Fernando, shaking his head, threw up both hands in a gesture of resignation.
"I don't like it, Carlos."
Castillo looked at his wristwatch.
"It's now eleven minutes after eight," he said. "If all goes the way we hope, the following things are going to happen: In the next couple of minutes, we'll hear from Solez, reporting that he met Artigas at the Buquebus terminal. Next-I'm guessing about eight-thirty-we'll hear from Yung that Senora Munz and the girls are in a taxi at Unicenter and headed for the terminal. Forty-five minutes or so after that-at 2115-we should hear from Artigas that they arrived all right and are in the process of getting on the boat. Fifteen minutes after that, we should hear that the boat has sailed. And three and a half hours-give or take-after that, we should hear from Yung and Artigas that they're in Montevideo and on their way to the Belmont House Hotel in Carrasco. When that happens, we can go to bed."
"Where, Charley?" Torine asked.
"You, me, and Fernando in the Four Seasons. There's no way we can get Max in there, Billy, which means you and Sandor will stay here."
"There's only one guest room," Sieno said. "But it has two double beds."
"Max has been in the best hotels in Europe," Kocian said. It was a challenge.
"And I bet a lot of people talked about that, didn't they?" Castillo said, evenly. "The subject is not open for debate."
"And what am I to be fed?" Kocian asked.
"I was just thinking about that," Castillo said. "Obviously, we can't go to a restaurant. What about takeout? What's the name of that steak place by the embassy?"
"The Rio Alba," Sieno furnished.
"What about calling them after Santini checks in and get them to make half a dozen large lomos and a salad to match, plus papas Provencal, and then have Santini and Solez pick it up on their way here? It's almost on their way."
"Good idea," Torine said.
"Lomo?" Kocian asked, dubiously. Then, in Hungarian, added, "Some native dish, presumably? And what in God's name are papas whatever you said?"
"And ask for some bones for Max," Castillo said, ignoring him. "And a couple of bottles of wine."
"Is the wine drinkable in this country?" Kocian asked.
"I think you will find it entirely satisfactory, Ur Kocian," Sieno said, in Hungarian. "And the beef is the best in the world. A lomo is filet mignon. The ones from Rio Alba weigh half a kilo. Papas Provencal are pommes frites with parsley, etcetera."
"Why didn't you tell me you speak Hungarian?" Kocian demanded.
"I thought everybody did," Sieno said, straight-faced. "I know the colonel does."
Kocian saw the smile on Sandor Tor's face.
"You find this amusing, do you, Sandor?" Kocian demanded.
"I think everybody does, Ur Kocian," Torreplied.
Castillo's cellular vibrated.
"?Hola?"
"I just gave those papers to Artigas," Tony Santini announced without preliminaries. "Want us to stick around until the bus leaves?"
"I don't think so, Tony," Castillo replied after a moment. "I'm afraid you might be recognized. And when Yung gets there, he's obviously not an Argentine. Solez and Artigas can pass. So tell Solez to stick around and then take a cab here."
"I was thinking of giving Artigas my car," Santini said. "That'd give them wheels when they get there. And it's an embassy car with a radio and CD plates, so no trouble getting it…"
"Good idea."
"Anything else you want me to do?"
"Take a cab to Rio Alba and pick up our supper," Castillo said. "Paul's about to order it."
"That's one of your better ideas, Charley."
"According to Napoleon, an army moves on its stomach. I'm surprised you didn't know that."
Santini chuckled.
"Tell Paul to order me a large bife chorizo," Santini said and broke the connection.
Sieno got the Rio Alba on the telephone and placed the order.
"So now all we have to do is wait, right?" Torine asked when he saw Sieno hang up.
"So that nobody falls asleep while we're waiting," Castillo said, "I thought we'd talk about briefcase-sized nuclear bombs."
Torine looked at him with a puzzled look on his face.
"Why do I have this odd feeling that you're serious?" he asked.
"I am," Castillo said.
"What's that about?"
"Jack Britton heard from an undercover counterterrorism cop that the same people who were involved in stealing the 727 have bought a hundred-odd-acre farm outside Philadelphia. On the farm are some old iron mines. They are stocking them with food and intend to use them as shelters when someone sets off a briefcase-sized nuke in Philadelphia."
"How reliable is Britton's source?" Torine asked, incredulously. "That sounds awfully far-fetched, Charley."
"I know. But it can't be ignored."
"Britton believes this?" Fernando asked.
"Britton thinks it can't be ignored," Castillo said. "He's up there now with some Secret Service guys and some state cops he knows, looking around. I'm going there from Midland, on my way to Washington. So let's talk about nukes. You went to nuke school, right, Jake?"
"In my youth, I flew B-29s," Torine said. "I don't know how many nuke schools I've been to. But no nuke I ever heard about would fit in a briefcase."
"Briefcase, no," Sieno said, matter-of-factly. "Suitcase, yes. There are some people in the agency who believe an agent named Sunev-"
"Who?" Castillo asked.
"Sunev," Sieno repeated. "A Russian defector. I forget his first name, if I ever knew it."
"KGB Colonel Pyotr Sunev, by chance?" Kocian asked, politely.
"Yeah, that's him," Sieno said.
"You know about this guy, Billy?" Castillo asked.
"His name came up several times. He's a friend of your good friend Mr. Pevsner."
"I'll want to hear about that, Billy, but first I want to know what the agency believes about what this guy said."
"Sunev testified before a congressional committee-I saw the tapes a half dozen times; he wore a black bag over his head so he couldn't be recognized-five, six years ago. He said that during the Cold War, he'd been assigned-he was a spook at the Soviet mission to the UN-to find drops across the country for weapons, including SADMs and the communications equipment necessary to make them go off. He was a little vague about whether he'd actually set up the drops or where they were."
"And the agency believes this guy?" Torine said.
"What's a SADM?" Fernando Lopez interrupted.
"Nuclear suitcase," Sieno said. "The Russians call them 'Special Atomic Demolition Munitions.'"
"Okay, let's go to basics," Castillo said. "What does a SADM look like?"
"The Pu-239 looks like a suitcase," Sieno said. "It's about two feet wide, sixteen inches high, and eight inches deep. A small suitcase, but larger than a briefcase." He demonstrated with his hands, then went on: "There's another one-I forget the nomenclature-that comes in two pieces, each about the size of a footlocker. It produces a ten-to twenty-kiloton explosion. The little one probably has a three-to five-kiloton bang."
"And the agency believes this guy hid these weapons in the States?" Torine asked.
"He didn't say he hid them, Colonel," Sieno said. "He's a slippery bastard. he said he'd, quote, been assigned to find drops for them, unquote. Some people in the agency believe that."
"Does anybody at the agency believe that nukes are hidden in the States?" Castillo asked.
"Some do," Sieno said.
"Where is this guy now?" Castillo asked. "I think I'd like to talk to him."
"Probably in Moscow," Sieno said. "The agency went through the whole business of getting him a new identity-he became a Latvian, teaching Eastern European history at Grinnell-then, one bright early spring day in 2000, he and his family disappeared."