"You trust him?"
"Not very much. But as long as he thinks I'm on board to get his men back and I'm willing to go along with his plan to shoot everybody in sight and let the Lord sort them out, I don't think he's going to cause me any problems. I left him with one of the A-Team commanders, who'll warn me if he's about to go out of control."
"What have you got against letting him do what he wants to do?"
"I'm an Army officer, Alek, for one thing, not the avenging hand of God. For another, if I let him do that, and this operation blows up in my face, they call that murder."
"Letting him do what he wants is the only chance you have to get away with this, friend Charley."
"Unless you can get these people to let Timmons go."
"I've told you that that is not going to happen. These people are making a point. They can kidnap people. They're not going to turn this fellow loose because you threaten them. And if you just drop in and get him, leaving their men alive-and their refining facility and warehouse full of drugs intact-they would have to send another message. On the other hand, if you-or this fellow Duffy-leave bodies all over the terrain, to use your phrase, and blow up their warehouse and refinery, what do you think will happen?"
"I think you're about to tell me."
"There's no way that could be kept a secret. The word will get out-Duffy's gendarmes will talk. More important, Duffy will want it to get out, to take credit; he got the people who killed and kidnapped his gendarmes. And that will leave the Argentine government with the choice of trying Duffy for murder or saying, 'Congratulations, Comandante, for dealing so effectively with these criminals. It is to be regretted, of course, that so many of them died, but those who live by the sword, etcetera, etcetera…"
"What about my involvement?"
"Who's going to believe the United States government sent Delta Force shooters and helicopters to carry them down here to rescue one ordinary drug agent? I find that hard to believe myself, even coming from you, friend Charley."
Castillo looked at him with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
"All you have to do is get out of wherever they're holding your man as soon as you have him," Pevsner said, then added, as if he had read Castillo's mind, "You know I'm right, friend Charley."
Castillo still didn't reply.
"And Colonel Primakov is wise enough to take his losses; he's too smart to attempt retribution against what he will believe is the Argentine government. He'll lay low for a while, and then start up again. He may even call off the people he sent looking for you. After all, you'll no longer be here, will you?"
"Shit," Castillo said.
"What's next for you?" Pevsner asked, the question implying that a discussion had been held and a conclusion drawn.
"I'm going to Asuncion in the morning," Castillo said. "To see what I can find out about who in the embassy ordered me whacked. And I want to see what I can find out about this scheme to seize cruise ships. There's something about it that smells."
"Is there an expression in English to the effect that wise men leave sleeping dogs lie? That's really none of your business, is it, friend Charley?"
Castillo looked at him and thought, And he's right about that, too.
"No, it isn't any of my business. Neither, I suppose, is finding out who in the embassy wants me whacked. Unless, of course, they succeed before I can get out of here."
[THREE]
La Casa el Bosque
San Carlos de Bariloche
Rio Negro Province, Argentina 0730 11 September 2005 Castillo, Munz, Janos, and Pevsner were standing on the steps of the house smoking cigars and holding mugs of coffee steaming in the morning cold. Max was gnawing on an enormous bone.
They had begun smoking the cigars at the breakfast table but had been ordered out of the house by Anna's raised eyebrow when Sergei, the youngest boy, had sneezed.
"He and Aleksandr both have colds, poor things," she had said, and then raised her eyebrow directly at her husband.
"Gentlemen, why don't we have our coffee on the verandah?" Pevsner had suggested.
Once there, he had said, not bitterly, "There is a price one must pay for children. It generally has to do with giving up something one is fond of. True, friend Charley?"
"Absolutely," Castillo agreed.
I think.
I have been a father about a week, and I'm still not familiar with the price…or the rules.
He heard a cry, a strange one, of a bird and looked around to find the bird. He didn't see the bird, but as he looked up he saw a legend carved into the marble above the massive doors.
"I'll be a sonofabitch," he said, and read it aloud: "House in the Woods."
"That's what Schmidt called it," Pevsner said.
"It's what our family calls the house in Germany, Haus im Wald," Castillo said.
"Where you grew up?"
Castillo nodded.
"Don't tell me it looks like Carinhall."
"No, it looks like a factory," Castillo said. "Or maybe a funeral home."
"Bad memories?"
"Quite the contrary. Good memories, except when my grandfather and uncle killed themselves on the autobahn, and then my mother developed pancreatic cancer a couple of months later. Haus im Wald was-is-ugly, but it's comfortable. And interesting. From the dining room window, I could look out and see the Volkspolitzei-and every once in a while, a real Russian soldier-running up and down the far side of the fence that cut across our property, and the stalwart troops of the 14th Armored Cavalry Regiment running up and down on our side of the fence. I decided right off that I would rather be an American."
"You didn't know you were an American?" Pevsner asked, confused.
"Not until I was twelve. I had a number of surprises in my twelfth year."
"But your son doesn't live there? You said something about his living with his mother."
"I didn't know I had a son until last week, Alek."
Castillo met Munz's eyes.
There's more than idle curiosity in those eyes.
Jesus, did he make the connection with the pictures? Does he know?
He can't know, but he damned sure suspects.
After a perceptible pause, Pevsner said, "And you'd rather not talk about it?"
"I didn't know I had a son until one of my men gave me the picture I showed you last night. The boy doesn't know about me, about our connection."
"A youthful indiscretion, friend Charley?"
"That's what they call a massive understatement," Castillo said. "His mother-five days before she married a West Point classmate of mine-had so much to drink that what began as a deep-seated feeling of revulsion toward me was converted to irresistible lust."
"But she must know…"
"I don't know if she does or not. I'm sure her husband doesn't, and I'm certain Randy, the boy, doesn't. The problem is her father does, I'm sure. He flew with my father in the Vietnam War-was flying with my father when he was killed. Randy looks just like my father."
"He has your eyes," Pevsner said. "The photo was clear."
Castillo nodded. "Worse, I'm sure my grandmother knows. For the same reason. The eyes. She took one look at my eyes in a picture-and I was then a twelve-year-old, blue-eyed, blond-headed Aryan-and announced that I was my father's son. Subsequently confirmed by science, of course, but she knew when she saw my eyes."
"Karl," Munz said. "This is none of my business…"
"But?"
"There is a picture of the boy at the Double-Bar-C. On a table next to your grandmother's chair in the living room. With pictures of your father and your cousin and you, all as boys. The boy looks like your father as a boy. I asked who he was, and she said that he was General Wilson's grandson and told me who General Wilson was, and then she said, 'He's an adorable child. I often wish he was my grandson.' And there were tears in her eyes, Karl." He paused. "She knows."
Castillo shook his head.
"How terrible for you!" Pevsner said. "What are you going to do?"