"I know a master gunnery sergeant named MacNamara at Eighth and Eye-Marine Corps Headquarters?"
"I know where it is," Miller said.
"He's a heavy hitter in Force Recon. Lester said if he got on the horn to the gunnery sergeant in Argentina and told him to ask no questions, he would ask no questions."
"What are you going to tell your friend about why you want him to make that call?"
"I'll tell him I can't tell him. He'll go along."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Let's not cross that bridge until we get there."
"See if you can get him on the horn now. If you can, tell him to come here. We'll dazzle him with Charley's office and my Class A uniform and see what happens."
Davidson nodded.
"You pack a suitcase?" Miller asked.
Davidson nodded again.
"Okay. If your master gunnery sergeant will go along, we'll get you both on a flight out of Miami tomorrow night." [THREE] Danubius Hotel Gellert Szent Gellert ter 1 Budapest, Hungary 0125 7 August 2005 Lieutenant Colonel Castillo-half asleep-became aware that something wet and cold was pressing against his face. The first thing he thought was that he had drooled on his pillow, then rolled over onto the wet spot.
This happened to him every once in a while and he hated it. Telling himself that he couldn't be held responsible for drooling while he was asleep didn't help any more than applying the same logic to what was euphemistically known as nocturnal emissions. It was embarrassing, annoying, and even shameful. Age seemed to have dealt with the nocturnal emission problem, but drooling remained a real pain in the ass.
He put his hand out to push himself away from the wet spot-and suddenly was wide awake, his heart jumping.
There was something warm, firm, and hairy in bed with him.
In the same split instant, he became aware of a deep growl.
"Max, you sonofabitch! How did you get in bed?"
Max growled again-but not at Castillo.
He had left Max in Billy Kocian's bedroom, presuming Max would prefer sleeping in there-on a huge, fluffy dog bed on the floor next to Kocian's enormous, antique canopied bed-instead of here, in another bedroom. Castillo had felt like an intruder, a voyeur, in Kocian's apartment, especially the bedroom. But curiosity had overwhelmed those feelings, and he and Otto Gorner had spent a half hour in the huge, high-ceilinged rooms, examining the photos on the walls and furniture. There were all sorts of photographs, some of which were obviously of Kocian's family and many of what obviously had become Kocian's second family, the von und zu Gossingers.
There were several of Castillo's grandfather and Kocian together, in uniform. And more of the former Herr Oberst in shabby civilian clothing, apparently taken right after the Second World War. There were others as Castillo remembered him, elegantly tailored.
In Kocian's bedroom there had been a photograph on the bedside table of a young girl in braids and a near-adolescent boy holding Kocian's hand-Castillo's mother and his uncle Willi. There had been others of Kocian and Otto Gorner.
The walls and furniture had held framed photographs at various places of Karl Wilhelm von und zu Gossinger-aged three, five, seven, ten-holding his mother's hand. There had been several of Carlos Guillermo Castillo, as a skinny Boy Scout, as a teenager on a horse at Hacienda San Jorge wearing a far-too-large cowboy hat, as Cadet Sergeant C. G. Castillo of the Corps of Cadets of the United States Military Academy, and as Second Lieutenant Castillo with just-awarded Distinguished Flying Cross, Bronze Star, and Purple Heart medals dangling from the breast of his tunic.
And more than a dozen photographs of women, ranging from in their twenties to middle age. They had been obviously important to Kocian, if not important enough for him to have married them.
Castillo had left Kocian's bedroom feeling sad, almost to the point of tears. The old man had to be lonely. No wonder that he was bananas about Max. Max gave him the only love he had in his life. Castillo patted Max and was surprised at how tense-actually, he was quivering-the dog's body was. And he realized the dog was still growling, softly, deep in his throat.
"Hey, pal! What's the matter?"
Max, who had been lying next to Castillo, suddenly got half to his feet and slinked off the bed.
Castillo's heart jumped again. He sat up.
There was just enough light for Castillo to be able to see Max stalking across the floor toward the door leading to the sitting room.
He's like a lion, a panther, stalking its prey!
Castillo rolled on his side far enough so that he could slide open the drawer of the bedside table. His fingers found the suppressed Ruger pistol. He quickly chambered a round, then sat up, pushing back on the bed until his back was resting against the headboard.
It's probably Otto, looking for a glass of water. Or another dog. Maybe somebody cleaning the corridor outside the apartment.
Calm down, for Christ's sake!
Max was now crouched but no longer growling.
There was a squeak.
What the hell is that?
The door swung open quickly and two men jumped into the room in crouching positions. Both held Madsen submachine guns at the ready. Max leaped at the first one, locking his massive jaws on the man's arm. The man yelped in surprise and pain. The second pointed his Madsen at Max.
Without thinking what he was doing, Castillo raised the Rugerin both hands and fired instinctively-twice, as are flex action-at the second man. The suppressed muzzle made a soft tut-tut sound. Then, without waiting to see if he had hit the second man, Castillo fired at the first. Tut-tut. And then he looked back at the second man. He was now sliding limply down the doorframe. Tut-tut. Castillo's eyes and the Ruger went back to the first man, who was now sitting down. It looked as if Max was about to drag him somewhere. Tut-tut.
The Ruger's magazine had held ten.22 Long Rifle cartridges. Castillo had subconsciously counted as he had fired; he had two rounds left. He leaped out of the bed and ran to the dresser, where he had left the Micro Uzi. Its magazine was fully charged and he could get it much quicker than he could charge the Ruger's magazine, the extra cartridges for which he had put in the same drawer as the Uzi.
He grabbed the Uzi and dropped to the floor, pulling the action lever back and then rolling over twice before sitting up with the Uzi pointed at the door.
There was no burst of gunfire.
Max trotted over and licked Castillo's face.
Castillo felt tear swelling.
"You big sonofabitch," he said. "I love you, too."
He got to his feet and went to the men in the door.
The one Max had grabbed was on his back, openmouthed, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. Castillo could see no entrance wounds. The second man was sitting in the doorway. There were two small holes in his forehead and a third next to his nose.
Castillo's heart jumped again and he felt a chill.
Jesus Christ, Otto!
He ran across the living room to the second guest room, put his hand on the doorknob, then pushed it open quickly and jumped inside, holding the Micro Uzi in both hands. There was just enough light to make out the bed.
He fumbled on the wall inside the door until he found the light switch and tripped it.
For a moment, the body on the bed didn't move-Oh, shit, not another garroting! Not Otto!-and then Otto sat up.
"What the hell!" Gorner grumbled. "What are you doing with that gun?"
"You better get up, Otto," Castillo said. "There's a problem."
"A problem? What kind of a problem?"
"You'd better get up, Otto," Castillo repeated, then went quickly through the living room to the door to the corridor.
There was a man down-one of the security people from the Tages Zeitung-sprawled on his back by the door to the stairway. His pistol was lying on the carpet.
Castillo ran to him, saw his bulged eyes and blue skin, then the blued-steel garrote around his neck.
He ran back into the apartment, found his Swiss Army knife in his suitcase, and ran back into the corridor.