then he would send an e-mail saying just that: Nothing yet. Working on it. Best wishes. Sherlock Holmes.
He reached for the telephone to call room service and then changed his mind. He would have coffee in the lobby. If there was nothing else to attract his attention— and he thought there was a good chance there would be; the only other place he knew where there were so many good-looking women was Budapest—he’d have a look at the Buenos Aires Herald.
He thought for a moment about what to do with Gossinger’s passport and credit cards, and then put them in the padding of the laptop case. It was always awkward to be found with two sets of identification.
He walked down the corridor to the bank of elevators and pushed the down-arrow button. The door opened almost immediately, and he found himself looking at a slim man in his early forties, with shortly cropped, thinning hair. He wore a light brown single-breasted suit and a subdued necktie. He would not stand out in a crowd.
“Either you’re a much better actor than I’ve previously given you credit for being, or that startled look is genuine,” the man said.
So it was Pevsner’s 767 at Ezeiza. I wonder what the hell they’re doing in Buenos Aires?
“Good morning, Howard,” Castillo said.
“I would say, ‘How are you?’” Howard Kennedy said. “But I think the more important question is ‘Who are you to day?’”
“Today my name is Castillo,” Charley said. “How about you?”
“Charley Castillo, intrepid Green Beret? Or Charley Castillo of the Secret Service?”
It was a high-speed elevator. The door opened onto the lobby as Castillo’s mouth opened. There were people—a family, husband, wife, and two teenaged boys—waiting to get on the elevator.
“The latter, Howard,” Castillo said as he got off the elevator.
Kennedy waited until no one was within hearing.
“So what brings you to Gaucho Land, Charley?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you what I’m doing here if you tell me what you are.”
“Over a cup of coffee? I’ll buy. I know from painful experience how little the government pays its law enforcement agents, even the very good ones.”
“Flattery, and the offer of a free cup of coffee, will get you everywhere.”
Kennedy smiled and touched Castillo’s arm.
“This is probably very foolish of me, but I’m really glad to see you.”
Castillo smiled at him.
“I’m not sure if I’m glad to see you, or just overwhelmed with curiosity.”
Kennedy chuckled and led the way to the nice restaurant set for breakfast and lunch, an open area furnished with low tables and leather-and-chrome armchairs.
A waitress—a stunning young woman with long legs and large dark eyes—appeared almost immediately. They ordered coffee.
“And bring some pastry, please,” Kennedy added. When she had gone, he said, “Very nice. I envy you your bachelor status.”
“I saw the Pan Arabic 767 at Ezeiza,” Charley said. “I wondered if it was yours.”
“My, you are observant, aren’t you? It got in at an obscene hour, and I came here to take a shower and a nap. And then, surprise, surprise!”
“You were going to tell me what you’re doing here.”
“We brought a load of tapestries and other decorations from Riyadh for the King Faisal Islamic Center, and we’re going to take back two dozen polo ponies, and cases of boots and saddles and other accoutrements, for the game of kings.”
“So you’re now a horse trader?”
“Your turn, Charley.”
“There’s a personnel problem at the embassy. They sent me down to see what it really is.”
“Instead of what the ambassador is saying it is?”
Castillo nodded. “Something like that.”
The waitress appeared with coffee and pastry.
“That was quick,” Kennedy said.
He reached for a petit four.
Castillo said, “My grandfather used to say the only things the Argentines do consistently well is eat.”
Kennedy chuckled. “You going to tell me the nature of the personnel problem at the embassy?”
“Just as soon as you tell me what you’re really doing here.”
Kennedy smiled at him. “Now that I think about it, I really don’t give much of a damn about personnel problems in the embassy.”
“On the other hand, I’d really like to know what you’re really doing here.”
“I’m sure you would. But you’re going to have to be satisfied with that it is neither illegal nor inimical to the interests of the United States.”
“I could ask for no more,” Castillo said, and then asked, “You ever see that Mel Gibson movie where they kidnap his kid?”
“No. I can’t say that I have. I’d love to know why you’re asking.”
“It was the in-flight movie. I fell asleep in the middle, and I’ve been