"That's my abuela, Alfredo," Castillo said.
Munz went through the twenty-odd pictures one by one, then handed the computer back to Castillo.
"I think I want to kiss you, Carlos," Munz said, "and then kill Pevsner very slowly."
"Don't do either, please," Castillo said. "It would give Inspector Doherty the wrong idea and Pevsner may not be-probably isn't-the villain."
Yung took Doherty's and Delchamps's pistols from his briefcase and gave them back, which caused Darby to suggest that carrying them might become a problem but one that could probably be dealt with by making an effort to travel in an embassy car, the diplomatic plates of which would guarantee immunity from spot roadside searches by the Policia Federal.
Castillo-trailed by Max-took two bottles of beer from the refrigerator and went to the quincho; Susanna Sieno had told him Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC, was out there on radio duty.
As Castillo entered the quincho, Bradley leaped to his feet, popped to attention, and said, "Good evening, Colonel. I have the duty, sir."
"Stand at ease," Castillo replied, trying to stifle a strong urge to smile. It didn't work. He smiled, then handed Bradley a bottle of beer. "Have a beer, Les."
When he saw that Bradley was more than a little discomfited, Castillo went on: "You may wish to write this down, Corporal. When the senior officer in the area hands you a beer and orders you to consume same, you are then immunized against prosecution under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, 1948, for drinking on duty."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"What do we hear from the States, Les?" Castillo asked.
"About an hour ago, sir, there was a message from Major Miller to be delivered to you on your arrival. I passed it to Sergeant Major Davidson, sir."
"Well, now that I'm here and Davidson isn't, do you think you could give it to me?"
"Yes, sir. Quote, the canary is really singing, end quote. Major Miller said you would understand what it meant, sir," Bradley said.
"Yeah, I do," Castillo said. "Les, go get-discreetly-Mr. Sieno, Mr. Darby, Sergeant Major Davidson, Sergeant Kensington, and Mr. Solez. I'll watch the radio."
"Yes, sir," Bradley said and headed for the door. Then he stopped and carefully set his beer bottle on the floor. "I think it would be best if I left this here, sir. Sergeant Major Davidson might not understand that I have your permission to drink on duty."
"Good thinking, Corporal," Lieutenant Colonel Castillo said. When they had all assembled, Castillo asked if anyone had seen anything that suggested an attack on the house or the waylaying of a car going to or from it.
"Nothing, Colonel," Davidson replied. "And we've looked. The only thing remotely suspicious was the driver of a laundry truck-a van, white, with 'ECO' on the panels-who seemed pretty interested in the house. The second time he drove by, Bradley and I followed him."
"The both of you?"
"Lester chased him around the country club on a bicycle and I went just outside the gate and followed him in a Beamer. Lester said all he did inside here was deliver and pick up laundry and dry cleaning. And then I followed him when he came out. He went to the ECO place-near the Sheraton Hotel-and unloaded dirty clothes. And that's it."
He looked around at the others and there was general agreement.
"Well, I've got a gut feeling that they're going to try to whack Billy Kocian," Castillo said. "And the chances of that happening will multiply exponentially after I go see a man I have to go see."
They looked at him for clarification but he offered none.
"I'll need a weapon, Susanna," he said. "Is that Micro Uzi I borrowed in Budapest still here?"
She nodded.
Davidson asked, "Where we going, Charley?"
"We're not going anywhere. I'm going to see a guy-Delchamps and I are."
Susanna Sieno said, "Colonel, you heard what Alex said. If you're going to take that Micro Uzi, you better take one of the embassy cars with CD plates. And somebody to drive it."
"I happen to be a very good Beamer driver, in case anyone cares," Sergeant Major Davidson said.
Castillo's eyebrow went up.
"For everyone's edification," he said, "it's Bimmer."
Davidson looked at him in a rare moment of confusion. "It's what?"
Castillo shrugged and said, "Not that it really matters, but a BMW motorcycle-the thingee with two wheels?-that's called a Beamer, or Beemer with two es. The four-wheel BMW is a Bimmer. Like I said, not that it matters, but that's that."
Davenport nodded and, without any conviction, replied, "Right. Tomato, tow-maw-toe. Got it."
Castillo smiled.
"Anyway," he went on, "I need you to hold the fort here, Jack."
Castillo turned to Bradley.
"Think you can handle a BMW, Lester?"
"Sir, I am certified to drive any wheeled or tracked vehicle including the M1A1 Abrams tank and the corresponding vehicle-retrieval vehicles as well," Corporal Bradley announced.
"The question, Corporal, was can you handle a Bimmer?"
"I am confident that I can handle a Bimmer and a Beamer, sir."
Castillo smiled.
"Okay, Lester. Go with Mr. Sieno and-discreetly-get the Micro Uzi from her and put it in the backseat of the car she shows you. And there's two sacks of pancake flour and a gallon of maple syrup in the Traffik. Put that in the Bimmer, too. I'll be out in a minute with Mr. Delchamps."
"Aye, aye, sir," Corporal Bradley said. "And how many magazines, sir?"
"There's only two," Castillo replied.
"Extra boxed ammunition, sir?"
"I think the two magazines will be sufficient. Make sure they're charged."
"Aye, aye, sir."
When they were out of earshot, Davidson said, "You can't help laughing at him, but, when you do, you feel like you've just kicked a puppy."
"Yeah," Sergeant Kensington said.
"As for me, I have a very soft spot in my heart for people who have saved my ass," Castillo said.
"Curiosity overwhelms me, Charley," Alex Darby said. "What's with the pancake flour and the maple syrup?"
"Aleksandr Pevsner, Junior," Castillo said, "who is ten, has acquired a taste for pancakes and maple syrup from an American classmate. It's hard to get here in Argentina so I brought him some from the States."
"And just told Bradley to put it in the car," Darby said.
"Yes, I did."
"Can I put that together to mean you're on your way to see this pancake loving kid's daddy? He's here?"
"I hope, later today, that I'll be able to put it all together for you, Alex. But right now, Pevsner has my word that I won't tell anybody where he lives. That depends on Pevsner. Wish me luck."
"And taking Delchamps with you?" Darby asked.
"I want Edgar to tell him something I don't think he'd believe coming from me."
"I don't really know what's going on, Charley. Is that on purpose?"
"While I'm gone, Yung and Doherty can bring you-everybody-up to speed," Castillo said. "I don't think I'll be gone long."
He took what he now thought of as "the Argentine cellular" from his briefcase, pushed an autodial button, and put the phone to his ear.
"?Hola?" a voice said.
"There you go in that heavily Russian-accented Spanish again," Castillo said, in Russian.
"What do you want, Castillo?"
"Call the gate, Alek, and tell them to pass me in. I'm almost there, and I'm bringing pancake flour, maple syrup-a gallon of it-and an old friend to see you," Castillo said and hung up. Edgar Delchamps was already in the backseat of a dark blue BMW 720L with heavily darkened windows when Castillo came around the side of the house. Bradley was holding the door open for Castillo.
Castillo had forgotten that Max had been following him around until the dog decided the door was being held open for him and bounded into the backseat.
"Get this goddamned dog out of here," Delchamps said.
"You tell him, Edgar," Castillo said. "You have a forceful personality. Maybe he'll listen to you."