point is that he’d be deeply hurt politically if it came out that—”
“That he has been running his own private CIA-FBI-American Spetsnaz rolled into one,” Delchamps interrupted, “in contravention of American law and—maybe even worse—without taking the Congress into his confidence. He would be crucified, unless they could think of something more painful.”
Svetlana looked at Castillo, who nodded to confirm what Delchamps had said.
Castillo said: “So far, the President doesn’t know anything about this?”
“Wrong, I think,” Delchamps interrupted again. “I think the DCI probably got carried away and told the President that—to use Svetlana’s delightful terminology—the bitch in Vienna was about to put—after long, brilliant, and expensive CIA labor—Svetlana and her brother into the bag. He probably thinks they’re in a safe house in Maryland right now.”
Castillo didn’t reply.
“He came down here to get them, Ace. I rest my case.”
“Could very well be,” Castillo admitted.
“This man, the ambassador, came down here to get us and take us to the United States?” Svetlana asked.
Castillo nodded. “That was one of the things on his agenda. Understandable.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I told him that two hundred dollars, a bottle of scotch, and a mule wasn’t even in the ballpark pricewise, but if he wanted to reconsider and up his offer, I’d listen.”
It was obvious on Svetlana’s face that Castillo’s remark made no sense to her.
Davidson took pity on her.
“Svet,” he said in Russian, “I don’t know how to translate this into Russian, but the essence of Charley’s reply to Montvale’s suggestion that he turn you over to the agency was that the ambassador”—he switched to English —“should try a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut.”
After a long moment, Svetlana said seriously: “I think I understand. But what is a ‘doughnut’?”
“Think of a Berliner,” Delchamps said, “but round. And with a thumb-sized hole in the middle.” He held up his thumb, then mimed rolling the pastry across the floor.
She smiled as the mental picture formed.
“My Charley, you are
She demonstrated this by leaning over and kissing him.
“Edgar,” Davidson asked, “do you think there’s any chance that when Romeo and Juliet are finished we can get that drink we were promised when we got here?”
[FOUR]
“Oh, Charley, look! Isn’t that sweet?” Svetlana exclaimed as they walked into a basement room of the house.
Marina was across the room, tugging as hard as she could on a woven twine rope, the other end of which was in her father’s mouth.
Castillo took a quick double-take around the room. It held a rack of golf club bags. Next to that was a rack of cues for the billiards table that was in the center of the room. One side of the room was given over to a bar, at which stood Cedric Lee-Watson and ex-Polkovnik Dmitri Berezovsky of the SVR. They had drinks in their hands. Lora and Sof’ya Berezovsky were sitting on bar stools, drinking what looked like Coca-Cola.
Castillo snapped his head to look at Svetlana.
“Oh, I didn’t tell you, did I, my Charley? We’re going to have dinner with my brother Tom and his family at the Club House,” Svetlana said as she crossed to the bar to kiss first Sof’ya and then her sister-in-law.
Castillo looked at her and then at Munz.
Munz smiled knowingly, which pushed Castillo even closer to losing his temper.
“Is this smart, for Christ’s sake?” Castillo snapped.
“Sooner or later, Karl,” Munz said in German, “Mr. Barlow and his family, including of course Susanna, are going to have to start living their new identities. Why wait? For what?”
Castillo didn’t reply.
“And you did notice, didn’t you, the security measures around here?” Munz went on.
“I did,” Edgar Delchamps said. “This place is tighter than a drum.”
He saw the look on Castillo’s face and went on: “Smile, Ace, you’ve been had,” and then he walked to the bar, with Davidson on his heels.
“I thought I’d find you near the liquor, Tom, old buddy,” he said in Russian.
“My Russian is not so good,” Berezovsky/Barlow said in English. “Would you mind if we speak English?”
“Not at all.”
Castillo walked to the bar.
Tom Barlow set his drink on it and took two steps toward Castillo. He grabbed Castillo’s upper arms.
“I can call you Charley, right?” he asked in accentless American English.
“Why not?”
“One of the reasons I accepted my sister’s kind invitation to break bread with you tonight was that I’d hoped to have a private word with you about her.”
“Really?”
“She’s my little sister, Charley. You understand. I wanted to make sure I understood your intentions.”
The Russian words for
At the last possible split instant, he bit them off.
“But when I saw how you looked at each other when you walked in, I realized that wouldn’t be necessary.”
“Good,” Castillo said in English.
Barlow looked intently into Castillo’s eyes, reminding Castillo of the first time Aleksandr Pevsner had done that to him.
“So I think we should both be very grateful to God that things in Marburg turned out the way they have, don’t you?” Barlow said. “They could—so easily—have gone differently.”
Castillo neither replied nor blinked.
But finally Barlow let go of his arms, and Castillo looked away.
Svetlana was squatting beside Max and Marina.
“Hey, Susie,” he called. “Do want something to drink?”
She looked at him and smiled uncertainly. “Susie” hadn’t registered.
“That’s you, baby. ‘Susie.’ You’d better get used to it.”
She got up and walked to him. He put his arm around her shoulder.
XII
[ONE]
Pilar Golf & Polo Country Club
Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina
1910 2 January 2006
“Then it is agreed, is it not,” Tom Barlow said, “that tonight what we have is friends having dinner together, and we do not talk—or even think about—the business we will deal with tomorrow?”
“Fine with me,” he said.
“You know a little about our family, Charley, but Susanna tells me she knows nothing of yours,” Barlow said.
“There are nine of us,” Castillo said. “There were ten, but my brother Fritz was hung a couple of years ago
