huge television screen began to show the Uruguayan countryside, and then approached a city.
“That’s the town of Tacuarembó. Not much of a town. The road to the estancia is at the top right of the picture. A quarter of a mile or so out of town, the paving stops. The roads, according to the maps, are ‘improved,’ which means anything from paved with stone to mud. We better count on mud; this is the rainy season.”
“Now there’s Estancia Shangri-La itself. Shot through the soup from about twenty-five hundred feet. I think— I hope—the stuff Yung shot when I made the low-level pass will give us a hell of a lot more detail. But you can see the house. Notice the interior courtyard, and the outbuildings.”
“Now this is the road leading away from Shangri-La. In other words, farther away from Tacuarembó. What I was looking for was a place where we could set up Kranz’s radio today. And tomorrow, where we could form up, and where I can leave the chopper while we’re making the snatch. I went five miles or so in this direction and didn’t find one. It all looked like swamp—maybe because of the rain—or it was full of rocks or trees, or both.”
“So I went over here. Much closer to where we’re going. You can’t tell it from the air, but the maps show that it’s a hundred or so feet higher than the buildings at the estancia.I’m sure I can get in there without being seen, and I don’t think anyone will be able to tell the difference between a chopper flying overhead and me landing. And . . . where the hell is it? There it is. A field without rocks or trees, and it looks as if it drains pretty well.”
“And here, a half mile, give or take, from the field is another ‘improved’ road. You have to go all the way back to Tacuarembó to get on it. But that’s what, Bradley, you’re going to have to take to get to it. You’ll take Ricardo Solez with you. I don’t know what the hell to do about the damned CD plates on the Yukon. . . .”
He stopped the video and looked at Darby.
“The Yukon now has Argentine plates on it, Charley,” Alex Darby said. “And Argentine documents in the glove compartment.”
“How less suspicious will the Argentine plates make it—?” Castillo heard a whirring noise, and realized the printer was already printing the stills.
“Not as unsuspicious as Uruguayan plates,” Darby admitted. “But I just couldn’t put my hands on Uruguayan plates on such short notice. And anyway, Uruguayan plates have the province on them. You can’t tell where an Argentine vehicle is from from the plates.”
“Okay,” Castillo said. “Bradley, keep your mouth shut if you get stopped or anything. Ricardo’s Texican, speaks pretty good porteño Spanish, can probably pass for a Uruguayan, and probably can get away with explaining you as his anemic cousin.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The way we’re going to do this is that you’re going to drive the Yukon to Tacuarembó as soon as this meeting breaks up. It’s about two hundred twenty miles, so figure five hours, six if the roads are bad, but it’s a real highway as far as Tacuarembó—I flew up it this morning—so we may get lucky. If you leave here by twelve-thirty, that should put you in the city by six-thirty at the latest. There will still be some light until about half past five. The priority, obviously, is to get the fuel and weapons up there safely, even if that takes you until midnight. Having said that, the sooner you get there, the better. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Corporal Bradley said. “Highest road speed consistent with safety.”
“And share the driving,” Castillo ordered, and thought, At least Ricardo will be driving half the time. “Change over every hour.”
“Yes, sir,” Bradley almost barked.
You’re being unfair. He may look like an escapee from the high school cheerleading squad, but he did get the Yukon here, didn’t he? And the fuel and weapons past the border guards?
“In the best of all possible worlds,” Castillo continued, “you would get to Tacuarembó at, say, quarter to five, even a little earlier. That would give you time to find the right road out of town, and then to find the field. You’ll have a map. Getting from the road to the field is the problem. Reconnoiter it on foot, make sure, operative word sure, that you won’t get the truck stuck in the mud. If