here and spent three weeks investigating.”
“And?”
“I’d already told my boss what I was doing. His reaction was jealousy, not disapproval. So when they triumphantly laid on his desk their report that the guy in Buenos Aires was in the real estate business, he said, ‘I know.’”
Castillo chuckled.
“And it’s like we’re queer, Charley, to answer that question before you ask it. The Cisco guy doesn’t ask, and I don’t tell.”
“You’re a lot smarter than you look, Alex,” Castillo said.
“So what did you find out from the FBI guy in Montevideo?”
Castillo didn’t answer the question, but asked one: “What time is Ambassador Silvio coming?”
“I didn’t know how quickly you could get here, so I told him three. Everybody will be here at three. Is that okay?”
“That’s fine,” Castillo said. “I’ve got an errand to run. I’m sure I can be back by then. While I’m gone, Tony and Jack can tell you what happened with that sonofabitch in Montevideo.”
“I thought maybe you’d be pals after he was told to make nice,” Darby said.
“Not quite. And I’m going to need some maps, topographic maps, of Tacuarembó Province, Uruguay. The more detailed, the better. And of the terrain on a reasonably straight-line route from here to there.”
“Why do I think you’re planning a helicopter flight?”
Castillo didn’t answer that question, either.
“And, to go on my errand, I’m going to need a car without CD tags.”
“Our host has a Mercedes SUV he lets me use. It comes with a driver.”
“I don’t want the driver,” Castillo said. “Just the car.”
The maid came in, pushing a cart with a silver coffee service.
“By the time you finish the coffee, I’ll have the keys to the Mercedes.”
“I don’t have time for coffee, Alex,” Castillo said, and stood up.
[TWO]
Buena Vista Country Club Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1345 29 July 2005
Castillo braked to a stop at the heavy, yellow-striped barrier pole, and with some difficulty finally found the window control switch and lowered the window.
The guard eyed him suspiciously but didn’t speak.
“I’m here to see Mr. Pevsner.”
“I’m sorry, sir. But there’s no one here by that name.”
“Get on the phone and tell Mr. Pevsner his friend from Vienna is here.”
The guard opened his mouth.
“Get on the phone and tell Mr. Pevsner his friend from Vienna is here,” Castillo repeated. “That is not a friendly suggestion.”
The guard stared at him for a moment, and then said, “Park over there, please, señor.” He pointed to a three-car, nose-in parking area.
Castillo saw that another heavy steel barrier pole would keep people out of the country club until it was raised, and that a menacing-looking tire shredder would keep them from changing their minds about wanting to enter Buena Vista and backing out. The guard waited until Castillo had parked the Mercedes before he returned to the guard shack, and the moment the guard entered the shack, another came out, leaned against it, folded his arms on his chest, and stared at the car.
Castillo got out and waved and smiled at the guard, which seemed to confuse him. Castillo took out a small cigar and lit it.
Five minutes later, a Mercedes-Benz ML350 identical to Castillo’s came through the gate, made a U-turn, and pulled in beside Castillo. Castillo had examined it carefully, but the windows were so heavily darkened that it wasn’t until the door opened that Charley could see the driver, and then recognize him.
This doesn’t give me a lot of time to figure out—even guess—what he’s doing here.
“Alfredo! What a pleasant surprise!” Castillo said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Mr. Pevsner had no idea that you were going to call, Karl,” Colonel Alfredo Munz said. “You really should have called first.”
“I will offer my apologies for my bad manners.”
“I know he’s going to be pleased to see you. Would you follow me, please?”
“How do you know that he’ll be pleased to see me?”
“Because when I saw you puffing on your cigar, I called and told him who his friend from Vienna was, and he said, ‘Wonderful. I really want to talk to him,’” Munz replied, snapped an order to the guards to raise the barrier, and got back in his Mercedes. By the time Castillo got behind the wheel, the barrier pole was already high in the air.
Aleksandr Pevsner, wearing riding breeches and boots and a heavy, red, turtleneck woolen sweater, was standing on the verandah of his house waiting for them.
“Charley, how good to see you!” he exclaimed, and embraced him in the Argentine manner.
“How are you, Alex?”
“If you had given the guards your