came to my mind is that we’re dealing with a lunatic or lunatics—not necessarily rag-heads; maybe even American—who get off by whacking important people. Masterson qualified as a diplomat and as Jack the Stack. That may explain both why they kidnapped the wife and why they didn’t kill her. They just used her to get to him.”
Castillo grunted.
“And it may explain why they tried to whack you. The President’s agent is in the same league as a diplomat. Maybe even more important. How much of a secret is that down there?”
“Somebody tipped the New York Times that there is a Presidential Agent. And some other members of the press. I don’t think my name came out.”
“Well, that might explain the ambush. Do you know who had the big mouth?”
“I’ve got my suspicions.”
“Have you got a name?”
“I’m not sure about this, Tom.”
“When people are trying to whack you, Charley, an overdose of decency can be lethal.”
“There’s an FBI agent down here who I think made me.”
“Made you how?”
“Do you think—despite the President personally ordering the director to lay off Pevsner—that they still have a ‘locate but do not detain’ out on me?”
“It would be stupid of them, but it wouldn’t surprise me. They really want Kennedy.”
“This guy’s name is Yung. He’s attached to the embassy in Montevideo, supposedly working on money laundering.”
“Supposedly?”
“I ran into Howard Kennedy—”
“He’s down there?” McGuire interrupted. His surprise was evident in his voice.
“He was.”
“Doing what?”
“He said he had brought an airplane load of objets d’art to the King Faisal Islamic Center and was going to take a load of polo ponies back to Arabia.”
“Oddly enough, that sounds legitimate.”
“I think that’s what he was doing. Anyway, he’s gone, and I don’t think he or Pevsner has anything to do with this. Pevsner wants to be invisible, what Kennedy wants is what Pevsner wants, and whacking an American diplomat does not seem to be a good way to be invisible.”
“With Pevsner, you never know.”
“Anyway, Kennedy said he knows this guy Yung, says that he’s a hotshot, and whatever Yung’s doing in Montevideo has nothing to do with money laundering.”
“That’s interesting. Let me see what I can find out about this guy.”
“Thanks again, Tom.”
“I was about to offer you some serious advice.”
“Shoot.”
“Tell me it’s okay for me to call Tony Santini and tell him to sit on you until you get out of there.”
“Tony’s with the Mastersons. I think he should stay there. And I have a Marine bodyguard who won’t let me out of his sight.”
“Your call, Charley. But the more I think about it, I think these people are trying to whack you, so be careful.”
“I will.”
“I just had another thought,” McGuire said. “Off the wall.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“The whackers—of Schneider, if they weren’t specifically after you—are sending a message.”
“What kind of a message?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet. But part of it could be, ‘We can get to you if we want to, Secret Service protection or not.’”
“I don’t know, Tom.”
“I said it was off the wall,” McGuire said. “That doesn’t mean it’s not possible.”
“It brings up something else, Tom. What about protection for the Mastersons in Mississippi?”
“Charley, the President’s going to be in Mississippi. The Secret Service will be all over Keesler. And the head of the protection detail has to know how pissed off he is about Masterson getting whacked.”
“The President’s not going to stay in Mississippi.”
“Good point. I’ll talk to Joel and see what he says. Anything else?”
“Can’t think of anything.”
“Okay, I’ll see you down there.”
Castillo called Ambassador Silvio and told him that Betty was out of the operating room but still unconscious, and that her doctor had said she could travel either the next day or the day following.
Then he got off the floor and looked down at Betty again. She was still out.
Castillo turned to the heavyset nurse.
“How long will she be like this?” he asked.
“Probably for at least an hour, señor.”
“If she wakes before I get back, tell her I’ll be back,” Castillo ordered.
“I will.”
Castillo unplugged the cellular from the charger, saw that he now had enough battery remaining to get to the Four Seasons, then unplugged the charger from the wall and put both devices in his pocket. Then he walked out of the room.
Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC, who was sitting beside Jack Britton, got quickly to his feet when he saw Castillo.
Castillo met Britton’s eyes.
“She’s still out. The nurse says she’ll be out for an hour or more. So Corporal Bradley and I are going to go pack. I’ll have