"Like who?"
Castillo ignored the question.
"The one thing the Stasi and the Hungarians had in common, Eddie-aside from being some very unpleasant people very good at what they did-was using the garrote as the silent whacking weapon of choice."
"You're saying you think these people are involved with what happened to Timmons?"
"I'm saying it's very interesting that Timmons's driver was garroted with the same kind of garrote they used on Sergeant Kranz, and tried to use on Eric Kocian."
Lorimer considered what he'd heard, then said, "I don't think anyone in Asuncion thinks we're dealing with anything but drug dealers."
"And maybe we're not," Castillo said. "But to finish filling you in on what happened at Shangri-La, the official version-the Uruguayan government version-is that it was a drug deal gone wrong. They know better, but apparently have decided it's best for them to sweep what really happened under the rug. This is made somewhat easier for them by our ambassador, who can't believe that a special operation could happen without his knowing about it. He decided that Lorimer was shipping cocaine in antique vases and a deal went wrong. The Uruguayans decided to let it go at that."
"So you came out clean?"
"For a while, I thought we had."
"But?"
"We were at the safe house in Pilar, just about to wind up putting things together-Inspector Doherty called it 'an investigation to determine what has to be investigated'-when Max caught you sneaking through the bushes."
"Oh."
"Opening the possibility that others may have put together what you did. So we quickly folded the tent and came home. And I again thought we'd come out clean. And then the President said, 'Go get Special Agent Timmons.' So now we're going to have to go back down there, and the whole thing is back at risk of being compromised."
"You don't have to go back to Uruguay, do you?"
"I wouldn't be surprised that as we try to do this, we'll have to go to Uruguay. And there's something else."
"What?"
"Lorimer's father is a retired ambassador. Apparently a very good guy. He lost his house in New Orleans to the hurricane. And he's decided that until things settle down, he wants to take his wife and go to Estancia Shangri-La, which he now owns."
"Uh-oh."
"Yeah. And-since he has a serious heart condition-the secretary of State thought it would be best if he didn't learn what a miserable sonofabitch his son was. He thinks the bastard was killed by roving bandits. Among the other impossible things I have to do, one is talk him out of going to Uruguay. Not only would it be dangerous for him and his wife-"
"Why?"
"The money, for one thing."
"What money?"
"The sixteen million. We have it, but they don't know that."
"You have it?" Lorimer asked, surprised.
Castillo nodded. "It's now the Lorimer Charitable amp; Benevolent Fund."
Which also now has forty-six million of illegal oil-for-food profits that Philip J. Kenyon of Midland, Texas, thought he had safely hidden from the IRS and the Justice Department-and everybody else-in the Caledonian Bank and Trust Limited in the Cayman Islands.
I don't think Lorimer has to know about that. I've already given him enough to think about.
Which means I've already told him too much.
"That's how we pay for everything," Castillo went on.
"I wondered about that," Lorimer said. "So what happens now?"
"Now we go to bed," Castillo said. "Not only is my tail dragging, but I've learned-painfully-that the brilliant thoughts I have at one o'clock in the morning with half a bag on turn out to be stupid in the morning."
[THREE]
Valley View Ranch
North Las Vegas, Nevada 0835 3 September 2005 When Castillo, wearing a polo shirt and khaki slacks, walked out of the house to the pool, he found Tom McGuire, Jake Torine, and Lorimer, all in sports shirts and slacks, sitting at a table drinking coffee. He saw Casey's cook standing by an enormous stainless steel gas grill that apparently also functioned as an ordinary stove, and decided they were politely waiting for their host to show up before eating.
Jake nodded at Castillo but didn't speak.
"Eddie," Castillo ordered, "why don't you ask Sergeant Mullroney to join us for breakfast?"
Lorimer wordlessly got out of his chair and went into the house.
"Is he-the cop-going to be a problem, Charley?" Torine asked.
"I think that's been taken care of. I'll tell you later. Here comes Frank."
Aloysius Francis Casey came out of the house.
"Jesus, you didn't have to wait for me," Casey said. "Just tell Walter what you want."
He motioned for the cook to come to the table and poured himself a cup of coffee.
"Feed my friends, Walter," he ordered. "You name it, Walter can make it."
"Pheasant under glass," Torine said. "With beluga caviar on toast corners on the side."
Casey chuckled. "The fish eggs aren't a problem, but catching the bird and plucking it may take Walter a little time."
"Bacon and eggs would satisfy this old man's hunger," Torine said.
"Walter makes his own corned beef hash," Casey said.
"Even better," Torine said.
"Me, too, please," Castillo said.
"Make it three, please," McGuire said.
"Where's that nice kid and the cop?" Casey asked.
"The former went to get the latter," Castillo said.
"You never told me about the cop," Casey said.
"He's been embedded with us," Castillo said.
"You don't seem to be very happy about that."
"I'm not. But Lorimer has him under control."
Sergeant Mullroney, wearing a coat and tie, came out of the house, followed by Lorimer. Lorimer pointed to one of the chairs at the table. Mullroney followed the orders and sat down.
"Good morning, Sergeant Mullroney," Castillo said. "We're about to have corned beef hash and eggs. Sound all right to you?"
Mullroney smiled wanly and nodded.
"I see what you mean," McGuire said.
Casey smiled at him, then announced: "I just talked to the guys in the hangar. The new gear is up and running in your airplane. And Signature Flight Support has finished doing whatever they had to do to the G-Three."
"Great!" Torine said. "Thanks, Frank."
"I suppose that means you're not going to hang around for a day, a couple of days? Take in a couple of the shows?"
"We'll have to take a rain check, Frank," Castillo said.
"Yeah, I figured. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Now that you mention it…"
Casey made a Give it to me gesture.
"To get this guy back, we're going to need a team," Castillo said. "Maybe more than one. But at least one. And choppers to move them around. Choppers equipped with both a good GPS and one of your wonderful radios."
"Well, now that they've started giving the 160th what they need," Casey said, "they've got pretty good GPS equipment-"
"What's the 160th?" Mullroney interrupted.
"I'll tell you when you can ask questions, Charley," Lorimer said.
"The 160th is the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, Mullroney," Castillo said, and turned to Casey. "But the problem there is I can't use their helicopters."
"Why not?" Lorimer asked.
"I'll tell you when you can ask questions, Lieutenant," Castillo said seriously, waited for that to register on Lorimer's face, then smiled. "Hold the questions, Eddie, until your leader is finished."
"Yes, sir."
"The 160th has all the latest equipment," Castillo said. "Which we would have trouble getting into Paraguay and/or Argentina-just physically getting them down there-and even if we could do that, they would stick out like sore thumbs. We're going to have to do this black."
Castillo saw that Mullroney had opened his mouth as if to ask a question and then after a quick glance at Lorimer had changed his mind.
"Black means secretly, covertly, Mullroney. Nobody knows about it," Castillo explained. "Which means we're going to have to use Hueys."
"Where are you going to get Hueys?" Torine asked. "And how are you going to get them down there black?"