"Well, the very next morning, I was on the Buquebus to Montevideo," Duffy went on. "Tourist class, as I was paying for it myself. Getting an official authorization to travel to Uruguay is difficult, takes time, and then only results in a voucher for a tourist-class seat. Is it that way in the U.S. Army, Colonel?"
"Very much so, Comandante. Getting the U.S. Army to pay for travel is like pulling teeth."
"That, then, raises the question of who is paying for the helicopter in which you have been flying all over down here."
Castillo looked Duffy square in the eyes and said evenly, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Comandante."
"If we are going to work together, Colonel, we are going to have to tell each other the truth."
The last three words of the sentence came out: udder da trute.
Castillo couldn't restrain a smile.
"You find that amusing?" Duffy asked.
"Colonel Munz didn't tell me you were from Brooklyn, Comandante."
"I don't understand."
"You have a Brooklyn accent, Comandante."
Duffy, visibly annoyed, looked at Munz.
Munz gestured that he didn't understand, and then turned to Castillo and said, "I don't understand either, Karl."
"Okay," Delchamps said, "Cultural History 101. Pay attention, there will be a pop quiz. Sometime around the time of the potato famine in Ireland, the Catholic Church sent a large number of priests-from Kilkenny, I think, but don't hold me to that-to minister to Irish Catholic immigrants in the New World. Many of them went to Brooklyn, and many to New Orleans. Their flocks picked up their accent. Now that I've heard Comandante Duffy speak, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if some of them were sent down here, too."
Now Duffy smiled.
"On the other hand," Duffy said to Castillo, "you sound like a Porteno, Colonel. What did Holy Mother Church in Argentina do, send Porteno priests to New York?"
Castillo laughed.
"Actually, I'm a Texican," Castillo said.
"A what?"
"A Texican. One whose family came from Mexico a very long time ago, before Texas was a state. My family's from San Antonio."
"I am a great admirer of the Texas Rangers," Duffy said.
"I have two ancestors who were Texas Rangers, a long time ago."
"Sometimes we think of the colonel as the Lone Ranger," Delchamps said. "Can I ask what a Porteno is?"
"Somebody from Buenos Aires," Alex Darby offered, "who speaks with sort of a special cant."
"And a hijos de puta?" Delchamps pursued.
"Argentina is a society where people like narcos are held in scorn by men," Darby said, chuckling. "Hijos de puta is a pejorative."
"I believe you would say 'sonsofbitches,'" Duffy said.
"What did you have in mind, Comandante," Castillo asked, "when you said, 'If we are going to work together'?"
"Well, Jose and I had a very nice luncheon in the port restaurant in Montevideo. Do you know it?"
Castillo shook his head.
"You'll have to try it sometime. It's really excellent, if you like meat prepared on a parrilla. It's right across from the Buquebus terminal."
"Can we get to the point of this?" Castillo asked.
"During which," Duffy went on, nodding, "Ordonez told me, in confidence, of course, that what really happened at Estancia Shangri-La had nothing to do with narcos."
"Would you believe me if I told you I never heard of Estancia Shangri-La?"
"No. But I certainly understand why you would profess never to have heard of it. If I may continue?"
Castillo made a dramatic, sarcastic gesture for him to do so.
"I also learned from my friend Jose that his very dear friend, El Coronel Alfredo Munz, formerly the head of SIDE, was associated with you, Colonel. I had only the privilege of a casual acquaintance with El Coronel Munz before the Interior Ministry threw him to the wolves following the murder of Senor Masterson, but I had always heard that he was an honest man, despite the rumors that he was very close to a very bad man named Aleksandr Pevsner."
"Never heard of him, either," Castillo said. "You, Edgar?"
Delchamps shook his head.
Duffy's face first paled, then flushed.
"Enough of this nonsense," Comandante Liam Duffy said angrily. "Let me tell you what I know about you, Colonel Castillo. When the diplomat's wife was kidnapped, you suddenly appeared on the scene and were placed in charge of the situation. But by someone superior to the ambassador, because the ambassador was placed at your orders. You directed the protection of the Masterson family. After Masterson was murdered, you found out who had killed him, and when those hijos de puta went to the estancia of Masterson's brother-in-law, most probably to eliminate him and take possession of some sixteen million dollars, they were surprised to find you and a team of your men waiting for them, having traveled there by helicopter.
"You eliminated all of the bastards and took possession of the sixteen million dollars. You lost one of your men, and Colonel Munz suffered a wound. And these were not ordinary narcos. One of them was Major Alejandro Vincenzo of the Cuban Direccion General de Inteligencia."
He paused.
"Shall I go on, Colonel Castillo?"
"What is it that you want from me, Comandante?" Castillo asked.
"What I intend to do, Colonel, is find and deal with the criminales who murdered and kidnapped my men. I will make the point very strongly that this was unacceptable behavior. I'm very much afraid that in your efforts to free Special Agent Timmons, you will interfere with my plans to do this. That is something I cannot-will not-permit.
"From what both Ordonez and Munz tell me about you, you let nothing get in your way of what you consider your mission. So you have the choice, Colonel, between working under my orders or leaving Argentina. You have already broken many of our laws, and are obviously prepared to break whatever of our laws might interfere with your mission.
"Working under my orders will mean that I will have access to your assets, including money, intelligence, equipment, and personnel. More important, it will mean that you will take no action of any kind without my approval.
"On the other hand, you will have access to my intelligence and what few assets I have. Ordonez has told Munz I am a man of my word. I am. We have a more or less common goal. You want to get your man Timmons back from the narcos. Beyond that, I don't know. We share an interest in interdicting the flow of drugs, of course. But we both know that neither you nor I-or you and I together-can stop the trade. But we can, I believe, cost the hijos de puta a great deal of money. That's something.
"So what you are going to do now, Colonel Castillo, is go out to Nuestra Pequena Casa-which was rented under fraudulent conditions for illegal purposes-and get on that marvelous radio of yours-the possession and use of which are also offenses under Argentina law-and tell your superior of this conversation. If he is agreeable to our working together, Alfredo knows how to contact me. If not, I will give you twenty-four hours from noon today to get out of Argentina before I notify the Interior Ministry of your illegal behavior, and the foreign ministry of the actions of el Senor Darby, el Senor la Senora Sieno, and others, which I feel certain will merit their being declared persona non grata. Do I make myself clear, Colonel?"
Castillo met Duffy's eyes and nodded.
"I mentioned sharing my intelligence with you," Duffy said. "It has come to my attention that the narcos were aware you were coming to Argentina to deal with Special Agent Timmons's kidnapping. Their solution to that potential problem for them was to kidnap you, and failing that, to kill you. And, of course, your men. It was for that reason that my men were at Ezeiza and escorted you here. I didn't want that to happen to you until we had a chance to talk."
"Thank you very much for your concern," Castillo said with a sarcastic edge.
"It is nothing, Colonel. Have a pleasant day."
Duffy stood up behind his desk and threw the envelope of photographs back across the desk to Castillo.