The Hostage Part 74

"G.o.d, I hope so. d.i.c.k, wait until we're out of here- say, nine your time-and then tell Secretary Hall I called and have Secretary Cohen's message. I don't want to wake him or Amba.s.sador Montvale at four in the morning. And send one to Secretary Cohen, quote Got it. Many thanks. Charley, end quote. And send one to Amba.s.sador Silvio saying we're on our way and will be there however long it takes to get there. We should be wheels-up out of here in no more than two or three hours."

"The Gray Fox radio link is up and running in Buenos Aires. Should I use that?"

"Absolutely."

"Anything else, Charley?"

"Get your filthy rotten smelly cast off my desk."

"Go f.u.c.k yourself. I say that with all possible respect. Watch your back, buddy."

"I will. Break it down, please."

"After eavesdropping on your conversation, Mr. Castillo," the amba.s.sador said, "I don't really know much more about what you're doing than I did before, except I now have no question about your right to use my secure voice link."

"Thank you very much for the use of it, sir."

"It should go without saying that I really hope you can find whoever murdered Jack Masterson. Is there anything I can do, anything at all?"

"I can't think of anything, sir," Castillo said. "Except one thing. Who was the American officer whose statue is across the street?"

The amba.s.sador chuckled. "You saw that, did you?" he asked, rhetorically. "Brigadier General Harry Hill Bandholtz was sent here in 1919 to be the American on the Inter-Allied Control Commission which was supervising the disengagement of Romanian troops from Hungary.

"The Romanians thought disengagement meant they could help themselves to the Transylvanian treasures in the National Museum. General Bandholtz didn't think that was right. So, on October 5, 1919, he showed up at the museum, alone, and armed only with his riding crop, ran the Romanians off like Christ chasing the money-lenders out of the temple. He must have been one h.e.l.l of a man."

"Obviously."

"And when they asked him why, he said something to the effect that he was only obeying his orders as he understood them as an officer and a gentleman. You don't hear that phrase much anymore, do you, 'an officer and a gentleman'?"

"Mr. Amba.s.sador," Torine said, "oddly enough, I heard it earlier today."

"Said seriously, or mockingly?"

"Very seriously, sir," Torine said. "Spoken by an officer and a gentleman."

"The Hungarians loved Bandholtz and had the statue cast," the amba.s.sador went on. "They set it up in 1936. The Hungarian fascists and the n.a.z.is didn't bother it, but when the Russians were here, right after the war- before they let us reopen the emba.s.sy-they took it down and away 'for repair.' We heard about it, of course, from the Swiss, who were supposed to be guarding the emba.s.sy property. We were actually in the process of having another made when we learned that the Hungarians had stolen it from the sc.r.a.p yard, and were concealing it so it could be put back up when the Russians left. The Russians left, and General Bandholtz is back on his pedestal."

"Mr. Amba.s.sador, that's a great story, and I'm really glad I asked. But now, sir, with our profound thanks, we won't take any more of your time," Castillo said.

"Where are you going now, to the airport?"

"First to the Karpatia, sir, then to the Gellert to check out, and then to the airport."

"I'll get you one of our cars," the amba.s.sador said, and reached for a telephone. "Then I can tell myself I at least did something to help."

[THREE].

Karpatia Ferenciek tere, 7-8 Budapest, Hungary 1215 28 July 2005 Otto Goerner and Eric Kocian were already mostly through what looked like liter-sized gla.s.ses of beer when Castillo and the others came into the restaurant. And the moment they sat down, a plump waiter with a luxuriant mustache showed up with a tray full of the enormous beer gla.s.ses.

"None for those two, thank you just the same," Castillo said in Hungarian, pointing to Torine and Fernando. "They're driving."

Goerner and Kocian chuckled.

"Are you going to tell us what you just said about us?" Fernando challenged.

"No booze, you're flying," Castillo said.

"And what about you?"

"I'll be doing the flight planning. I can do that with a little beer in my system."

"I'll do the flight planning, thank you just the same, Major," Torine said, and slid Castillo's beer away from him, picked it up, took a healthy swallow, sighed appreciatively, and added, "As an officer and a gentleman, I'm sure you're aware that Rank Hath Its Privileges."

"Well, in that case, I guess there's nothing for me to do but eat," Castillo said. "What do you recommend, Herr Kocian?"

Kocian reached into his pocket and handed Castillo a business-sized envelope. It was stuffed with paper.

