"I really think it's necessary," Ordonez insisted.
"Am I going to have to hide behind the shield of diplomatic immunity to get some sleep?"
"That's one of the reasons I think we really have to talk. If at all possible, I'd like to keep our little problem from getting involved with the often sticky business of diplomatic immunity."
Oh, shit! Now what?
"Let me rephrase my request," Ordonez said. "I would really like to talk to you. Unofficially, on my word. All you have to do is listen. You don't have to say anything, unless, of course, you wantto."
Yung looked at him but didn't reply.
"What have you got to lose, Senor Yung?" Ordonez pursued. "A few minutes of your time? And perhaps a small glass of whiskey?"
"Okay," Yung said. "Come on in my apartment. With the understanding that the next time I suggest you go home so I can get my sleep, you accept it."
"You are muy amiable, Senor Yung." "Charming apartment," Ordonez said as Yung snapped on the lights in his living room.
"Thank you. What kind of small glass of whiskey would you like?"
"Scotch, if that would be convenient," Ordonez said. "But before we get into that, may I help you with your bandage?"
Yung looked at his bandaged hand. Blood had soaked the gauze and the gauze was dirty.
What the hell? It looked all right the last time I looked at it.
I must have fucked it up crawling under the BMW on the ferry.
"If you'll forgive my saying so, it appears to need attention," Ordonez said.
"I've got some stuff in the bathroom," Yung said, and belatedly added, "Thank you." Ordonez skillfully and tenderly removed the bandage, then examined the cracked, crusted blood over the gouge.
"You were lucky," he said. "Another few millimeters and there would have been serious damage."
"I'll send a box of chocolates to your guy with the shotgun," Yung said.
Ordonez chuckled.
"I've already had a word with him. And if I may say so, his intentions were noble. He was trying to save your life."
Ordonez was now swabbing the wound with antiseptic and Yung was trying not to grimace at the burning sensation.
Yung said, "You don't happen to know a good body shop, do you? My Blazer looks like it was in a war."
Why the hell did I say that?
"Well, it was, wasn't it?" Ordonez said. "And, as a matter of fact, I do. I'll leave you the address and I'll also call him and tell him you're a friend of mine."
"Thank you." "That should do it," Ordonez said three minutes later as he let loose of Yung's freshly bandaged hand. "And can we now have the whiskey you have so kindly offered?"
"Thank you, Chief Inspector Ordonez."
"It was my pleasure to be of assistance. And please call me Jose."
Yung smiled and gestured for him to precede him out of the bathroom.
"What would you like?" Yung asked, indicating the bottles on his bar.
"The Famous Grouse, please."
When Yung handed him a glass and wordlessly asked if he would like ice, Ordonez nodded, said "Please," then went on: "I used to drink Johnnie Walker Black. But then the Johnnie Walker people took the distributorship away from a friend of mine-it had been in his family for four generations-and I stopped drinking Johnnie Walker and started drinking Famous Grouse, which my friend now distributes."
"How interesting," Yung said.
He handed the glass of Famous Grouse to Ordonez, then poured one for himself.
"We Latins-you must have been here long enough to know this-are like that," Ordonez said. "We reward our friends, punish our enemies, and hold grudges for a longtime."
"Is that so?" Yung said.
"Are the Chinese like that, Senor Yung? May I call you David?"
"We Chinese are inscrutable," Yung said.
"Like FBI agents?"
"Like some FBI agents. There are some FBI agents, I must admit, who talk too much. I don't happen to be one of them. I tell you that as a friend. And, yes, you may call me David."
Ordonez chuckled.
"Thank you," he said, then went on, "Speaking of friends, do you happen to know an Argentine by the name of Alfredo Munz?"
Oh, shit!
When it was obvious that Yung wasn't going to reply, Ordonez continued.
"Until recently, he was head of SIDE. You know what that is?"
"I know what SIDE is," Yung said.
"El Coronel Munz was recently retired," Ordonez said. "The word went around that he was retired because of his inability to quickly apprehend whoever it was who first kidnapped Mr. Masterson and then murdered her husband before her eyes."
Yung said nothing. He took a sip of his scotch.
"The Argentines, unfortunately, are like that," Ordonez said. "They always like to divert blame from themselves. What's the English phrase, 'Find a scapegoat'?"
"Something like that."
"The Argentine government can now say, 'Why should we be embarrassed that a U.S. diplomat's wife was kidnapped and the diplomat himself murdered on our soil? We have sent the man who should have prevented that from happening into disgraceful retirement for incompetence.'"
"That wasn't very nice of them, was it?" Yung said.
"No. But that's the way it is. And when the word got around that El Coronel Munz had shot himself while cleaning his pistol, many people thought that he had somehow missed while attempting to take his own life because of the shame his incompetence had brought down on his head."
"Shot himself cleaning his pistol, did he?"
"You're sure you don't know at least who I'm talking about?"
Yung didn't respond.
"How do I translate your silence and the inscrutable look on your face, David? That you do know Alfredo Munz-or at least who he is-or that you don't?"
"Try, that's one of the questions Yung doesn't have to answer unless he wants to," Yung said.
Ordonez made a thin smile.
"Well, David, I was not one of those who believed that Munz was either incompetent or had shot himself while attempting suicide or cleaning his pistol."
"You didn't?"
"Not for a second. You see, David, Alfredo Munz is a close friend of mine-one might even say a dear friend."
"Is that so?"
"We met because we were, so to speak, counterparts. He ran SIDE on his side of the river Plate and I ran -run- the Interior Police Division of the Uruguayan Policia Nacional on this side. Despite the innocuous name, my unit does for Uruguay what SIDE does for Argentina."
"I didn't know that, of course," Yung said.
"Of course you didn't," Ordonez said. "After all, you were just one of a dozen or so FBI agents in your embassy involved in nothing more than the investigating of money laundering, right?"
"If you say so."
"Well, shortly after Alfredo and I started to work together, we learned-I'm sure to our mutual surprise-that we were both honest cops. Unfortunately, there aren't that many of us in either Argentina or Uruguay."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Well, over the years, as Alfredo and I worked together on projects of mutual interest-for example, dignitary protection…"
"'Dignitary protection'?"
"That involves the protection of our own officials, diplomats, and visiting dignitaries, such as heads of foreign states. Fidel Castro, for example. Did you know that when Fidel Castro visits Uruguay, he and the more important members of his entourage always stay at the Belmont House Hotel right down the street from here?"
"I think I heard that," Yung said.
"Well, for example, when Castro visited Argentina, where he was under Munz's protection, and then came here, where I was responsible for his protection, Alfredo and I naturally worked together."
"I can understand why that would happen."
"Well, when I heard that my friend Alfredo had had-how do I put this? -some difficulty involving a firearm, the first thing I wanted to do was help. I couldn't rush across the river to Buenos Aires, of course, because I was deeply involved in the investigation of the massacre at Estancia Shangri-La. And when I tried to telephone him, using a very private line to his very private line in his apartment, there was never an answer. There were several possible reasons for this, the most likely being that he saw, on caller identification, that I was calling and didn't think it wise-for his sake or mine-that we talk."