at the dining table.
Duffy, who did not look at all pleased with what he saw, ignored Castillo, eyed Max warily, looked curiously at the others, then crossed the room to Munz.
“So, Alfredo,” Duffy said stiffly, and went through the hug-and-kiss rite.
Munz did not respond with anything close to warmth.
“Liam,” he said simply.
“So what’s going on, Alfredo? Who are these people?”
“Right now, Comandante,” Castillo replied for him, “you don’t have to know that.”
“I thought you understood that if we are to work together, I am to know everything,” Duffy said.
Castillo didn’t immediately reply. Instead—with a grunt—he pushed himself off the couch and walked to the dining table. He sat down and waved for Duffy to take a seat.
“I’ve had my breakfast,” Duffy said curtly.
“Well, have a little more,” Castillo said. “As my much-loved abuela is always saying, ‘Breakfast is the most important meal of
the day. It gives you the strength to attack the day’s problems.’”
“I asked who these people are,” Duffy said.
“Maybe we can get to that a little later,” Castillo said.
“I want to know who they are and what they’re doing here,” Duffy said, his voice rising.
“Or?” Castillo asked, quietly.
“Or what?” Duffy responded.
“I didn’t detect some sort of a threat in that request, did I? I really don’t like to be threatened.”
“What’s going on here, Colonel?”
“Well, everybody but you is having their breakfast.”
“You remember our conversation yesterday morning, I presume?”
“Yes, of course. Actually, I’ve given it a lot of thought.”
“The twenty-four hours I gave you to leave the country unless your superiors authorize you to place yourself under my orders is about over, Colonel. And I am not amused by this…this whatever it is.”
“Oh, come on, Duffy,” Castillo said. “You didn’t really think that little act of yours was going to work, did you?” He looked up at Duffy. “You’re sure you don’t want to sit down and have some of these scrambled eggs? They put little chopped up pieces of ham in them. Delicious!”
“Coronel Munz, you had best advise your Yankee friend that I’m serious!”
“So is Colonel Castillo serious, Comandante,” Munz said.
“Actually, Duffy, I’m more of a Texican than a Yankee,” Castillo said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Manuel?”
“I would say that’s so, Colonel,” D’Elia said.
Duffy glared at D’Elia, as if trying to identify his accent, and then looked at Castillo.
“On the telephone you said that you had contacted your superiors and—”
“What I actually said,” Castillo interrupted, “was ‘I’ve been in touch with Washington.’ And then I suggested we have breakfast. And you agreed. But then you come and say you’ve already had yours.”
“All right, enough,” Duffy said. “I am a man of my word, Colonel. I will not have you arrested if you leave the country by midnight tonight.”
He walked to the door.
“At midnight tonight, I’ll be somewhere in Patagonia,” Castillo said. “When I know in which hotel…”
“The Llao Llao, Colonel,” Munz furnished. “Confirmation came when you were in the bathroom.”
“What an odd name,” Castillo said. “The hotel Llao Llao, then, in San Carlos de Bariloche. I don’t think we have our room numbers yet, but I’m sure the management will be able to tell you where we are when your people come to arrest us.”
Duffy turned and looked at him in disbelief and anger.
“Duffy, you’re not going to have me or anyone else arrested, and we both know that,” Castillo said unpleasantly.
“I’m not?” Duffy flared. “You are under arrest for possession and use of an unauthorized radio transmitter.”
“You don’t give up, do you?” Castillo said. “Tell him about the radio, Tony.”
“Just to make sure, Comandante,” Santini said, “I checked with the communications ministry. They tell me that a radio telephone such as that is perfectly legal.”
“We’ll see about that at the police station,” Duffy said. “You may also consider yourself under arrest, señor.”
Santini forced back a grin.
“There’s a small problem with that, Comandante,” Santini said, straight-faced. “I’ve got one of these things.” He waved a small plastic carnet. “I’m an assistant legal attaché at the U.S. embassy. You have no authority to arrest me.”
When Duffy didn’t reply, Santini went on: “I also called the foreign ministry and told them that we were registering Nuestra Pequeña Casa at the Mayerling Country Club in Pilar as the official residence of el Señor la Señora Sieno, which of course—as they also enjoy diplomatic status—gives the house and grounds diplomatic status and makes it inviolate to search.”
Duffy looked at Castillo.
“You sonofabitch!” Duffy said.
“I’ll tell you this one time, Duffy,” Castillo replied coldly. “You can call me just about anything you want but a sonofabitch. If you ever call me a sonofabitch again, I’ll break both of your arms.”
Duffy shook his head in disbelief.
“Alfredo, this man is crazy,” he said. “He has threatened violence—before witnesses; you, if no one else—against a comandante of the Gendarmería Nacional.”
“I didn’t hear any threats, Liam,” Munz said. “But if you ever hear one, pay attention. The colonel doesn’t make them idly.”
“Duffy,” Castillo announced, then realized that all of Duffy’s attention—confused or outraged or both—was focused on Munz.
