“The people, the Jews, would say, ‘Wear it in good health.’”
“Thank you.”
[SIX]
Aeropuerto Internacional Jorge Newbery
Buenos Aires, Argentina
1240 2 January 2006
As Castillo taxied the Aero Commander to the private aircraft tarmac, he saw that there were two Gulfstreams parked side by side.
One was his. The other bore USAF markings and was painted in the paint scheme of the Presidential Flight Detachment.
“Oh, shit,” he said.
He parked the Aero Commander by the USAF Gulfstream.
“I see Davidson,” Munz said. “And there are several of Pevsner’s people, too. And several of Duffy’s.”
“And I see that Gulfstream. Alfredo, can you take Svetlana to that second safe house you mentioned? Golf and Polo, Polo and Golf, whatever?”
“I am going with you,” Svetlana announced.
“You’ll do what I say. Fun-and-games time is over. Got it?”
She nodded.
“What I’m going to do is get out and have a word with the pilot,” Castillo said. “You stay—everybody but Max—in the airplane. If I walk toward Davidson, stay in the plane until we’re gone, then take Svetlana and Lester to the Polo whatever. Got it?”
“What is it, Charley?”
“I suspect it’s very bad news. The only thing that could make it worse is if they see me with Svetlana.”
“You don’t think that’s Montvale?”
“I think it’s either him or his flunky,” Castillo said. “We’ll soon find out. Open the door, please.”
Svetlana didn’t kiss him as he walked, bent nearly double, past her seat. But she stopped him, laid her hand on his cheek, and looked for a long moment into his eyes.
There were two Air Force types in flying suits standing near the nose of the Gulfstream. One drew the attention of the other to Max performing his ritual at the nose gear, and then to the man in khaki trousers and a polo shirt walking toward them.
The taller of them, Castillo saw, was a light colonel wearing command pilot wings, the other a captain wearing ordinary wings.
“You speak English, sir?” the lieutenant colonel asked.
“I try,” Castillo said.
“Nice dog,” the lieutenant colonel said.
“Thank you.”
Max trotted over, sat down, and offered his paw.
The lieutenant colonel squatted and scratched Max’s ears.
“Nice airplane,” Castillo said. “Presidential Flight Detachment, right?”
The lieutenant colonel looked up at him, then stood up, but did not reply.
“I’m the SVR rezident in Buenos Aires, Colonel. We like to keep up on what our American friends are doing.”
He then handed the lieutenant colonel the identification card of Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo, Special Forces, U.S. Army.
The lieutenant colonel, recognizing the card immediately, smiled, then did a double take and examined it carefully.
“I was about to tell you, Colonel,” he said, “as tactfully as I could, that I just can’t talk about the mission of this aircraft. But since you are the mission . . .”
“Excuse me?”
“. . . I will tell you, out of school, that you’re probably in the deep shit.”
“How’s that?”
“Ambassador Montvale just blew his top at the ambassador. You didn’t miss them by five minutes. Ambassador Montvale said, and this is almost verbatim, ‘I just flew five thousand goddamned miles down here to see Lieutenant Colonel Goddamn Charley Castillo, and you’re telling me you not only don’t know where the sonofabitch is, but that you didn’t even know the crazy bastard is in Argentina?’ ”
He turned to the captain and asked, “Is that about what the ambassador said, Sam?”
“Almost verbatim, sir,” the captain said. “I somehow got the idea, sir, that Ambassador Montvale doesn’t like Colonel Castillo very much.”
“I always knew that Ambassador Montvale doesn’t like anybody very much, but I don’t ever remember him being as pissed as he was just a couple of minutes ago,” the lieutenant colonel said. “What the hell did you do, Colonel?”
“I guess I have been a very bad boy,” Castillo said. “And we never had this conversation, Colonel.”
Fully aware that rendering the hand salute while not in uniform is proscribed by Army regulations, Castillo saluted.
The lieutenant colonel and the captain returned the salute.
Castillo turned to the Aero Commander, intending to wave.
He changed his mind and blew a kiss.
Then he said, “Come on, Max,” and walked to where Jack Davidson was waiting for him.
“You just missed Ambassador Montvale,” Davidson said as they shook hands.
“Did he see you?” Castillo asked.
“No. The gendarmeria had a heads-up that an Air Force Gulfstream was coming in, so I erred on the side of caution and waited in Darby’s car.” He pointed to a BMW with darkened windows and Argentine license plates. “The Mercedes SUV next to it used to be Duffy’s. Unless you look close, you can’t see where all the bullet holes were.”
“You’re sure Montvale didn’t see you?”
Davidson nodded. “Moot point, though. He doesn’t know who I am, much less what I look like.”
“Never underestimate Montvale. Was he alone?”
“Three guys with him. Two of them probably his Secret Service . . .”
“Who just might have recognized you.”
“If they had seen me, which they didn’t, since I had erred on the side of caution, Colonel, sir.”
“Sorry, Jack. I’m tired. And the third guy?”
“Six-two, maybe six-three, one eighty, forty-odd, GI haircut, Sears, Roebuck suit. I’d guess he was military. Probably Army.”
“Why?”
“Officers of our brother services in civvies tend to look like civilians. Our officers in civvies tend to look like Army officers in civvies.”
Castillo chuckled.
“I wonder who he is,” Castillo said rhetorically. “What happened?”
“Right after I erred on the side of caution and got in the BMW, Ambassador Silvio showed up. With an embassy Suburban. And no, Colonel, sir, he didn’t see me, as I had erred on the side of caution. . . .”
“Okay, Jack,” Castillo said.
“But I think it’s possible he recognized Darby’s car, as he is a clever guy. He did not come over to say ‘Howdy.’ Then the Gulfstream landed and Montvale and the others got out and had a conversation in which Montvale got red-faced and waved his arms around. I think maybe they were talking about you.”
