And was immediately sorry.
"Strike that, Alex," she added. "I was just lashing out at the fickle finger of fate."
"It's okay, honey. And I really don't think it will be for long."
"Hope springs eternal in the human breast," Julia said solemnly.
"And the movers never show up when they're supposed to," Edgar Delchamps said as solemnly.
The apartment showed signs that the movers were expected any moment. Cardboard boxes were stacked all over, and suitcases were arranged by the door.
"And it is always the cocktail hour somewhere in the world, so why not here and now?" Alex said.
Julia smiled at Edgar and Liam, and said, "Every once in a great while, he has a good idea. The embassy's glasses are in the cupboard, so all we have to do is find something to put in them."
"The booze is in the suitcase with the 'seven' stuck on it," Alex said, and looked at the suitcases by the door. "Which, of course, is the one on the bottom." He switched to Spanish. "Give me a hand, will you, Liam?"
Liam Duffy-a well-dressed, muscular, ruddy-faced blond man in his forties-looked to be what his name suggested, a true son of Erin. But he was in fact an Argentine whose family had migrated to Argentina more than a century before.
They went to the stack of suitcases, moved them around, and in about a minute Alex Darby was able to triumphantly raise a bottle of twelve-year-old Famous Grouse Malt Scotch whisky.
The house telephone rang.
Julia answered it.
"It's the concierge," she announced. "Somebody's here to look at the car."
"Tell him to show it to him," Alex said.
He walked into the kitchen carrying the whisky. Liam followed him.
Ninety seconds later, the telephone rang again, and again Julia answered it.
When Alex and Liam returned from the kitchen, Julia announced, "It's the movers."
"Which one?"
"His," Julia said, nodding at Duffy.
"Have them sent up," Alex said.
"I'm way ahead of you, my darling," Julia said as she reached for her glass.
Seconds later, the doorbell chimed, signaling there was someone in the elevator foyer.
Duffy went to the door and opened it, then waved three men into the apartment. They were all wearing business suits but there was something about them that suggested the military.
"The suitcases to the left of the doorway," Duffy said in Spanish. "Be very careful of the blue one with the number seven on it."
"Si, mi comandante," one of them said.
"Did they find a pilot for the Aero Commander?" Duffy asked.
"Si, mi general. All is ready at Aeroparque Jorge Newbery."
"Whoopee!" Julia Darby said.
"And the people to stay with Familia Darby?" Duffy asked.
"In place, mi comandante."
"Whoopee again," Julia said.
Duffy nodded at the men.
The doorbell rang again.
Duffy pulled it open.
A thirty-eight-year-old Presbyterian from Chevy Chase, Maryland, stood there.
"Mr. Darby?" Roscoe Danton asked.
"I'm Alex Darby. Come in."
Roscoe entered the apartment and offered his hand to him.
"Roscoe Danton," he said.
"That was a quick look at the BMW, wasn't it?" Darby asked.
"Actually, Mr. Darby, I'm not here about the car. I came to see you," Danton said. "I'm a journalist at The Washington Times-Post. Eleanor Dillworth sent me."
Darby's reaction was Pavlovian. One spook does not admit knowing another spook unless he knows whoever is asking the question has the right to know.
Spooks also believe that journalists should be told only that which is in the best interests of the spook to tell them.
"I'm afraid there's been a mistake," Darby said, politely. "I'm afraid I don't know a Miss Duckworth."
"Dillworth." Roscoe made the correction even as he intuited things were about to go wrong. "Eleanor Dillworth."
Comandante General Liam Duffy also experienced a Pavlovian reaction when he saw the look in Darby's eyes. He made a barely perceptible gesture with the index finger of his left hand.
The two men about to carry luggage from the apartment quickly set it down and moved quickly to each side of Roscoe Danton. The third man, who was already on the elevator landing, turned and came back into the apartment, looking to Duffy for guidance.
Duffy made another small gesture with his left hand, rubbing his thumb against his index finger. This gesture had two meanings, money and papers.
In this case, the third man intuited it meant papers. He walked to Danton and said, reasonably pleasantly, in English, "Papers, please, Senor."
"Excuse me?" Roscoe said.
Julia Darby looked annoyed rather than concerned.
"Gendarmeria Nacional," the man said. "Documents, please, passport and other identity."
Roscoe wordlessly handed over his passport.
The third man made a give me the rest gesture.
Roscoe took out his wallet and started to look for his White House press pass.
The third man snatched the wallet from his fingers and handed it and the passport to Liam Duffy.
"My press passes are in there," Roscoe said. "Including my White House-"
Duffy silenced him with a raised hand, examined the passport and the contents of the wallet, and then handed all of it to Darby.
Then he made another gesture, patting his chest with both hands.
The two men standing beside him instantly started to pat down Roscoe, finally signaling that he was clean except for a wad of currency, a sheaf of papers, several ballpoint pens, a box of wooden matches, and two cigars. They handed everything to Duffy.
"How did you happen to come to this address, Mr. Danton?" Darby asked, courteously.
Roscoe decided to tell the truth.
"I saw the for-sale ad, for the BMW, in the daily bulletin at the embassy," he said. He pointed to the sheaf of papers.
"What were you doing at the embassy?"
"I went there to see if they could point me at you."
"Why would you want to be pointed at me?"
"I told you, Eleanor Dillworth said you would be helpful."
"In what way?"
"That you could point me toward Colonel Carlos Castillo."
"I know no one by that name. An Argentine Army officer?"
"An American officer, Mr. Darby," Roscoe replied, stopping himself at the last second from saying, As you fucking well know.
"I don't know what's going on here, Mr. Danton," Darby said. "But apparently someone has given you incorrect information. I'm sorry you've been inconvenienced. How did you get here?"
"In a taxi."
"Where are you staying?"
"The Plaza Hotel."
"Well, the least we can for you is give you a ride back there," Darby said. "We can do that, can't we, Liam?"
"Absolutely," Liam said.
"Nice to have met you, Mr. Danton," Darby said, and gestured toward the door.
"Likewise," Roscoe Danton snapped sarcastically. "And I'll pass on the free ride, thank you just the same."
Comandante General Liam Duffy locked eyes with Danton, and evenly said, "Let me explain something to you, Senor. There are some irregularities with your documents-"
"What kind of irregularities?" Danton interrupted angrily.
Duffy ignored him. He went on: "I'm sure they can be quickly cleared up. Possibly even today and certainly by the morning. Our usual procedure is taking people with irregular documents to our headquarters. Then we would notify the U.S. embassy and ask them to verify your documents. Sometimes, they can do that immediately. In the case of someone like yourself, a distinguished journalist, I'm sure they would go out of their way to hasten this procedure-"
"Call the public affairs officer," Danton interrupted again. "Sylvia Grunblatt. She knows who I am."
Duffy ignored him again. "-and by late today, or certainly by tomorrow morning, a consular officer would come by our headquarters, verify the legitimacy of your documents, which would then be returned to you and you could go about your business.
"But, in the meantime, you would be held. We can't, as I'm sure you understand, have people running around Buenos Aires with questionable documents. Now, partly because I am anxious to do everything I can for a prominent North American journalist such as you purport to be, and partly because Senor Darby feels sorry for you, what I'm willing to do is take you to your hotel and let you wait there. With the understanding, of course, that you would not leave the Plaza until your documents are checked and we return them to you. Believe me, Senor, the Plaza is far more comfortable a place to wait than the detention facilities at our headquarters."