"You may have those, Colonel," he said as he put on his suit jacket. "In case you might need a reminder that if the hijos de puta are willing to do this to my men, they'll certainly be willing to do the same to Special Agent Timmons."
Then he walked out of the room, leaving the door open.
Max lay down again, watching the door with his head resting between his front paws.
They heard the sound of an engine starting, of a car moving, then the sound of it bumping down over the bumps of the ramp, then the screech of the corrugated steel overhead door opening to the street.
Castillo looked at the others and found they were all looking at him.
"Gentlemen," he said. "Why don't we go out to Nuestra Pequena Casa and get some breakfast?"
He paused, then went on: "And if you have nothing better to do, please assemble your thoughts vis-a-vis getting your leader out of this fucking mess."
[TWO]
Mayerling Country Club
Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1125 9 September 2005 When Munz slowed the BMW as they approached the striped pole barrier to the country club, he looked over at Castillo, who was sitting beside him. Max had somehow managed to squeeze himself between Castillo's feet, and now had his head on Castillo's lap. Castillo, his head bent, was apparently asleep.
Munz smiled and shook his head.
"We're here, Karl," Munz announced. "Our gendarmeria escort has just left us."
Castillo's head immediately jerked erect.
"Would you believe I was thinking?" he asked.
"No," Jake Torine said from the backseat.
Torine was jammed in between Alex Darby and Edgar Delchamps.
"I was trying to make an important decision," Castillo said.
"And did you?"
"I thought I would seek your wise counsel before reaching a final decision," Castillo said. "Based on your vast poker-playing experience."
"What the hell are you talking about, Ace?" Delchamps asked.
"When do I call that Evil Leprechaun sonofabitch and tell him I surrender?"
"Is that what you're going to do?" Darby asked.
Castillo did not reply directly. Instead, he went on, "Do I call almost immediately, as if my superior in Washington immediately caved in? Or in an hour-or two or three-giving Duffy the idea that my superior ordered me to surrender only after solemn thought, probably after he consulted with his superiors?"
"I gather you are not going to seek Montvale's sage advice?" Delchamps said. "Or anybody else's?"
"Two problems with that," Castillo said, "the first, of course, being that Montvale is not my superior. Second, my asking Montvale would permit him to happily run to the President-who is my boss-then sadly report that, as he predicted, the impetuous young colonel has gotten himself in a bind in Argentina. The idea there being to really put me in Montvale's pocket. So the only 'anybody else' I can call is my boss-'Good morning, Mr. President. The Lone Ranger here. A redheaded Argentine cop has got me by the balls and I really don't know what to do.'"
Delchamps chuckled.
"Make the call in two or three hours, Karl," Munz said, softly but seriously.
"Reasoning?" Castillo asked.
"Liam Duffy would be suspicious if you called him right away, that you did not consult with your superior and were lying to him. He expects that you do have a superior-far down the ladder from your President, but a superior, or superiors. If you wait the several hours, he will probably think that you have been ordered to cooperate with him. And will think that makes you less of a problem to him."
Castillo grunted, then looked at Darby.
"Alex?"
"I think you should follow Alfredo's advice," Alex Darby said. "He tends to be right."
"Jake?" Castillo said, turning.
"That's a decision someone of my pay grade is not qualified to make," Torine said.
"Edgar?"
"I go with Alfredo," Delchamps said.
"Okay. I'll call him in three hours," Castillo said.
"Karl," Munz said, "remember that Duffy said, 'Munz knows how to contact me.'"
"I remember," Castillo said. "So?"
"I suggest it might be better if I was your contact with Duffy."
Castillo was considering the implications of that when Delchamps said, "He's right again, Ace."
"Okay again, then," Castillo said.
He looked out the window. They were almost at Nuestra Pequena Casa.
"I thought with a little bit of luck I might never see this place again," he said.
Susanna Sieno opened the door of the house as they pulled up to it. Max got out first, climbing over Castillo into the rear seat and then jumping out the rear door as Darby opened it.
Castillo swore.
"Not very well trained, is he, Ace?" Delchamps asked innocently.
There was a man sitting in a straight-backed chair just inside the door. He stood up and came to attention as Castillo entered.
He was short, stocky, olive-skinned, had a neatly trimmed pencil-line mustache and a closely cropped ring of dark hair circling the rear of his skull, the rest of which was hairless and shiny. He was wearing a shiny blue single-breasted suit, a white shirt, and a really ugly necktie, which ended halfway down his stomach.
That Irish sonofabitch has had the balls to put a spy in here!
Confirmation of that seemed to come when the man said, "Buenos dias, mi coronel. A sus ordenes."
Castillo nodded, and replied in Spanish, "Good day. And you are?"
"Capitan Manuel D'Elia, mi coronel."
Castillo continued the exchange in Spanish: "And what are you doing here?"
"I am here for duty, mi coronel."
"Comandante Duffy sent you?"
"No, mi coronel."
"Then who did?"
"General McNab, mi coronel."
"You're an American?"
"Si, mi coronel."
"Where are you from, Captain?"
Captain D'Elia switched to English. "Miami, Colonel."
"It's not your day, is it, Ace?" Delchamps said. "He really got you."
Castillo flashed him a dirty look.
D'Elia said, "I sent Colin Leverette to Rucker-he said he knew you, sir-while I got the team moving from Bragg. And I brought up the rear. I got here yesterday morning. Mrs. Sieno brought me out here."
"Your whole team is here?"
"Yes, sir."
"Here here? Or someplace else?"
"I'm the only one here, sir. The others are stashed in hotels around Buenos Aires. Except our commo and intel sergeants who-at Mr. Darby's suggestion-I sent ahead to Asuncion."
"Where in Asuncion?"
Darby said, "They're in the Hotel Resort Casino Yacht amp; Golf Club Paraguay, Charley. Gambling, chasing ladies, maybe even playing golf-on your nickel-and incidentally looking around."
"They're not going to attract attention doing that?"
"They're traveling on Mexican passports, Colonel," D'Elia said. "Legitimate ones. They're Texicans."
He looked at Castillo to see if he understood the term.
"You're looking at one," Castillo said.
D'Elia smiled.
"With all possible respect, sir-and I admit you do talk the talk-you look like a gringo to me."
"And you don't, fortunately," Castillo said. "What about your sergeants in Asuncion?"
"No one will think they're gringos, Colonel."
"And the rest of your team?"
"Everybody but Colin Leverette can pass-has passed-as a native Latino. That's presuming Paraguay isn't that much different from Bolivia or Venezuela. Or Cuba, for that matter, although not everybody on my team has had the chance to see how Castro has fucked up the land of my ancestors."
"Colin told me he'd been to Cuba," Castillo said.
"He did fine in Cuba as a Brazilian," D'Elia said. "In Venezuela-not so many black-skinned folks-he also passed himself off as a Brazilian. He speaks pretty good Portuguese."
"He also speaks pretty good Pashtu," Castillo said.
"So do I," D'Elia said in Pashtu. "Darby and I were talking about that. We must have just missed each other over there, sir."
"You knew Alex there?"
D'Elia nodded.
"And Mrs. Sieno and I have been exchanging Cuban war stories," he said.