"If you're not really in charge, Monahan, who is?"
Monahan seemed puzzled by the question for a moment, then answered it: "You are, Mr. Ambassador."
McGrory thought: Sonofabitch! Is he stupid or just acting that way?
He went on: "And Special Agent Yung, who does he work for?"
"When he was here, he worked for you, sir."
"Not the secretary of state?"
"Up the chain of command, maybe," Monahan said. "I never thought about that. I mean, he worked for you and you work for the secretary of state, if you follow me. In that sense, you could say he worked for the secretary of state."
Senora Obregon put her head in the door.
"Mr. Howell is here, Mr. Ambassador."
McGrory thought, There's no sense going any further with this. he said, "Monahan, I have to see Mr. Howell right now. Please keep yourself available."
"Yes, sir."
"Ask Mr. Howell to come in, please, Senora Obregon," McGrory said. "Interesting," Cultural Attache Robert Howell said, handing the message back to McGrory. "I wonder what it means?"
"I was hoping you could tell me," McGrory said.
"Well, all I can do is guess. Mr. Masterson's father-in-law is a retired ambassador. We heard in Buenos Aires that the father-in-law has heart problems and perhaps Secretary Cohen-"
"I mean about Yung being on the personal staff of the secretary," McGrory interrupted.
"Mr. Ambassador, you never elected to tell me about that. I simply presumed Yung was one more FBI agent."
"I didn't know he was on the secretary's personal staff, Robert," McGrory said.
"You didn't? Even more interesting, I wonder what he was doing down here that even you didn't know about? Does Monahan know?"
McGrory didn't answer the question.
Instead, he said, "Deputy Foreign Minister Alvarez telephoned Ted Detweiller at eight this morning. He wanted to know if Detweiller would be in his office at nine and, if so, if Detweiller would be kind enough to offer him a cup of coffee."
"I wonder what that's all about?" Howell said.
"I intend to find out. As soon as Detweiller gets here, I'm going to tell him he has the flu and is going home. Since he is unfortunately not able to give Deputy Foreign Minister Alvarez his cup of coffee, I will. And I want you to be here when I do so."
"Yes, sir." "Mr. Ambassador," Senora Obregon announced from his door, "Deputy Foreign Minister Alvarez and another gentleman to see you."
McGrory rose quickly from his desk and walked quickly to the door, smiling, his hand extended.
"Senor Alvarez," he said. "What an unexpected pleasure!"
Alvarez, a small, trim man, returned the smile.
"Mr. Detweiller has developed a slight case of the flu," McGrory went on, "which is bad for him, but-perhaps I shouldn't say this-good for me, because it gives me the chance to offer you the cup of coffee in his stead."
"It's always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Ambassador," Alvarez said, enthusiastically pumping McGrory's hand. "I only hope I am not intruding on your busy schedule."
"There is always time in my schedule for you, Senor Alvarez," McGrory said.
"May I present my friend, Senor Ordonez of the Interior Ministry?" Alvarez said.
"A privilege to make your acquaintance, senor," McGrory said, offering Ordonez his hand. "And may I introduce my cultural attache, Senor Howell?"
Everybody shook hands.
"I understand from Senor Detweiller that this is a purely social visit?" McGrory asked.
"Absolutely," Alvarez said. "I knew Ordonez and I were going to be in the area, and since I hadn't seen my friend Detweiller for some time I thought he might be kind enough to offer me a cup of coffee."
"He was really sorry to miss you," McGrory said.
"Please pass on my best wishes for a speedy recovery," Alvarez said.
"Since this is, as you say, a purely social visit, may I suggest that Senor Howell share our coffee with us?"
"Delighted to have him," Alvarez said.
"Please take a seat," McGrory said, waving at the chairs and the couch around his coffee table. Then he raised his voice, "Senora Obregon, would you be good enough to bring us all some coffee and rolls?"
Howell thought: Whatever this is-it almost certainly has to do with the blood bath at Tacuarembo-it is not a purely social visit and both Alvarez and McGrory know it.
Alvarez knows that Detweiller "got sick" because McGrory wanted to talk to him himself, which is probably fine with Alvarez. He really wanted to talk to him, anyway, but the deputy foreign minister couldn't call the American ambassador and ask for a cup of coffee.
That's known as protocol.
Ordonez is not just in the Interior Ministry; he's chief inspector of the Interior Police Division of the Uruguayan Policia Nacional and McGrory knows that.
And Ordonez knows-and, since he knows, so does Alvarez-that I'm not really the cultural attache.
I know just about everything that happened at Tacuarembo, but Senor Pompous doesn't even know that Americans-much less his CIA station chief-were involved, because Castillo decided he didn't have the Need to Know and ordered me-with his authority under the Presidential Finding-not to tell him anything at all.
Everybody is lying to-and/or concealing something from-everybody else and everybody either knows or suspects it.
That's known as diplomacy.
I wonder how long it will take before Alvarez decides to talk about what he wants to talk about? It took less time-just over five minutes-than Howell expected it to before Alvarez obliquely began to talk about what he had come to talk about.
"While I'm here, Mr. Ambassador," Alvarez said, "let me express my personal appreciation-an official expression will of course follow in good time-for your cooperation in the Tacuarembo matter."
"Well, no thanks are necessary," McGrory replied, "as we have learned that the poor fellow was really an American citizen. We were just doing our duty."
Alvarez smiled as if highly amused. McGrory looked at him curiously.
"Forgive me," Alvarez said. "My wife is always accusing me of smiling at the wrong time. In this case, I was smiling at your-innocent, I'm sure-choice of words."
"What words?" McGrory said.
"'The poor fellow,'" Alvarez said.
"I'm not sure I follow you, Senor Alvarez," McGrory said.
"What is that delightful American phrase? 'Out of school'?"
"That is indeed one of our phrases, Senor Alvarez. It means, essentially, that something said was never said."
"Yes. All right. Out of school, then. Actually, two things out of school, one leading to the other."
"There's another American phrase," McGrory put in. "'Cross my heart and hope to die.' Boys-and maybe girls, too-say that to each other as they vow not to reveal something they are told in confidence. Cross my heart and hope to die, Senor Alvarez."
Howell thought: My God, I can't believe you actually said that!
"How charming!" Alvarez said. "Well, Senor Ordonez, who is really with the Policia Nacional-he's actually the chief inspector of the Interior Police Division-was telling me on the way over that Mr. Lorimer-or should I say Senor Bertrand?-was a very wealthy man until just a few days ago. He died virtually penniless."
"Oh, really?" McGrory said. "That's why you smiled when I called him a 'poor fellow'?"
Alvarez nodded. "And I apologize again for doing so," he said, and went on: "Senor Ordonez found out late yesterday afternoon that Senor Bertrand's bank accounts were emptied the day after his body was found."
"How could that happen?" McGrory asked. "How does a dead man empty his bank account?"
"By signing the necessary withdrawal documents over to someone several days before his death and then having that someone negotiate the documents. It's very much as if you paid your Visa bill with a check and then, God forbid, were run over by a truck. The check would still be paid."
"Out of school, was there much money involved?" McGrory asked.
"Almost sixteen million U.S. dollars," Ordonez said. "In three different banks." This was the first Howell had heard anything about money.