"And as the ball bounces down from the pinnacle, I now have a personal interest in the Masterson affair," Ellsworth said.
"Well, that's certainly understandable," the DCI said.
"I don't suppose there have been any developments in the last couple of hours?"
"No. And since I have made it known that I also have a personal interest in this matter, I'm sure I would have heard," the DCI said.
"Yes, I'm sure you would have," Ellsworth said. "That's one of the reasons I'm here. Should there be any developments-and I'm sure there will be-the ambassador would like to hear of them immediately after you do. I mean immediately, not through the normal channels."
"Consider it done, Truman."
"If the ambassador is not available, have the information passed to me."
The DCI nodded.
"Does the name Castillo ring a bell, John?"
"Major C. G. Castillo?"
Ellsworth nodded.
"Oh yes indeed," the DCI said. "The chap who stumbled upon the missing 727. Odd that you should mention his name. That rumor I heard about a Finding said that he was somehow involved in the Masterson business."
"Well, if there were a Finding, I wouldn't be surprised. The ambassador was at the White House last night where Castillo was promoted to lieutenant colonel by the President himself. Not to be repeated, entre nous, the ambassador told me that if the President were the pope he would have beatified Colonel Castillo at the ceremony."
"How interesting!" the DCI said. "I wonder why that brings to mind Lieutenant Colonel Oliver North?"
"Possibly because they are both good-looking, dashing young officers who somehow came to bask in the approval of their commander in chief," Ellsworth said.
"That's probably it."
"The ambassador is personally interested in Colonel Castillo," Ellsworth said. "I have the feeling he likes him and would like to help him in any way he can."
"Is that so?"
"Now, to help him-which would also mean keeping him from getting into the same kind of awkward situation in which North found himself-the more the ambassador knows about where the colonel is and what he's up to, the better. Even rumors would be helpful."
"I understand."
"The problem, John, is that both Colonel Castillo and the President might misinterpret the ambassador's interest. It would be best if neither knew of the ambassador's-oh, what should I say?-paternal interest in Colonel Castillo and his activities."
"Well, I certainly understand it. And I hear things from time to time. If I hear anything, I'll certainly pass it on to you. And I'll spread the word, discreetly of course, of my interest."
"Not in writing, John. Either up or down."
"Of course not. Have you any idea where Colonel Castillo might be?"
"The last I heard, he was on his way to Paris. And he's liable to go anywhere from there. Germany. Hungary. The Southern Cone of South America."
"He does get around, doesn't he?"
"Yes, he does."
"Well, as I said, I'll keep my ear to the rumor mill and keep you posted."
"Thank you. I know the ambassador will be grateful."
"Happy to be of whatever assistance I can. Is that about it?"
"There's one more thing, John. For some reason, the ambassador thinks your senior analyst in the South American Division's Southern Cone Section may not be quite the right person for the job."
"Oh really? Well, I'm sorry to hear that. And you can tell the ambassador I'll have a personal look at the situation immediately."
"Her name is Wilson. Mr. Patricia Davies Wilson," Ellsworth said.
"You know, now that I hear that name, I seem to recall that it came up not so long ago in connection with Castillo's."
"Really?"
"I seem to recall something like that."
"I think the ambassador would be pleased to have your assurance that you're going to put someone quite top-notch in that job and do so in such `a manner that, when she is replaced, Mr. Wilson will have no reason to suspect the ambassador-or even the DCI-was in any way involved with her reassignment."
"Of course."
"And I think he would be even more pleased if I could tell him you said that that would be taken care of very soon."
"How soon is 'very soon,' Truman?"
"Yesterday would be even better than today."
The DCI nodded but didn't say anything. [FIVE] Restaurante Villa Hipica The Jockey Club of San Isidro Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1340 5 August 2005 Ambassador Michael A. McGrory was not at all pleased with where Ambassador Juan Manuel Silvio had taken him for lunch.
McGrory had suggested they go somewhere they could have a quiet, out-of-school conversation. If Silvio had made a similar suggestion to him in Montevideo, he would have taken Silvio either to his residence or to a restaurant where they could have a private room.
Instead, he had brought them all the way out here-a thirty-minute drive-to a wide-open restaurant crowded with horse fanciers.
Well, perhaps not wide open to every Tom, Dick, and Jose, McGrory thought, surveying the clientele. I suspect membership in the Jockey Club is tied in somehow with the restaurant.
Their table by a window provided a view of the grandstands and there was a steady parade of grooms leading horses-sometimes four or five at a time-right outside the window.
Certainly, a fine place to have lunch if you're a tourist-if they let tourists in-but not the sort of place to have a serious conversation about the business of the United States government!
A tall, well-dressed man with a full mustache approached the table with a smile and a bottle of wine.
"Your Excellency, I was just now informed you are honoring us with your presence," he said, in Spanish.
"I've told you, Jorge," Silvio replied, "that if I want you to call me that, I will wear my ermine robes and carry my scepter." He shook the man's hand and then said, "Jorge, may I present Ambassador Michael McGrory, who came here from Uruguay to get a good meal? Mike, this is Senor Jorge Basto, our host."
"My little restaurant is then doubly honored," Basto said. "It is an honor to meet you, Your Excellency."
"I'm happy to be here and to make your acquaintance," McGrory replied with a smile.
"And look what just came in this morning," Basto said, holding out the bottle.
"You're in luck, Mike," Silvio said. "This is Tempus Cabernet Sauvignon. Hard to come by."
"From a small bodega in Mendoza," Basto said. "May I open it, Mr. Ambassador?"
"Oh, please," Silvio said.
Goddamn it, McGrory thought, wine! Not that I should be drinking at all. I am-we both are-on duty. But these Latins-and that certainly includes Silvio-don't consider drinking wine at lunch drinking, even though they know full well that there is as much alcohol in a glass of wine as there is in a bottle of beer or a shot of whiskey.
I would really like a John Jamison with a little water, but if I ordered one I would be insulting the restaurant guy and Silvio would think I was some kind of alcoholic, drinking whiskey at lunch.
A waiter appeared with glasses and a bottle opener. The cork was pulled and the waiter poured a little in one of the glasses and set it before Silvio, who picked it up and set it before McGrory.
"Tell me what you think, Mike," he said with a smile.
McGrory knew the routine, and went through it. He swirled the wine around the glass, stuck his nose in the wide brim and sniffed, then took a sip, which he swirled around his mouth.
"Very nice indeed," he decreed.
McGrory had no idea what he was supposed to be sniffing for when he sniffed or what he was supposed to be tasting when he tasted. So far as he was concerned, there were two kinds of wine, red and white, further divided into sweet and sour, and once he had determined this was a sour red wine he had exhausted his expertise.
The waiter then filled Silvio's glass half full and then poured more into McGrory's glass. Silvio picked up his glass and held it out expectantly until McGrory realized what he was up to and raised his own glass and touched it to Silvio's.