He gestured for Bradley to get behind the wheel, then opened the front passenger's door and got in.
"Go to that shopping center off Route 8," Castillo ordered Bradley. "The one with the Jumbo supermarket. I'll give you directions from there."
"Yes, sir."
Castillo put his arm on the back of the seat and turned to the passengers in the rear.
"Give that nice man a kiss, Max," he said, in German. "He's ugly and old and needs a little affection."
Purely by coincidence, of course, Max took that moment to take a closer look at his fellow passenger and, apparently liking what he saw, or perhaps what he smelled, leaned over and licked his face.
"I'll get you for that, Castillo," Delchamps said. [THREE] Buena Vista Country Club Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 2045 13 August 2005 "Turn in here, Lester, and put your window down," Castillo ordered. "They're determined to keep out the riffraff."
The BMW and its occupants were inspected at the guardhouse barrier not only by two well-armed members of the security staff but also by Janos, Pevsner's massive bodyguard, who stuck his head into the car and peered into the rear seat.
Surprise-and more than a little concern-registered on Janos's face when Max showed his teeth and growled menacingly.
Then surprise showed on Castillo's face when Delchamps greeted Janos in Hungarian: "Janos, my old friend, how in God's blessed name are you?"
Janos, his head already out of the car, nodded but didn't reply. He signaled to the security guards that they could raise the barrier pole and then waved the big BMW through.
Castillo turned to speak to Delchamps.
"Is there some reason you didn't want to tell me you knew Janos?" Castillo asked.
"I thought you had enough on your mind, Ace, and didn't want to confuse you further."
"What about Pevsner? You know him, too?"
Delchamps nodded.
"I meet a lot of people in my line of work," Delchamps said.
They were halfway to Pevsner's house when Janos caught up with them in Pevsner's black Mercedes-Benz S600, then passed them. Aleksandr Pevsner, looking a member of the British landed gentry-he was wearing a Barbour rainproof jacket, corduroy pants, a checkered shirt, and a plaid woolen hat-stood waiting for them under the light over his front door. Janos stood behind him.
"Go open the door for me, Lester," Castillo said. "I want him to think you're an embassy driver."
"Yes, sir."
"Then get the pancake flour and maple syrup from the trunk."
"Yes, sir."
"?Hola, Alek!" Castillo called in Spanish as he got out of the car. "Been out in the rain, have you?"
"I was at the stable," Pevsner said.
"Hey, Mr. Respin," Delchamps called cheerfully, in Russian. "I knew when I saw Janos that you'd probably be somewhere around. It's been a longtime."
"Nine years," Pevsner replied after a long moment. "So long I forget what name you were using then."
"As a matter of fact, so do I," Delchamps replied. "Saffery, maybe?"
"I don't think that was it," Pevsner said. "What name are you using these days?"
"Delchamps. Edgar Delchamps. And what about you, Vasily?"
"Well, Mr. Delchamps, while I'm pleased to see you after all those years you're not the old friend I expected our mutual acquaintance to have with him."
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Alek," Castillo said, "but that old friend isn't at all sure you're really a friend of his."
"Why does ol' Charley here keep calling you Alek, Vasily?"
"Because that's my name!" Pevsner snapped.
"Where would you like me to put this stuff, sir?" Lester Bradley asked as he walked up with the maple syrup and pancake flour.
Pevsner looked at what Bradley was carrying.
"I just happened to be passing a Sam's Club," Castillo said. "And I remembered how much Sergei and Aleksandr like their pancakes and I figured, what the hell."
"Give it to Janos," Pevsner ordered.
"Hell, I'll carry it," Castillo said. "If Janos takes it, he'll have to take his hand off his pistol and I know how much he hates to do that." He took the flour and the gallon jug from Bradley. "That'll be all for now, Bradley," he said, then turned to Pevsner. "You are going to ask us in, aren't you, Alek?"
Pevsner exhaled audibly, shook his head, and turned around and held open the door to his house.
Janos followed everybody inside.
"I just remembered where it was the last time I saw you, Vasily-excuse me, Alek," Delchamps said.
"Where was that?" Pevsner said.
Delchamps turned to Castillo. "Remember when Laurent Kabila was trying to overthrow Mobutu Sese Seko in the Congo, Charley?"
"Yeah, vaguely. What was that? 1997? 1998?"
"Ninety-seven. Well, the good guys needed some guns, so I called Alek here-what does that stand for, 'Aleksandr'?"
"My name is Aleksandr Pevsner," Pevsner said, icily, "as if you don't already know that."
"Right," Delchamps said. "So I called Aleksandr here, and he not only had what the good guys needed, and at the right price, but was prepared to drop-ship it for me. He had just acquired his first Boeing 737. Before that he had-excuse me, Aleksandr, but it's the truth-a couple, maybe three, really ratty, worn-out Antonovs that I was always surprised could get off the ground."
Castillo looked at Pevsner and saw that while his face showed no emotion, Pevsner's ice-blue eyes could have burned holes in the old CIA agent.
Delchamps went on: "But he wanted cash on delivery, Aleksandr did. By then, I would have thought my credit was good. We'd done a lot of business before and he'd always gotten his money. And there wasn't all that much involved in this deal. A couple hundred Kalashnikov AK-47s, ammo, a few mortars, and I think there was even a dozen light.30 caliber Browning machine guns left over from Vietnam. Right, Aleksandr?"
"We all know you're not here to remember the past," Pevsner said. "Dare I hope this charade will soon come to an end?"
"Let me finish this for Charley, Aleksandr," Delchamps went on, casually. "So what that meant was I had to go to Kisangani-what used to be Stanleyville-with all this cash in my briefcase-"
"Goddamn it, Charley," Pevsner suddenly interrupted, having clearly lost his temper, "what have you done with Alfredo Munz and his family? I've had all of your sick humor that I can handle."
"The girls have been put to work in the prison kitchen," Castillo said. "They seem to have adjusted well to it. Would you like to see a picture?"
"If it would not be too much trouble," Pevsner said, icily. His face was still flushed, but he seemed to have his temper under control.
"Could we go into the living room? The pictures are in my computer. I need some place to put it down."
"You know the way," Pevsner said. "The lady holding Senora Munz's shoulder is my grandmother," Castillo said, in Russian, when he'd opened the laptop and shown Pevsner how to cycle the images onscreen by using the arrow keys.
A minute later, Castillo said, "I should be very angry at you for even considering the possibility that I would be holding them hostage. But all I am is a little sorry for you."
Pevsner met his eyes for a long moment, then said, "I didn't know what to think."
"Your apology is accepted," Castillo said.
"And Alfredo?"
"He's near here."
"I want to talk to him."
"He won't come here."
"There are some questions I have to ask him, and I want to do that face-to-face and alone."
"Well, he won't come here-he doesn't trust you, Alek-and I won't take you to where he is. The telephone won't do?"
Pevsner shook his head. "I need to look in his eyes."
Castillo didn't reply.
"He trusts you, apparently," Pevsner said.
"I think so."
"Do you trust me?"
"Let me ask that first, Alek. Do you trust me?"
"With the caveat that we have different agendas, yes, I do."
"Same answer, Alek. And now let me tell you what my agenda is: I want Howard Kennedy. Let me rephrase that. I am going to have Howard Kennedy."