He shut off the ignition, took out a cigar, carefully lit it, and for the next three minutes appeared to be doing nothing more than puffing on the cigar and staring in rapt fascination at the glowing tip.
Then he exhaled audibly, took out his cellular phone, and punched an autodial button.
Alex Darby answered on the second ring.
"Have you been keeping Santini up to speed?"
Darby didn't seem surprised or off ended at the lack of opening courtesy.
"I thought that was the thing to do," he said.
"I want to meet with your boss," Castillo said, "as soon as possible."
"I think that's a good idea. You want me there?"
"That's why I asked about Santini. I'd rather you did the real estate."
"Okay."
"Could you take Sergeant Kensington and his radio out there with you? I'd like to get that set up as soon as possible."
"Not a problem."
"Where's Yung?"
"Howell just called. Yung should be at Jorge Newbery in thirty minutes."
"Can you have somebody-Solez, maybe, or Sieno-meet him and sit on him anywhere but where you are for a couple of hours?"
"We are a little crowded here, aren't we?" Darby replied. "Solez, I think. I'd rather have Sieno here."
"Okay."
"You want me to call our friend and tell him you're coming? Hell, I don't even know if he's there."
"I don't want to go to his office."
"Any reason?"
"I don't want the Argentine rent-a-cops to recognize who I have with me."
"Let me call him and see what he suggests. I'll call you back."
"Tell Tor and Davidson that Kocian is not to leave the apartment or make any telephone calls under any circumstances."
"Okay. I'll get right back to you, one way or the other." "?Hola?"
"How long will it take you to make it to our friend's house on Libertador?" Darby asked.
"Give me thirty minutes."
"He'll be waiting for you on the sidewalk. Drive past his office on the way."
"You mention the rent-a-cops to him?"
"He understands."
"I'll be in touch," Castillo said, broke the connection, and turned to look at Munz.
"I'll get in the back again," Munz said. "When we get close, pull onto a side road."
"You understood about the rent-a-cops?"
Munz nodded.
"So they do work for SIDE?"
"Some of them do," Munz said. "I didn't know you brought Yung back with you."
"I sent him back here," Castillo said. "And last night he was shot by a Uruguayan cop who killed the guy-no identification on the body-who was trying to stick a needle full of ketamine in him."
"They wanted to question him about the money? What else happened at the estancia?"
"He's not badly injured, Alfredo, just a flesh wound to the hand. Thank you for asking."
"If he was badly hurt, you would have said something," Munz said, reasonably.
Castillo shook his head, started the engine, and drove to Libertador. This time, there was a break in the traffic and he headed for Buenos Aires.
X
[ONE] Residence of the United States Ambassador Avenida Libertador y Calle John F. Kennedy Palermo, Buenos Aires, Argentina 1505 8 August 2005 The ambassador's residence is a stately century-old mansion two blocks across a park from the rather ugly "modern" building of the embassy. By following Darby's orders to "drive past his office on the way"-which meant approaching the ambassador's office in the embassy from the Place d'Italia-Castillo, with Munz again on the back floor of the Cherokee, came up to the residence on Calle John F. Kennedy, a quiet street, instead of Avenida Libertador, which is eight lanes wide and heavy with traffic.
There was more reason, too, to Darby's orders. Castillo saw Ambassador Juan Manuel Silvio standing on the sidewalk, smoking a cigar, and apparently having a pleasant chat with members of both the Policia Federal and the embassy-hired Argentine rent-a-cops.
When the Cherokee's turn signals indicated Castillo's intention to enter the driveway of the residence, two of the rent-a-cops quickly moved to see who he was.
"?Hola, Carlos!" Ambassador Silvio cried, cheerfully. He moved quickly to the Cherokee, gesturing for Castillo to put the window down. Then he called for one of the Policia Federal to open the gate.
"I've been waiting for you, Carlos," Silvio said through the window opened barely more than a crack. "As soon as they get the gate open, drive right in and around the corner of the building."
No rent-a-cop was going to push the ambassador himself aside to inspect the interior of a vehicle.
The gate opened and Castillo drove into the drive, past the ornate front door, and around the corner of the building. As he did, a service door of some kind opened and a man Castillo recognized as Ken Lowery, the embassy's security officer, appeared and came up to the car.
"Where's your passenger, Colonel?" he asked.
"In the backseat," Castillo said, then raised his voice. "You going to need some help to get out, Alfredo?"
"Just open the door," Munz said.
Lowery opened it, then stood to the side, blocking the view of anyone who might have come around the corner of the building.
Munz, his head ducked, went quickly into the building.
Castillo followed him inside. Lowery then came in, closing the door after him. Castillo saw that they were in a corridor outside of what looked like an unused kitchen.
"Good to see you again, Colonel Munz," Lowery said, in Spanish, and put out his hand. When Munz winced as he shook it, Lowery asked, "What's wrong? Hurt your shoulder?"
"I don't think you want to know, Ken," Castillo said, quickly.
Obviously, Silvio hasn't told him much, if anything.
How much am I going to tell him?
"Sorry!" Lowery said and held up both hands, palms out.
Ambassador Silvio appeared.
"I think we better use the service elevator," he said without further preliminaries and signaled them into the kitchen.
The elevator was small and some what battered.
"In the grand old days, this was used to carry food to the apartment," Silvio volunteered. "About the only use it gets now is when there's a reception. But you can't see who gets on it by peering in the front door."
"Tony Santini's on the way?" Castillo asked.
"He should be here any minute," Silvio said as he pulled open the elevator door and gestured for the others to get off.
"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, sir," Castillo said. "I was really hoping you would come to see me…Colonel."
"That news got around quick, didn't it?"
"From a very high source," Silvio said. "She also said that the President was very pleased with the way you've been handling things." He paused, smiled wryly, and added: "In diplomacy, that's known as imparting information circuitously."
Castillo smiled at him.
"Congratulations, Colonel," Silvio said. "In my judgment, it's well deserved."
"I can only hope, sir, that you will feel the same way when we've had our conversation," Castillo said.
Silvio led them into the living room of his apartment and waved them into a couch and armchairs.
"Sir, I'd like a moment alone with you, please," Castillo said.
"Why don't we step into my kitchen?" the ambassador said, nodding toward a swinging door.
"Ken," Castillo said, turning to look at Lowery, "years ago, when I was an aide-de-camp to a general officer known for his piquant speech, he told me that telling someone-a good guy-that he did not have the Need to Know of certain information was like telling him that his male member had been measured and judged not to be large enough for the task at hand."
Lowery smiled, but his face showed that he anticipated what he was sure was coming next.
Silvio smiled and shook his head.
"In your case," Castillo went on, "I'm going to tell you that I am operating under the authority of a Presidential Finding and anything you might learn here today is classified Top Secret Presidential. And I'm going to evade my responsibility in this matter by dumping it on the ambassador."