Castillo had seen everybody's departure as an opportunity. But Tom Barlow had come to the penthouse and asked if he wanted to play chess before he could take advantage of the opportunity. Castillo no more wanted to play chess than he wanted to lunch on raw iguana, but the alternative was saying, "No, thanks, as I'm planning to spend the morning increasing my carnal knowledge of your sister."
When the door chime went off, they were playing chess, and Svetlana-in a bikini-was taking in the sun on a chaise longue by the pool, with Max lying beside her.
The latter went to answer the door.
Aleksandr Pevsner, Janos, and another man were standing there.
Before Pevsner knew what was happening, Max put his paws on Pevsner's shoulders and licked his face.
"Look at that!" Tom Barlow called happily. "Max loves you, Alek."
And then he recognized the man with Pevsner and exclaimed, "I'll be damned!"
The man with Pevsner was plump, ruddy-faced, and in his early fifties. His short-sleeved blue shirt had wings and epaulets with the four stripes of a captain on it.
"Well, my God, look who's all grown up and wearing lipstick! And not much else," the man said, and spread his arms.
"Uncle Nicolai!" Svetlana cried happily and ran into his arms.
Castillo watched, then thought: Well, that explains that. Another relative.
But what is Uncle Nicolai doing here?
Tom Barlow was now waiting patiently for his chance to exchange hugs with Uncle Nicolai. When it came, the two embraced and enthusiastically pounded each other's back.
"Aleksandr said you were in Johannesburg," Svetlana said.
"I spend a good deal of time there," Uncle Nicolai said. He looked at Charley and offered his hand. In fluent, just slightly accented English, he said, "I'm Nicolai Tarasov."
"Charley Castillo."
"Who has captured Svetlana's heart. Alek told me."
"So what brings you to Cozumel by the Sea, Uncle Nicolai?" Castillo asked.
Tarasov avoided the question.
"Alek and I go back to our days with Aeroflot," Tarasov said. "When I tried without much success to teach him to fly Ilyushin Il-96s."
Castillo felt his temper turn on.
"Why don't you want to tell me what brings you to Cozumel by the Sea, Uncle Nicolai?" he repeated, then added: "Somehow I don't think this is a happy coincidence and that you're all going to sit around eating fried chicken and telling stories about Grandma."
"Why are you going out of your way to be unpleasant, Charley?" Svetlana asked.
Castillo switched to Russian: "Because Cousin Alek"-he pointed at Pevsner-"can't seem to get it through his thick Russian skull that since I'm running this operation, it's not nice to spring surprises on me. Like Uncle Nicolai just happening to drop in from Johannesburg to say hi."
"You speak Russian very well; you sound like you're from Saint Petersburg," Tarasov said. "Aleksandr told me you did. Just after he told me to be very, very careful not to underestimate you."
"I still don't have an answer," Castillo said.
"Just for the record, Charley," Tom Barlow said, "I'm as surprised to see Nicolai as you are."
"Goodbye, Uncle Nicolai," Castillo said, motioning toward the door. "The next time you're in town, make sure you call."
"Now, wait just a minute, Charley!" Pevsner flared.
"Why do I have to spend all my time making peace between you two?" Svetlana asked.
"Maybe because Alek the Terrible has trouble understanding I don't recognize him as the tsar," Charley said.
Both Barlow and Tarasov chuckled.
Pevsner gave them both an icy glare.
"'Alek the Terrible'?" Tarasov quoted. "I like that."
"I got in touch with Nicolai to see what he could contribute to our scenario," Pevsner said after a moment.
"And can he?" Castillo challenged, and then looked at Tarasov. "Can you?"
"I'm trying to run down something I heard, about an incident that took place at the El Obeid Airport in Sudan," Tarasov said. "That may take a little time. And I think there's at least a good chance that if a Tupolev Tu-934A was used in this operation, I know where they landed in Mexico."
"What took place in Sudan?"
"They found a lot of dead people at the burned-down airport," Tarasov said. "From what little I know so far, it sounds like something that one of Yakov Sirinov's Vega Groups would do. No witnesses."
"And the airport in Mexico?"
"Laguna el Guaje," Tarasov said. "In Coahuila State."
"Laguna el Guaje mean anything to you, Charley?" Pevsner asked.
Castillo shook his head.
"It's sort of the Mexican version of Groom Dry Lake Test Facility," Nicolai explained. "Far fewer aircraft, and different secrets."
Castillo knew that Groom Lake, on the vast Nellis Air Force Base near Las Vegas, was rumored to be where-in Area 51 thereon-the CIA was holding little green men from Mars, or elsewhere in the universe. He hadn't seen any of them when he had been to Area 51, but he had seen some very interesting experimental aircraft.
"I have never heard of either what you just said or Area 51," Castillo said. "But if I had, and talked to you about it, I'd have to kill you."
Nicolai laughed out loud and punched Castillo's shoulder.
"I like him, Alek," he said.
"Don't speak too soon," Pevsner said.
"Why do you think that might be the place?" Castillo said.
"Because we use it from time to time," Tarasov said.
And what do you use it for, from time to time?
Moving cocaine around?
"How do we find out?"
"A man who you should know is going to meet us there," Pevsner said.
"And how do we get there?"
"Fly," Tarasov said. "It should take us about an hour."
"Two of the three pilots who can fly our Gulfstream are deep-sea fishing. It may take some time to get them back here. And when they get here, they'll probably be half in the bag. They didn't expect to go flying. And I really don't like flying that airplane by myself."
"But you could if you had to, right? I hear you're quite a pilot." He paused, then added: "Schwechat-Ezeiza via Africa is a long way to go in a G-Three unless you really know how to fly a Gulfstream."
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Uncle Nicolai. Goodbye, Uncle Nicolai," Castillo said.
Tarasov seemed unaffected by Castillo's belligerence.
"Actually, Colonel Castillo," he said, "I have an airplane. I just picked up a Cessna Citation Mustang at the factory in Wichita. That's what I was doing when Aleksandr called, getting checked out in it."
"And now you're going to fly it to Johannesburg, right?" Castillo said sarcastically. "I hope you know how to swim. The specs I saw on the Mustang gave it a range of about eleven hundred nautical miles, and the last time I looked, the Atlantic Ocean was a lot wider than that."
"He's not going to fly it to South Africa," Pevsner said. "The casino here bought the Mustang to replace the Lear it uses to pick up good casino customers and bring them to Cozumel."
The last I heard, Cessna was happy not only to deliver a plane like that to the customer, but also to have whoever delivered it teach the new owner or his pilot how to fly it.
And since you own the casino, please forgive me for wondering what almost certainly illegal services this new Mustang will render to you when it's not hauling high-rollers around.
What's behind all this bullshit?
You know, but you don't like to think about it.
Fuck it. Get it out in the open.
"Alek, listen to me carefully," Castillo said. "Whatever we do to solve our current problem, we are not going to get involved with the drug trade or anybody in it."
"Friend Charley, you listen carefully to me," Pevsner said, icily furious. "I am not, and never have been, involved with the drug trade."
Castillo considered that a moment, and then realized: I'll be a sonofabitch if I don't believe him!
Why? Because I want to?
"Why do I keep waiting for you to say 'but'?" Castillo asked.
"Aleksandr, I think you should answer Charley's question, and fully," Svetlana said.