"And the people who tried to whack you? They were Spetsnaz sent by the FSB?"
"Whack meaning 'kidnap'? Or 'assassinate'?"
"Assassinate. Kidnap is 'grab' or simply 'kidnap.'"
Kocian nodded.
"Maybe, but I don't think so. They weren't Russian. They were German, which makes me think they were sent by the KSB. The KSB is too smart to send Spetsnaz. They might be identified and Putin wouldn't like that. More than likely, as we were discussing yesterday, former East German Stasi. What about the people who-what was that word you used, 'whacked'? I like it-whacked Mr. Lorimer?"
"They were professionals," Castillo said. "No identification on them. They had Swedish Madsen submachine guns. The CIA guys in Montevideo and Buenos Aires are trying to identify them. I don't think we're going to get lucky. They could be Stasi, or not."
"If you're really not CIA, Karl, how do you know what the CIA is doing? Or, for that matter, that they'd tell you the truth about what they're doing or have found out?"
Castillo didn't immediately reply, then he said, "I work for the President, Eric."
"Directly?"
Castillo nodded.
"And he's ordered the agency-and everybody else in the intelligence community-to tell me anything I want to know and give me whatever I ask for."
Kocian met his eyes for a moment, then nodded, then pointed at Castillo's laptop.
"Either your encryption process is awfully slow or your machine is not working."
"It's a little slow but very good." He looked at the screen. "Ninety-one percent encrypted."
"Well, while we're waiting I'll get packed. It's winter in Argentina now, right?"
"Yeah, but don't put on long underwear. We have to go to Equatorial Africa before we go to South America." It was a little after twelve before all the errands had been run and they made their way to Ferihegy International Airport.
Castillo didn't think it would be likely that anyone would be looking for Billy Kocian at the airport or keeping the Gulfstream under observation, but he decided nevertheless that the smart way to get the old man on the airplane was to take him there in an unmarked van from the Tages Zeitung. With a little bit of luck, he and Sandor Tor could rush Kocian up the steps and get him and Max aboard unnoticed while the luggage and in flight rations were being loaded.
Just before they went to the airport, Castillo had Kocian's Mercedes brought to the loading dock in the basement of the Gellert. With one of the Tages Zeitung security men at the wheel and another behind the darkened windows in the backseat, the car took off for Vienna.
There was no way of telling, of course, if the bastards who had tried to whack Kocian were surveilling the Gellert, but if they were they just might follow the Mercedes. They might also try something with the car once it was on the highway. Castillo almost hoped they would: He had given the security men the Madsens the Stasi-or whoever the hell the bastards were-had brought to the hotel to use on Kocian. And he hadn't had to show them how to use them.
As the Mercedes pulled away from the loading dock, they had shaken hands with Otto Gorner, who was going to stay in Budapest for at least a day before returning to Fulda, and then gotten in the van.
Billy Kocian, surprising Castillo, had not objected to traveling in the van, and surprised him again once they were aboard the Gulfstream by taking without question the air-sick pill Dr. Czerny had provided. Deceiving the old man had made Castillo feel a little ashamed.
Jake Torine and Fernando Lopez, who had ridden to the airport in a taxi, came up the stair door two minutes after the van had driven off.
"Everything okay, Charley?" Torine asked.
"If you've filed the flight plan and remembered to get the weather, it is."
"There is one small problem," Fernando said.
"Which is?"
"I know American Express boasts that there's no spending limit," Fernando said. "But what happens if they err on the side of caution and call the office and ask if I really filled the tanks on this thing in Baltimore, Frankfurt, and then here? They're used to charges for fueling the Lear, not a Gulfstream, and not in Europe. And not nearly as much fuel. They're liable to suspect that somebody's using my Amex numbers."
"Shit!" Castillo said. "Good point. Well, the damage is done. From here on, we'll use my card and then when we get to Buenos Aires I'll call Dick and have him write a check on the Lorimer Charitable and Benevolent Fund to your account at American Express."
"I think we ought to do something," Fernando said.
"Agreed," Castillo said. "Jake, do you want me to sit in the right seat now and take over once we're wheels-up?"
"I want you to sit in the left seat now," Torine said. "Preliminary flight instruction will begin immediately." "Ferihegy Departure Control clears Gulfstream Three-Seven-Niner for takeoff. Climb to flight level thirty-one thousand on a course of two-three-five degrees. Contact Zagreb Area Control on two-three-three-point-five when passing through twenty thousand."
"Three-Seven-Niner understands number one to go," Torine replied. "Climb to thirty-one thousand on two-three-five. Report to Zagreb Area Control on two-three-three-point-five when passing through twenty thousand."
"Affirmative."
Castillo pushed the throttles forward.
"Three-Seven-Niner rolling," Torine reported. "Thank you."
Then he switched to intercom. "Presuming you can steer it down the runway," Torine's voice came over Castillo's earphones, "I'll tell you when to rotate. And then when to get the gear up." [SEVEN] Yoff International Airport Dakar, Senegal 1835 7 August 2005 Max stood beside Castillo as he opened the stair door and, the moment it had extended, pushed Castillo aside and bounded down the stairs, startling more than a little the Senegalese airport authorities who had come to meet the Gulfstream.
Max took a quick look around, then headed for the nose gear, where he raised his leg and voided his bladder. It was an impressive performance, in terms of both volume and duration.
Then he looked around again, saw where the setting sun had cast a shadow to one side of the aircraft, trotted to it, and vacated his bowels in another impressive performance. Then he returned to the stair door and looked up at it, his posture suggesting, Well, I'm finished. What are you waiting for?
Billy Kocian came down the stairs both regally and carefully. He was wearing his wide-brimmed panama hat and a white linen suit. The jacket was draped rakishly over his shoulder and the arm he carried in a sling. His free hand held his cane like a swagger stick.
He looked at the airport authorities, nodded, and said, in Hungarian, "Good God, it's hot! How long do we have to stand here in the sun in whatever obscure developing country we find ourselves?"
Castillo thought: Well, there's now no question in the minds of the customs guys who owns this airplane.
"We're in Dakar, Senegal," Castillo replied, in Hungarian. "Unless I'm mistaken, that bus will take us to the transient lounge."
He pointed to a Peugeot van.
"Do you suppose it has air-conditioning or is that too much to expect?" Kocian asked and walked to the bus.
Sandor Tor came down the stairs and followed Kocian. Max trotted after them.
Jake Torine came down the stairs, carrying the aircraft's documents, and then Fernando Lopez exited.
"I hate to tell you this, Gringo," Lopez said, "but that landing was a greaser."
"A greaser? For my very first touchdown, it was magnificent!"
"You and I will fly across the drink, Fernando," Torine said. "There is nothing more dangerous in the sky than a pilot who thinks he really knows how to fly." [EIGHT] Carrasco International Airport Montevideo, Republica Oriental del Uruguay 2030 7 August 2005 "Legal Attache" David W. Yung, Jr., was in a strange, good-almost euphoric-mood as the Policia Federal helicopter carrying him, "Cultural Attache" Robert Howell, "Assistant Legal Attache" Julio Artigas, and Chief Inspector Jose Ordonez came in for a landing at the military side of the airport.