And the deep-cover asset in Vienna makes four.
Shit . . . five if you count his wife.
Castillo said: “What Montvale described as a deep-cover asset in Vienna, a man named Kuhl and his wife—”
“Kurt Kuhl?” Delchamps interrupted, and when Castillo nodded, he asked, “What the hell happened to him?”
“Merry Christmas,” Castillo said. “The Kuhls were found garroted to death behind the statue of Johann Strauss on the Ring in Vienna yesterday. You knew him?”
“Yeah, I knew both of them well,” Delchamps said.
“You’re talking about Kurt Kuhl who ran the chain of pastry shops?” Kocian asked, and looked at Delchamps.
“I think it has to be him,” Delchamps said. “Them.”
“Then so did I know them,” Kocian said. “They were friends for many years.” He paused, then asked incredulously, “ ‘Deep-cover asset’? You’re not suggesting he had a connection with the CIA?”
“For longer than our leader here is old,” Delchamps said. “If there’s going to be a star on the wall—and there should be two stars; Gertrud was as good as Kurt was—it should be studded with diamonds.”
“I don’t understand,” Doña Alicia said.
“There’s a wall in Langley, Doña Alicia, at the CIA headquarters, with stars to memorialize spooks who got unlucky.”
“I didn’t know,” she said softly.
“Am I permitted to ask what Kurt and Gertrud did for the CIA?” Kocian asked.
After a moment, Delchamps said, somewhat sadly: “Well, why not? They turned people, Billy. Or they set them up to be turned. . . .”
“Turned?” Doña Alicia asked softly, as if she hated to interrupt but really wanted to know.
“They made good guys out of bad guys, Abuela,” Castillo said. “They got Russian intelligence people to come to our side.”
“And East Germans and Poles and Czechs and Hungarians,” Delchamps said. “What I can’t understand is why they were just killed. Excuse me, garroted.”
“Instead of ‘interviewing them’ at length?” Davidson asked. “Getting a list of names? Some of them, I’ll bet, are still being worked.”
“A lot of them are still being worked,” Delchamps said matter-of-factly. “I had three in Paris. One in the Bulgarian embassy and two in the Russian.”
“At the risk of sounding paranoid, I think there’s a pattern to this,” Castillo said.
“Just because you’re paranoid, Ace, doesn’t mean that ugly little men from Mars—or from Pushkinskaya Square—aren’t chasing you with evil intentions.”
That got some chuckles.
“Pushkinskaya Square?” Doña Alicia asked.
My God, Castillo thought. She’s not just being polite; she’s fascinated with this business.
What kind of a man discusses multiple murders—or attempted murders—with his grandmother at the Christmas dinner table?
“It’s in Moscow, Doña Alicia,” Delchamps explained. “It’s famous for two things: a statue of Pushkin, the Russian poet, and an ugly building that’s the headquarters of the SVR, which used to be the KGB.”
“Oh, yes,” Doña Alicia said politely, then asked, “Does ‘garroted’ mean what I think it does?”
“Why don’t we change the subject?” Castillo said. “It’s Christmas!”
“Yes, dear,” Doña Alicia said. “I agree. But I’m interested.”
“They put a thing around your neck, Doña Alicia,” Delchamps said. “Sometimes plastic, sometimes metal. It causes strangulation. It was sort of the signature of the ÁVH, the Államvédelmi Hatóság, Hungary’s secret police. When they wanted it known they had taken somebody out, they used a metal garrote.”
“The sort of thing the Indian assassins, the thugs, used?”
“So far as I know, they used a rope, a cord, with a ball on each end so that they could get a good grip. What the Hungarians used was sort of a metal version of the plastic handcuffs you see the cops use. Once it’s in place, it’s hard, impossible, to remove.”
Davidson saw Castillo glaring at Delchamps.
“What kind of a garrote was used in Vienna, Charley?” Davidson asked innocently.
Castillo moved his glare to Davidson.
“How long does it take for someone to die when this happens to them?” Doña Alicia asked.
McGuire saw the look on Castillo’s face and took pity on him.
“You think there’s a pattern, Charley?” McGuire asked, moving the subject from people being garroted. “What kind?”
Castillo shrugged. “All these hits were on the same day.”
“First,” Delchamps went on, “the victim loses consciousness as oxygen to the brain is shut off. After that, it doesn’t take long.”
“Is it very painful?” Doña Alicia said.
“I would suppose it’s damned uncomfortable,” Delchamps answered. “But I would say it’s more terrifying; you can’t breathe.”
“How awful!” Doña Alicia said.
Castillo’s cellular rattled on the table as the vibration function announced an incoming call. He looked at the caller identity illuminated on its screen.
“Quiet, please,” he ordered, and pushed the SPEAKERPHONE button. “Homicide. Strangulation Division.”
“I don’t suppose you know, Gringo, you wiseass, where Abuela might be?”
“Abuela,” Castillo said. “It’s your other grandson. The fat one.”
“That’s not kind, Carlos. Shame on you!” Doña Alicia said. “And Fernando, you know how I feel about you calling Carlos ‘Gringo.’ ”
“Abuela, you could have told me you were going there.”
“I didn’t want to bother you, my darling. Merry Christmas!”
“I was worried sick. There was no answer at the house. I was just about to get in the car and go over there.”
“Nobody answered the phone because I gave everybody the day off. Did you have a nice Christmas dinner?”
“Very nice, thank you.”
“We had a wonderful dinner,” she went on as others around the table exchanged grins. “Billy Kocian is here and he made some sort of Hungarian dessert with cherries, brandy, and brown sugar with whipped cream. It was marvelous! And now we’re sitting around chatting. And having a little champagne, if it is the truth you really want. There’s no cause for concern.”
“When do you want to come home?”
“If it wasn’t for Carlos going out of town tomorrow, I’d stay awhile. But sometime tomorrow, probably.”
“I’ll come pick you up.”
“You’re not thinking of coming here in the plane, Fernando?”
“The plane” was the Bombardier/Learjet 45XR owned by the family company and piloted more often than not by one Fernando Lopez, the company’s president and Castillo’s cousin and Abuela’s grandson.
“Yes, I am, Abuela.”
“That’s very kind, darling, but I know what it costs by the hour to fly the plane; and that there’s no way that we can claim it as a business deduction and get away with it. I’m perfectly capable of getting on an airliner by myself. Now, get off the phone and enjoy your family at Christmas!”
“Fernando?” Castillo called.
“What?”
“A penny saved is a penny earned. Try to keep that in mind while you’re running our family business.”
“Gringo! You son—”
“ ’Bye, now, Fernando!” Castillo called cheerfully, and quickly broke the connection.
“You were saying, Edgar,” Doña Alicia said, “that being garroted is more frightening than painful?”
[TWO]
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