"Mr. Dondiemo," Castillo said.
"Mr. Castillo," Kennedy said. "How good to see you." He looked at Pevsner. "Did I hear a buzzer just now?"
"This is Mr. Lopez," Pevsner said. "Charley's cousin. He has a.
45."
"And that's all, Howard, we're not wired," Charley said.
Kennedy ignored the remark.
"You said something about needing a flat roof?" he said and motioned for Charley to follow him onto an unusually wide balcony, furnished with upholstered cast-aluminum deck furniture. Kennedy pushed a button on the wall as he went through open sliding-glass doors. There was an electric hum and the awning shading the balcony began to retract.
"Will that do?" Kennedy asked, pointing to the roof.
"Sherman?" Castillo called and Sergeant Sherman came out on the balcony.
Castillo pointed to the roof.
Sherman looked and then nodded.
"I'll probably even have room to put it far enough from the edge so it won't attract attention from the ground," Sherman said.
"Do you think you could find a bellman to show Mr. Sherman how to get to the roof? And help him with his luggage?" Castillo asked.
"As I told you on the phone, Charley, your wish is our command," Kennedy said.
"How long is that going to take you, Sherman?" Castillo asked.
"Not long," Sherman said.
He went to his enormous hard-sided suitcase, removed the control panel and its laptop-sized computer, and put them on a small desk beside the windows leading to the balcony and then closed the suitcase. When he started to pick it up, Pevsner snapped his fingers and two of the bellmen went quickly to him to take it from him.
Sherman looked at Castillo, smiled, and shrugged, as if to say, "What the hell, why not," and then started after the men with the suitcase.
Sherman touched the small of his back, as if adjusting a pistol in his waistband.
Sure, he's got a pistol. Delta Force, like Mr. Pevsner, tries to be prepared for anything.
I wonder why the detector didn't pick it up?
Or probably it did. It picked up both pistols at the same time but only Fernando fessed up.
Alex, my friend, your security isn't as hole-proof as you think.
As Sherman went out of the apartment, two white-jacketed waiters came in, each pushing a serving cart before him.
"I thought you might need a little something to eat after your flight," Pevsner said. "But before we do that, has everyone met my cousin, Roberto, sometimes called 'Howard'?"
Everyone shook hands with Howard Kennedy.
The waiters began laying out an elaborate breakfast buffet. When one of the chrome domes over a large plate was removed, Castillo saw eggs Benedict.
When they had finished setting up the buffet, both waiters took up positions behind the tables-much like "Parade rest," with their arms folded on the smalls of their backs-and waited to make themselves useful.
Pevsner snapped his fingers again, said, " Gracias, "and pointed toward the door. The waiters quickly scurried out.
"Now that we're alone, Alex," Castillo said, "are you going to tell us where the 727 is?"
"Have some eggs Benedict, Charley. There's plenty of time."
"No, there is not plenty of time," Castillo snapped. "Where's the goddamned airplane?"
The look on Howard Kennedy's face made it clear that Pevsner was not used to being addressed in that tone of voice and that he wasn't at all sure how Pevsner would react.
A cold look flashed across Pevsner's face, quickly replaced by a smile.
"If you eat your eggs Benedict, my friend, I will tell you where it is not," Pevsner said.
There was a sharp whistle, and, a moment later, Sergeant Sherman called, "Coming down!"
Everybody looked at the balcony.
An electric extension cord began to come down from the roof, followed immediately by a heavy, flat, tan rubber-covered cable.
Fernando said, "I'll get them," and walked quickly onto the balcony and caught the extension cord and cable.
"Plug the electric cord into the wall," Sergeant Sherman said. "It doesn't matter if it's 110 or not. We have a built-in converter. I'll plug the cable in."
"Got it," Fernando called back.
"We have 110-volt current," Pevsner said.
"Alex, where is it not?" Castillo asked, coldly.
"It's not at El Vigia," Pevsner said. "It was, but it's gone."
"Where's El Vigia?" Castillo asked, visibly surprised.
"About fifty miles south of Lake Maracaibo in Venezuela," Pevsner said.
"What about Zandery, Suriname? You're telling me it's not in Suriname?"
"Where'd you get that?" Pevsner asked in surprise. "As far as I know, it's never been in Suriname. Howard, did you tell him anything about Suriname?"
"Only that it wasn't going there: Oh, that's right. The ten-dollar-a-minute phone in the plane cut us off before I could tell you that, Charley, didn't it?"
"Jesus Christ!" Castillo said. "We've been working on the premise that it went from Gambia to Suriname. Why the hell did they paint Suriname numbers on it?"
"Possibly, they're trying to confuse you," Pevsner said, dryly, adding flatly, "The 727 went from Gambia to El Vigia."
"How many fuel bladders were aboard?" Torine asked.
"Thirteen were trucked into Abeche," Howard Kennedy answered.
"What was it doing in El Vigia? What's in El Vigia?" Castillo asked.
"There's a pretty good field there," Kennedy said. "Originally built as a private field by Shell to service their oil fields in Lake Maracaibo. Nobody could use it without Shell's permission. After the Venezuelans nationalized the oil industry, it occurred to the powers that be that having a private airfield-a no-questions-asked airfield; one that could handle large jets-could sometimes be useful. So it's still a 'private landing strip.' "
"So what's the 727 doing there?"
Pevsner and Kennedy looked at each other.
"I'd rather not tell you until I'm sure," Pevsner said.
"Why not?"
Kennedy looked at Pevsner for guidance. Pevsner gave it with a wave of his hand.
"Well, when it comes to payback time for our cooperation in your investigation," Kennedy said, "I don't want somebody-my former colleagues are very good at this-saying, 'Well, yeah, he did tell Castillo that the plane was in Chad, but we'd have heard about that anyway, and he did tell Castillo that the 727 was going to South America, but where else could it have gone? And when he told Castillo that the airplane was in El Vigia, having thus and so done to it, that was absolutely untrue. Pevsner gave Castillo nothing we couldn't have gotten ourselves, and, therefore, we owe him nothing."
"Tell me about 'thus and so,' Howard," Castillo said.
Kennedy put up both hands, palms outward, signaling, Not from me, Charley.
"Tell me, Charley," Pevsner asked, "do you think the government of Venezuela would admit to any knowledge of a stolen airplane, possibly in the hands of terrorists, having flown to a private landing strip near Lake Maracaibo?"
Castillo met his eyes but didn't say anything.
"Or," Pevsner went on, "that while it was there, it took on new registration numbers-a fresh identity-and a great deal of fuel, much of it loaded into fuel bladders, and then took off again?"
"Took off for where?" Castillo asked, softly.
"I've got a good idea but I don't want to tell you until I'm sure," Pevsner said.
"I have to know what you think," Castillo said.
"Let me run an off-the-wall scenario past you," Kennedy said. "With the understanding that you know that this is not what Mr. Dondiemo and I are telling you is likely to happen. Just for the sake of conversation, all right?"
"Okay."
Charley saw Fernando walk over to inspect the breakfast buffet. Then he found himself a chair, carried it to the table the waiters had set up, and then began to help himself to the food.
Colonel Torine was apparently inspired by Fernando's hunger. He got a chair and pulled it up to the table and then started filling a plate from the buffet.