Castillo took the fax from her and read it.
S?N?R KARL W. GOSSINGER
MY DEAR MR. GOSSINGER:
Roberto Dondiemo
Roberto Dondiemo, my ass!
"It's for me. Thank you very much, Sergeant Schneider," Castillo said.
"Sometime, when you can find time, you can tell me about Mr. Gossinger."
"I'd love to. I'll make time," Castillo said and then turned to Detective Britton. "I'll be right back, Detective Britton. I have to deal with this."
"Sure," Britton said.
He went to Fernando, who was talking-in Spanish-to a Homicide Bureau detective, handed him the fax, and said-in Spanish: "I sure hope you brought your Cozumel International approach charts with you."
"What the hell is this?" Fernando asked, in English, as Castillo punched numbers into his cellular.
"You said you wanted to go snorkeling in Cozumel," Castillo said.
"What?"
The call went through much quicker than Castillo thought it would.
"Roberto Dondiemo."
"Gee, you sure don't have much of an accent when you speak English, Senor Dondiemo."
"Thank you. I could say the same thing about you, Herr Gossinger. There's hardly any trace of German."
"Dare I hope you've straightened out the problem with my American Express card by now?"
"Indeed I have. Absolutely. It was: what's the English phrase?: a glitch of some kind. Can I take it that we'll soon have the pleasure of your company in the resort?"
"If I was sure I could find what I'm looking for, I would certainly come."
"I have a good idea where you can find what you're looking for, Mr. Gossinger. I could say I'm almost positive I can locate it for you."
"You wouldn't want to tell me now, I suppose?"
"I really think you should come down here, Mr. Gossinger. All work and no play, as they say."
"I probably will. But if I do, my party will be a little larger than originally planned."
"Why does that worry me?"
"It shouldn't. One of the people will be my cousin and the other two will be soldiers, taking sort of a busman's holiday."
"None of whom, I hope, have ever heard of me?"
"None of them have ever heard of you."
"I don't know why the hell I trust you, Mr. Gossinger. Maybe it's that boyishly honest face you have."
"But you do, right?"
"Against my better judgment."
"Tell me, does the Grande Cozumel Beach and Golf Resort have a flat roof?"
"Now that you mention it, yes, it does. Is that important, somehow?"
"And the rooms you've reserved for me, are they on the top floor?"
"No. As a matter of fact, you can walk directly from your accommodations onto the beach. We've put you into the Jack Nicklaus Suite. Will that be satisfactory?"
"That's very kind, but we'd much prefer to be on the top floor, which would give us a good view of the beach and where we could watch the waves go up and down. Will that be a problem?"
"Not at all. You'll be among friends here, one of whom happens to own the hotel. Your every wish will be our command."
Jesus, is he telling me Pevsner's there?
"How nice!"
"I was about to suggest that the best way to get here, probably, is through Miami."
"I have a plane."
"What kind of a plane?"
"A Lear 45X. Getting there will be no problem. But I always worry about getting delayed at customs."
"Put your mind at rest about customs. When may we expect the pleasure of your company?"
"I'll call again when I know."
"I'll be expecting your call, Mr. Gossinger."
When he put his cellular telephone back in his pocket, he saw that Betty Schneider and Fernando were looking at him. She had a telephone in her hand, her palm covering the mouthpiece.
"This one's for Supervisory Special Agent Castillo of the Secret Service," she said. "Wouldn't give his name."
He nodded and took the telephone from her.
"Castillo."
"Something wrong with your cellular, Charley?" the secretary of the Department of Homeland Security said.
"Sir, I was talking to: my new friend from Vienna."
"What did he have to say?"
"He wants me to come to Cozumel."
"He's in Cozumel?"
And doesn't want the FBI – for that matter, anybody, but especially the FBI – to know.
But Hall has every right to know.
"Yes, sir. And he says he's almost positive he knows where what we're looking for can be found."
"But he wouldn't tell you where? And he wants you to go to Cozumel?"
"No, sir, he wouldn't tell me. And, yes, sir, he wants me to go to Cozumel."
"He didn't say why?"
"No, sir, he didn't. I think I'd better go, sir."
"And what about General McNab?"
"After I see General McNab, sir, and presuming nothing turns up there that would shoot down Cozumel."
"That's a pretty bad choice of words, Charley."
"Sorry, sir."
Castillo thought he heard Secretary Hall exhale.
"Charley," Hall said, "when I said I wanted you to keep me in the loop I meant it."
"Yes, sir. I understand. I will, sir."
"You didn't tell me about your run-in with the FBI," Hall said, flatly. "I had to hear that from Joel."
"I thought I'd see what Joel could do first, sir. I didn't want to bother you."
"Bother me? Jesus Christ, Charley, we're running out of time!"
"I understand, sir."
"I'm not sure you do. Tomorrow morning- this morning, when I meet with the mayor at half past nine, I'm going to have to tell him."
"Sir, I thought we had until four something in the afternoon."
"The president said I'm to inform the mayor this morning. He said the mayor has the right to know. Which means I have to ask-more accurately, beg-the mayor for a little time before he pushes the panic button. And I'd like to be able to tell him something more than we're looking for the airplane and hope to find it."
"Jesus!"
"Like I said, we're running out of time," Hall said. "But the reason I called: When Joel came to me with your yarn about the FBI's intransigent stupidity, taking you at your word, I got Mark Schmidt out of bed. Taking me at mine, Schmidt seems as angry as you were. He told me that he would deal with it personally. You should be hearing from the special agent in charge of their Philadelphia office any minute. If you don't hear from him in the next fifteen minutes, call me."
"Yes, sir."
"Call me in fifteen minutes, whether or not you hear from them."
"Yes, sir."
[FOUR]
For the next fifteen minutes, Castillo sat in the interviewee chair in interview room 3. Sergeant Betty Schneider sat on the table beside Detective Jack Britton. Chief Inspector Dutch Kramer and Dick Miller leaned against the wall as all three-but mostly Castillo-tried to pull from Britton any bit of information that would fill in the blanks. Britton understood what was being asked of him, and why, and pulled all sorts of esoteric information about the mosque and its mullahs from his memory. None of it seemed useful, although Castillo found what Britton told him fascinating.