“With respect, Dmitri, it would appear that Evgeny’s been sent, as you say, ‘to deal with this particular problem,’ ” Castillo said. “So indulge me.” He turned to Munz. “Alfredo?”
“There is Alek’s Bell helicopter. If anything like you suggest did happen, they could quickly leave on it and go anywhere, including Chile, on short notice.”
Castillo looked at Berezovsky.
“Then you would say, Alfredo, that Mrs. Berezovsky and Sof’ya would be safe in Bariloche? Maybe even safer than where they are now? While we’re off to I-don’t-know-where or for how long?”
“Yes, I would.”
“You’re talking about Africa?” Berezovsky said.
“No. Or at least not yet. I have the gut feeling we should get out of the Buenos Aires area. I just haven’t figured out where to go.”
“That’s a no-brainer, Ace,” Delchamps said. “Shangri-La.”
Uncle Remus made a thumbs-up gesture.
Svetlana asked, “Where?”
“All any of us really know about the Congo is to keep your hand on your wallet and don’t drink the water,” Delchamps said. “But Ambassador Lorimer was stationed there. He was running through the bush around Stanleyville with a couple of ASA guys when the cannibals were eating missionaries in the town square.”
“They didn’t eat all of them, Edgar,” Leverette said. “I mean, they ate only their livers. That kept them from being hurt by bullets.”
“I stand corrected,” Delchamps said.
“When we jumped the Belgian paratroops on Stanleyville to save the missionaries,” Castillo said, “it was called Operation Rouge; I read the after-actions. They jumped them onto the airfield. So there’s an airport there.”
“Maybe was,” Jack Davidson said. “According to GoogleMaps and the CIA, there’s no airport now.”
“Supplies to the laboratory would have to be flown in,” Svetlana offered. “So there has to be an airport. What is this ‘Shangri-La’?”
“Charley, McNab wasn’t kidding about wanting to know everything,” Dick Miller said. “If you don’t have your oral Ph.D. thesis in African studies ready to recite when we go to see him, he’ll pull the plug on you. And we’re going to need that 727.”
“Carlos, my darling,” Svetlana said. “What about Rule One?”
He looked at her until he took her meaning.
“Shangri-La is a mythical city of splendor somewhere in Asia,” he said solemnly, then added: “It’s also the name of the estancia Lorimer bought in Uruguay. His father—a retired ambassador—and mother inherited it and moved there when they lost their home in New Orleans to Hurricane Katrina.”
“And,” Davidson added, “where they have a half-dozen guys from China Post keeping them company. Odds are one or more of them will know more about the Congo than any of us do.”
“ ‘China Post’?” Berezovsky asked, smiling.
“Shanghai China Post Number One of the American Legion in Exile, Tom,” Leverette said. “Surely you’ve heard of it?”
“Of course,” Berezovsky said.
“Okay,” Castillo said, chuckling. “Shangri-La it is. Chief of Staff, let’s hear your plan.”
Miller looked at him in disbelief.
“Charley, I wouldn’t know where to begin . . .” he protested before he realized his chain was being pulled.
“He got you, Gimpy, didn’t he?” Delchamps said.
Miller shook his head in mock disgust. “My experience with him, over long years, is that he’s most dangerous when he thinks he’s being funny.”
“And that evens the score, doesn’t it, Ace?”
Castillo said: “Okay, let me have a shot at it, then, since our crippled friend here has owned up to his inadequacy. First question: Are you all right to fly, Dick?”
Miller nodded.
“I don’t think Paul or Susanna needs to go to Shangri-La, because they’re not going to Africa. We can bring them up to speed after we find out what we can find out at the estancia. That will leave Paul free to deal with Duffy.”
He looked at the others. With the exception of Berezovsky and Svetlana, who showed no reaction, everyone either nodded or gave a thumbs-up.
“You all right, Tom, with sending your wife and Sof’ya to Bariloche?” Castillo asked.
Berezovsky nodded.
“Two ways to do that,” Castillo went on, “three, if they fly there commercial, and commercial means that Sof’ya would have to leave Marina here with Susanna. The other two options are to drive them there—which would attract the least attention, but it’s a hell of a long ride—or for Dick and me to fly them there in the Gulfstream. Comments?”
“No-brainer, Charley,” Leverette said. “The Gulfstream.”
The others showed their agreement, except Berezovsky, whose face was inscrutable.
Castillo went on. “All right, then. Alfredo, get on the horn to Aleksandr and let’s hear what he thinks. When we know that, Paul, you call Duffy and see what he has to say about how to get the women to Jorge Newbery without attracting any attention.”
“I’m sure you are considering that the comandante will then know where my wife and daughter will be,” Berezovsky said.
“He’s a smart cop, Tom,” Castillo said. “He already knows where they are now, and I think he’ll suspect they’re going to Aleksandr’s place; he knows that I took Susan there. And with that in mind, Paul, tell Duffy we’re moving the women to Bariloche.”
Munz stood, walked to a corner of the room, and took out his cell phone.
“And while he’s doing that,” Castillo said, “we can begin to contemplate the interesting problem of getting everybody else from here to Shangri-La. Alex, you’re confident about Tom’s and Susan’s new documents?”
“They’re good,” Darby said.
“Which should they use? Uruguayan or Argentine?”
“Argentines can travel back and forth to Uruguay on their national identity cards. I say use the Argentine.”
“Done,” Castillo said.
“Charley, it might be a good idea to get them U.S. visas,” Darby said.
“I see a couple of problems with that,” Castillo said after a moment.
“Such as? All I have to do is hand them to a consular officer I know and tell him to stamp them.” He paused, then explained himself: “He’s a spook-in-training, and knows what I really do for a living.”
“I think I met him yesterday,” Castillo said. “My problem is Ambassador Silvio. I don’t like going around him, and he was there when I had my little chat with Montvale.”
“Your call,” Darby said. “But visas may come in handy somewhere down the pike.”
Castillo considered that a moment.
“Alex, when this can be worked in, go see the ambassador. When all else fails, tell the truth. Hand him the passports. Say, ‘Mr. Ambassador, Castillo would like to see these fine Argentines get multiple entry visas, but only if it doesn’t put your ass in a crack.’ Or diplomatic words to that effect. If he seems to be thinking hard about it, tell him I said, ‘It’s okay. Thanks anyway.’ ”
“Done,” Darby said. “Another thing, Charley. Maybe me driving to Uruguay—I mean, taking a vehicle on the Buquebus to Montevideo—would be a good idea. I’m accredited in both places, so no luggage searches. In case you want to take weapons. . . .”
“There’re weapons in the Gulfstream,” Castillo said.
“Getting them out of the airplane in Uruguay might be a problem, and I have all we’ll need at the embassy.” He stopped and smiled. “Last week, I permitted the consular officer I mentioned to come in at night and clean and inspect them for me. He was thrilled.”
There were chuckles.
“And one more thought, Charley: I take either Tom or Susan with me. There would be less chance that some zealous immigration guy who may have seen the Interpol warrants would have his attention heightened by seeing just one or the other. They’ll be presumed to be traveling together.”