Now I know I like you, Chief Inspector Ordonez. You're dangerous, but I like you.
"And what is that?" McGrory asked, his tone indicating he did not like to be corrected.
"If you'll look at the headstamp, Mr. Ambassador," Ordonez said.
"Certainly," McGrory said, and looked at Ordonez clearly expecting him to hand him a headstamp, whatever that was.
"It's on the bottom of the cartridge casing in the bag, Mr. Ambassador," Ordonez said.
That's the closed end, Senor Pompous, the one without a hole.
McGrory's lips tightened and his face paled.
With a little bit of luck he's going to show everybody his fabled Irish temper. Does hoping that he does make me really unpatriotic?
"What about it?" McGrory asked, holding the plastic bag with his fingers so he could get a good look at the bottom of the cartridge casing.
"The headstamp reads 'LC 2004 NM,' Mr. Ambassador," Ordonez said. "Can you see that, sir?"
Oh, shit! I didn't see that.
I didn't look close at the case because I knew what it was and where it had come from: the sniper's rifle.
That's an explanation, not an excuse.
Darby said the kid fired only two shots, so why didn't they pick up both cases?
Is that one lousy cartridge case going to blow the whole thing up in our faces?
McGrory nodded.
"If I'm wrong," Ordonez said, "perhaps you can correct me, but I think the meaning of that stamping is that the cartridge was manufactured at the U.S. Army Lake City ammunition plant-I believe that it's in Utah-in 2004. The NM stands for 'National Match,' which means the ammunition is made with a good deal more care and precision than usual because it's intended for marksmanship competition at the National Matches."
McGrory looked at him but didn't say anything.
"That sort of ammunition isn't common, Mr. Ambassador," Ordonez went on. "It isn't, I understand, even distributed throughout the U.S. Army. The only people who are issued it are competitive marksmen. And snipers. And, as I understand it, only Special Forces snipers."
"You seem to know a good deal about this subject, Chief Inspector," McGrory said.
"Only since yesterday," Ordonez said, smiling. "I called our embassy in Washington and t hey called your Pentagon. Whoever they talked to at the Pentagon was very obliging. They said, as I said a moment ago, that the ammunition is not issued to anyone but competitive marksmen. And Special Forces snipers. And has never been sold as military surplus or given to anyone or any foreign government."
"You are not suggesting, are you, Chief Inspector," McGrory asked, coldly, "that there was a U.S. Army Special Forces sniper in any way involved in what happened at that estancia?"
"I'm simply suggesting, sir, that it's very unusual…"
The storm surge of righteous indignation overwhelmed the dikes of diplomacy.
"Because if you are," McGrory interrupted him, his face now flushed and his eyes blazing, "please let me first say that I find any such suggestion-any hint of such a suggestion-personally and officially insulting."
"I'm sure, Mr. Ambassador, that Chief Inspector Ordo-" Deputy Foreign Minister Alvarez began.
"Please let me finish, Senor Alvarez," McGrory said, cutting him off. "The way the diplomatic service of the United States functions is the ambassador is the senior government official in the country to which he is accredited. Nothing is done by any U.S. government officer-and that includes military officers-without the knowledge and permission of the ambassador. I'm surprised that you didn't know that, Senor Alvarez.
"Further, your going directly to the Pentagon via your ambassador in Washington carries with it the implication that I have or had knowledge of this incident which I was not willing to share with you. That's tantamount to accusing me, and thus the government of the United States, of not only conducting an illegal operation but lying about it. I am personally and officially insulted and intend to bring this to the immediate attention of the secretary of state."
"Mr. Ambassador, I-" Alvarez began.
"Good morning, gentlemen," McGrory said, cutting him off again. "This visit is terminated."
Alvarez stood up, looking as if he was going to say something else but changing his mind.
"Good morning, Mr. Ambassador," he said, finally, and walked out of the office with Ordonez on his heels.
Howell thought: Well, that wasn't too smart, McGrory. But, on the other hand, I think both Alvarez and Ordonez walked out of here believing that you know nothing about what happened at Tacuarembo. The best actor in the world couldn't turn on a fit like you just threw.
That doesn't mean, however, that Ordonez thinks I'm as pure as the driven snow.
"I regret that, of course, Howell," McGrory said. "But there are times when making your position perfectly clear without the subtleties and innuendos of diplomacy is necessary. And this was one of those times."
"Yes, sir," Howell said.
"If this has to be said, I don't want what just happened to leave this room."
"I understand, sir."
"What is your relationship with Mr. Darby?" McGrory asked.
"Sir?"
"Are you close? Friends? If you asked him, would he tell you if he knew anything about anything that went on at that estancia?"
"We're acquaintances, sir, not friends."
"But you both work for the CIA. Don't you exchange information?"
"As a courtesy, sir, I usually send him a copy of my reports to the agency-after you have vetted them, sir. And he does the same for me."
"Nevertheless, I think you should ask him about this. I'm going to catch the next plane to Buenos Aires to confer with Ambassador Silvio. I want you to go with me."
"Yes, sir, of course."
"I don't want to go to Washington with this until I hear what Ambassador Silvio has to say."
"Yes, sir."
Why do I think that you're having second thoughts about throwing Alvarez out of your office? [FOUR] Office of the Director The Central Intelligence Agency Langley, Virginia 1205 5 August 2005 John Powell, the DCI, a trim fifty-five-year-old who had given up trying to conceal his receding hairline and now wore what was left of his hair closely cropped to his skull, rose from behind his desk and walked across his office with his hand extended to greet his visitor.
"It's good to see you, Truman," he said as they shook hands. "We haven't been seeing much of each other lately."
"The ambassador keeps me pretty busy," Truman Ellsworth replied. He was also in his midfifties but with thirty pounds and six inches on Powell. He also had a full head of carefully coiffured silver hair. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."
Powell gestured to indicate thanks were not necessary.
"And your coming gave me a much nicer alternative to eating alone or with five people with an agenda, not food, in mind. I ordered grilled trout avec beurre noir. How does that sound?"
"It sounds wonderful," Ellsworth said and obeyed the DCI's gesture to precede him into the DCI's private dining room.
The table, with room for eight, had been set for two, across from one another, at the head of table.
A waiter in a stiffly starched jacket asked what they would like to drink.
"Unsweetened iced tea, please," Ellsworth said.
"The same," the DCI ordered. "So what can I do for you, Truman? Or the ambassador?" the DCI asked when the trout had been served and the waiter had left the room.
"The president has taken a personal interest in the Argentine affair," Truman said.
"There's a rumor that there has even been a Presidential Finding," the DCI said.
"One wonders how such rumors get started," Ellsworth said. "And, consequently, the ambassador has taken a very personal interest in that unfortunate business."
"You don't want to tell me about the Finding?" the DCI asked.
"If there is a Finding, John, I really don't think you would want to know the details."
The DCI pursed his lips thoughtfully but didn't respond.