"I would only give this to a friend," he said. "You may therefore call me Eric."

"Thank you very much, Eric Eric," Castillo said, putting the envelope in his inside jacket pocket. "Seymour, you can put the pliers back in the tool kit. Dentistry is apparently not going to be necessary."

"Ach Gott, Karl!" Goerner said. Karl!" Goerner said.

"You're aware, I'm sure, Karl, that the Hungarians taught the Machiavellians all they knew about poisoning people?" Kocian asked.

"And with that in mind, Eric, what do you recommend? Gulyas Gulyas lightly laced with a.r.s.enic?" lightly laced with a.r.s.enic?"

"Wiener schnitzel," Kocian said. "The Karpatia serves the best Wiener schnitzel in the world."

"Better than in Vienna?"

"Actually, you can get better Hungarische gulyas Hungarische gulyas in Vienna than you can here," Kocian said. "Things are not always what they seem, Karl. Do you know what the people in Hamburg call what you call a frankfurter?" in Vienna than you can here," Kocian said. "Things are not always what they seem, Karl. Do you know what the people in Hamburg call what you call a frankfurter?"

Castillo shook his head, then asked, "A frankfurter?"

"Right. And what do the people in Frankfurt call what you and the Hamburgers call a frankfurter?"

"Don't tell me-a hamburger?"

"A sausage," Kocian said. "And what do the Hamburgers call chopped and fried beef?"

"I know they don't call it a frankfurter."

"They call it fried chopped beef unless they don't fry it, and instead serve it raw, in which case it becomes steak tartar."

"Actually, Eric, I have a real fondness for Wiener schnitzel. Do you suppose you could have the kitchen make up a dozen of them, and wrap them in foil so that we can take them with us on the plane?"

"Won't they go bad?"

"There's a little kitchen on the plane, with a freezer. The only thing in it right now is a bottle of beer and Colonel Torine's v.i.a.g.r.a."

"Oh, Jesus Christ!" Torine said.

"My friend Karl," Eric Kocian said, "inasmuch as this is all going on Otto's American Express card, you can have anything your greedy little heart desires."

"In that case, a dozen Wiener schnitzels," Castillo said. "Plus one for my lunch, of course. I really love Wiener schnitzel."

XVII.

[ONE].

Approaching Aeropuerto Internacional Jorge Newbery Buenos Aires, Argentina 0535 29 July 2005

Castillo was flying. The night was clear and he could see the glow of the lights of Buenos Aires as he began his descent. As he dropped lower, the lights became more distinct. What had looked like a single orange line pointing at the city became a double line, and he could see headlightsmoving along what he now recognized as Route 8 and the Acceso Norte leading from Pilar to the city.

It had been quite a trip. The Lear was fast-its long-range cruise speed was three-quarters the speed of sound-but it was not intended or designed for flying across oceans. It had been necessary to make refueling stops within the limitations of the aircraft's range, about 1,900 nautical miles. The first leg-about 1,500 nautical miles-had been a three-and-a-half-hour flight from Budapest to Casablanca, Morocco. After refueling, they had flown 1,250 nautical miles in a bit under three hours to Dakar, Senegal, on the extreme west coast of the African continent.

From Dakar, it had been a four-hour, 1,750-nautical-mile flight, the longest leg, southwest across the Atlantic Ocean to Recife, Brazil. This had been the iffy leg. There are no alternative airfields in the Atlantic Ocean on which to land when fuel is running low. They had approached the Point of No Return with their fingers crossed, but there had been no extraordinary headwinds or other problems to slow them, and Torine, who was then flying in the left seat, had made the decision to go on. What could have been a real problem just hadn't materialized.

Recife apparently was not accustomed to either refueling small private jets or providing food at half past two in the morning, and it had taken them an hour and a half to get both. But with that exception, they had been able to land, refuel, check the weather, and file flight plans in remarkably little time everywhere else.

From Recife they had flown south to So Paulo- 1,150 nautical miles in just under two and a half hours- and then begun the last leg, to Buenos Aires, which would be a just-over-two-hour flight covering 896 nautical miles.

Alex Pevsner's down there, Castillo thought, and I have a gut feeling I'm going to need him. And by now, Howard Kennedy has told him that I'm not going to point him in Jean-Paul Lorimer's direction so he can give him a beauty mark in the center of his forehead. That will be a problem, one that I'll have to think about later. Right now I'm too tired to make difficult decisions. and I have a gut feeling I'm going to need him. And by now, Howard Kennedy has told him that I'm not going to point him in Jean-Paul Lorimer's direction so he can give him a beauty mark in the center of his forehead. That will be a problem, one that I'll have to think about later. Right now I'm too tired to make difficult decisions.