“Duffy,” he repeated more forcefully.
Duffy finally looked at him.
“Are you going to continue with this nonsense,” Castillo went on, “or shall we start all over again?”
After a very long moment, Duffy asked, “What do you mean, ‘start all over again’?”
“Well, I say, ‘Good morning, Comandante. You’re just in time for breakfast.’ And then you say, ‘How nice. I’m starved.’ And then you come and shake my hand and sit down. And we have our breakfast, and we start talking about how we can help each other. You want to try that, Duffy, or do you want to cut your nose off to spite your face?”
They stared at each other for a long moment.
“Good morning, Comandante,” Castillo said. “You’re just in time for breakfast.”
“I will listen to what you have to say,” Duffy said finally.
“Well, that’s not exactly what I hoped to hear you say,” Castillo said, “but it’s a start, and I’m willing to bend a little.”
He waved Duffy into a chair and offered him a plate of scrambled eggs and ham. When Duffy shook his head, Castillo passed the plate to D’Elia.
Then Castillo put several spoonfuls of the egg and ham onto another plate. There was a basket of hard-crusted baguettes. Castillo took one, broke off a piece of the bread, then forked egg onto that. He generously applied salt and pepper, shook several drops of Tabasco on it, then popped the open-faced sandwich into his mouth and chewed appreciatively.
“Por favor, mi coronel?” D’Elia asked as he motioned with his hand for the bottle of hot sauce.
Castillo passed the Tabasco to him.
D’Elia then made a little sandwich much like Castillo’s. Except that D’Elia was far more liberal with the application of Tabasco. When he had it in his mouth, his face showed his satisfaction with his efforts. He handed the Tabasco back to Castillo as Castillo finished constructing another little egg sandwich. When he had that one in his mouth, he passed the Tabasco to Duffy, who had been watching impatiently, but who took the bottle as a reflex action.
“I’d be careful with that,” Castillo said. “They make it in Louisiana, and some men find it a little too spicy.”
Duffy rose to the challenge. After he made himself a chopped ham and scrambled egg open-faced sandwich, he began to liberally polka-dot it with Tabasco.
“Be careful,” Munz warned.
Duffy popped the little sandwich in his mouth. He chewed and smiled…but then his lips contorted and his face broke out in a sweat.
“La puta madre!” he exclaimed, spitting out the sandwich into a napkin.
“I told you to be careful, and so did Alfredo,” Castillo said, smiling and shaking his head sympathetically.
Duffy ignored that.
“What is it you wish to say, Colonel?” he said impatiently after taking a sip of water. “You said we should ‘start talking about how we can help each other.’”
As Castillo began making himself another sandwich, he said, “Pegleg, why don’t you tell Comandante Duffy what you told us about where you think these people are holding Special Agent Timmons? And the problems of extracting him?”
“‘Pegleg’?” Duffy said without thinking.
“Show the comandante your leg, Pegleg,” Castillo ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Lorimer said, and hoisted his trouser leg.
“The knee is fully articulated,” he said. “And it’s titanium, so light I hardly know it’s on there.” Then, without breaking his cadence, he went on: “They’re more than likely holding Timmons at a remote farm, most likely in Paraguay, but possibly in Argentina. Another possibility is that he’s being held on a watercraft of some sort on the Río Paraguay. Wherever it is—”
“Then you don’t know where he’s being held, I gather?” Duffy interrupted sarcastically.
“Not yet,” Castillo answered for Lorimer. “Let him finish, Comandante.”
“Wherever Timmons is being held, it will be difficult to approach without being detected. The moment they suspect that there will be visitors, they will take Timmons into the bush or put him in a small boat and hide it along the shore of the river. A variation of this scenario—a likely one because of their changed modus operandi—is that they’ve got Timmons at a plant where they refine the paste into cocaine hydrochloride. That sort of place would also be difficult to approach without detection—”
“Difficult? Impossible!” Duffy snorted.
“—as it will almost certainly be approachable over only one road. In this latter scenario, furthermore, there would probably be additional, better-armed and more-skilled guards, better communication, and a generator, or generators, to provide the electricity necessary for the refining operation in case the local power grid goes down. The availability of electricity would probably allow them to have motion-sensing and other intrusion-detecting devices.”
“May I ask a question, Colonel?” Duffy said.
Castillo gestured that he could.
Duffy looked at Lorimer and said, “Where did you acquire this information, señor…? I didn’t get your name.”
“I didn’t give it,” Lorimer said. He looked at Castillo, and when Castillo just perceptibly nodded, Lorimer went on, “Special Agent Timmons and I were close in Asunción. We talked.”
“I was not aware that you were friends,” Duffy said. “So were we.”
“If that’s so,” Castillo put in, “then perhaps you might consider devoting more of your effort to the problem of getting Timmons and your two men back, instead of planning for the massacre of those who took them.”
The Shooters Page 41