Castillo pushed the TRANSMIT lever.

"Jorge Newbery, Lear Five-Zero-Seven-Five. I am forty kilometers north at five thousand feet. Request approach and landing."

"Lear Five-Zero-Seven-Five," Jorge Newbery ground control ordered, "at the end of the active, turn right, and proceed to parking area in front of the Jet-Aire hangar. Customs and immigration will meet your aircraft."

"Seven-Five understands right at the threshold, taxi to Jet-Aire parking area," Castillo replied. "Wait for customs and immigration."

As he approached the Jet-Aire hangar a ground handler in white coveralls came out and, with illuminated wands, directed him to park beside an Aero Commander.

When Castillo had finished the shutdown procedures, he took a closer look at the Aero Commander. If the light, high-wing twin wasn't derelict, it was close. The fabric-covered portions of the rear stabilizer a.s.sembly were missing or visibly decayed. The tire on the left landing gear was flat. The left engine nacelle was missing.

"I know just how that Commander feels," Castillo said to Colonel Torine, who was in the right seat. "Old, battered, and worn out."

Torine looked at the Aero Commander and chuckled.

"It has been a rather long ride, hasn't it?" Torine replied, in something of an understatement, as he unfastened his harness.

"And here comes what looks like the local officialdom," Fernando said from the aisle behind them.

Castillo saw two Ford F-150 pickup trucks with Grimes lights flas.h.i.+ng from their roofs approaching them. Two uniformed men got out of the first, and a man in civilian clothing out of the second.

"The civilian is SIDE," Castillo said. "I don't know his name, but I saw him somewhere."

He unfastened his harness and stood.

When Castillo went down the stairs to the tarmac, he saw both that the SIDE agent's eyebrows had risen when he saw him, and that he immediately had taken out a cellular telephone.

Well, this time I'm arriving as C. G. Castillo, carrying a brand-new pa.s.sport with no stamps on it at all.

When the SIDE agent came to the Lear, he gave no sign that he had recognized Castillo, even after he had examined his pa.s.sport. The customs and immigration procedures were polite but thorough. The aircraft and their luggage were submitted to testing for drugs and explosives, which might or might not have been standard procedure for civil aircraft arriving from outside the country. Castillo was glad that he hadn't brought any weapons from Fort Bragg.

No questions were raised about Kranz's "satellite telephone antenna," which might or might not have been because Castillo had asked them if it would be safe to leave it on the aircraft while they were in Buenos Aires. Neither did the "laptop"-which actually controlled the radio and held the encryption system-cause any unusual interest. It had been designed to look like a typical laptop computer.

The customs officer did, however, unfold the aluminum foil in which the Wiener schnitzel in the freezer was wrapped. It might have been idle curiosity or he might have been looking for a package of cocaine.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Wiener schnitzel," Castillo told him. "Sort of a veal milanesa milanesa."

And if you hadn't gone in there and found it, I probably would have forgotten it, and with the juice turned off, when I finally remembered it, it would have been rotten Wiener schnitzel.

"I think I'd better take that with me," Castillo said as the customs officer started to put it back in the freezer. He put it into his laptop briefcase.

"Enjoy your stay in Argentina, gentlemen," the customs officer said.

"We'll certainly try," Castillo said.

[TWO].

El Presidente de la Rua Suite The Four Seasons Hotel Cerrito 1433 Buenos Aires, Argentina 0605 29 July 2005 A sleepy-eyed Special Agent Jack Britton answered the door in his underwear.

"That was a quick European tour," he said, offering his hand.

"The last two hotels we were in, we didn't even get to muss the beds," Castillo said. "Except Kranz, of course. He's smarter than we are. Whenever he's not eating, he's sleeping."

"I'm Kranz," Kranz said.

"He's our communicator," Castillo said.

"Jack Britton," Britton said as he shook Kranz's hand. "I'm impressed with your buddy Kensington. He's got that fantastic radio set up in his room. All he has to do is open the drapes and the window, and we're talking to d.i.c.k Miller."

"That's great," Castillo said. "Even if it may require yet another shuffling of living arrangements."

"I'm in your bed. . . ." Britton said.