The Hostage Part 49

Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC, who was sitting beside Jack Britton, got quickly to his feet when he saw Castillo.

Castillo met Britton's eyes.

"She's still out. The nurse says she'll be out for an hour or more. So Corporal Bradley and I are going to go pack. I'll have them move your stuff and hers into my room and settle those bills. After we're gone tomorrow, there will be people to relieve you and Solez and-"

"Got it," Britton said.

"While I'm dealing with the hotel, Bradley will go where his billet is and pack enough clothing-including his dress blues-for a week. Then he will go back to the hotel, pick me up, and we'll come back here."

"Sir?" Bradley said.

"What?"

"My orders are that I'm not to leave you. And . . . why do I need my dress blues?"

"Because you have the sad duty, Corporal, of taking Sergeant Markham home and burying him."

"The gunny didn't say anything about that, sir."

"The gunny doesn't know about it yet."

"Sir, I can't go without orders."

"You just got your orders," Castillo said. "If it makes you feel better, call your gunny and tell him what I have ordered."

"Yes, sir," Corporal Bradley said, doubtfully.

One of the SIDE agents in the corridor followed Castillo and Bradley onto the elevator, and when the elevator door opened in the bas.e.m.e.nt, two more men, obviously SIDE agents also, were waiting for them.

Castillo wondered how they had been notified; he hadn't seen the SIDE man use a cellular.

Obviously, stupid, one of the other SIDE agents called and said we were getting on the elevator.

And since it took you some time to figure that out, it means you're tired and not thinking clearly.

"Sir, I am the Major Querrina of the SIDE, with the honor of having your security-"

"I speak Spanish, Major," Charley interrupted him.

Major Querrina's relief was visible.

"You're going someplace, sir?"

"First to the Four Seasons. And while I am in there, my bodyguard here is going to the Marine barracks, or whatever it's called, to quickly pack a suitcase."

Major Querrina looked dubiously at Corporal Bradley but didn't say anything.

"When he's done that," Castillo went on, "he's going to go back to the Four Seasons and pick me up, and we're coming back here." He turned to Bradley. "Where is this place, Corporal?"

"Just off Libertador-" Bradley started.

"I know where it is," Querrina interrupted. "It's a twenty- to thirty-minute drive from the Four Seasons. Is time important?"

"I want to get back here as quickly as I can."

"May I suggest, sir, that we send the corporal to the Marine House in one of my cars? That will save time, and so far as security for yourself is concerned, there will be two SIDE cars with you."

Or I could ride with SIDE, and send Bradley in the emba.s.sy car.

But if I do that, and these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds want to-what did Tom McGuire say?-"send a message" by taking me out, then I might have two dead Marines on my conscience. And, G.o.d, I don't want that.

"Major Querrina has kindly offered one of his cars to take you to the Marine House." He saw Bradley's face drop. "Corporal, you will go in one of their cars, which will bring you back here to the hospital. That's not open for discussion."

"Aye, aye, sir," Bradley said, with a visible lack of enthusiasm.

[THREE].

El Presidente de la Rua Suite The Four Seasons Hotel Cerrito 1433 Buenos Aires, Argentina 2240 24 July 2005 "Why don't you fix yourself a drink, Major?" Castillo said to Querrina as they came into the sitting room of the suite. "I won't be long."

"Very kind of you, sir. But no thank you. I have the duty."

"I have it, too," Castillo said. "But there are exceptions to every rule, and I have just decided this is one of those times."

He walked to the bar and poured an inch and a half of Famous Grouse into a gla.s.s. He took a sip, and then held the gla.s.s up in a second invitation.

"As you say, sir, there are always exceptions," Querrina said.

"Help yourself, I won't be long," Castillo said, and carried his gla.s.s into the bedroom and closed the door.

He found a socket for the cellular charger behind the bedside table and plugged it in. When he connected his cellular to it, he found that he wasn't going to have to sit on the floor. He laid the charging cellular on the bed, and then started to pack.

It didn't take him long, and he was just about to zip the bag closed when he remembered the bill he'd gotten at the desk. There was no sense carrying that around in his pocket for G.o.d knows how long, and he couldn't just toss it, because the Teutonically efficient financial department of the Tages Zeitung Tages Zeitung demanded a copy of his bills to compare with what American Express said he had spent. demanded a copy of his bills to compare with what American Express said he had spent.

He patted his pockets, found the bill, and started to put it in his laptop briefcase when a warning light lit up in the back of his brain.

What the h.e.l.l is wrong?

He looked at the bill carefully.

Well, the Four Seasons doesn't give its accommodations away. But there's nothing on here out of the ordinary- Except that it's made out to Karl Gossinger.

There's nothing wrong with that, either, except that Gossinger entered the country, which means Castillo didn't, and Castillo's going to leave tomorrow. All sorts of questions would be asked about the German national getting on the USAF Globemaster with the Widow Masterson and her husband's body.

s.h.i.t!

You f.u.c.ked up again, Inspector Clouseau!

As a practical matter, however, when Argentine Immigration shows up at Ezeiza, I don't think they are going to peer suspiciously at C. G. Castillo's pa.s.sport to see if he entered the country legally, especially since C. G. Castillo will be surrounded by SIDE agents.

So what I'll do is hand them my American pa.s.sport, hope they don't look closely, and worry about Gossinger's immigration problems later.

He put the Four Seasons bill in the briefcase and checked to make sure Gossinger's pa.s.sport was concealed in the lid with his other alter ego identification.

Then he sat on the bed and pushed an autodial number.

A deep-voiced male answered, "Hola?" "Hola?"

"My name is Castillo," he said in Spanish. "May I speak with Senor Pevsner, please?"

"One moment, senor."

Castillo glanced around the room and saw something he hadn't seen before. On the bedside table on the other side of the bed was some sort of package. Whatever it was, it was wrapped in tissue, and a rose lay across it.

What the h.e.l.l is that?

"Charley? I was hoping you would call," Aleksandr Pevsner said in Russian.

"Were you? Why?"

"To learn that you're all right. I heard what happened to your driver and agent."

"Well, if you heard that from somebody close to Colonel Munz, Alex, you better get a new source. They fired Munz."

"I heard that, too. I'm sorry about your people, Charley."

"Alex, I want the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who did that."

"I understand."

"This is personal, Alex."

There was a moment's hesitation before Pevsner replied.

"I would expect nothing less of you as an officer. Or do you really mean personal?"

"I mean really personal, Alex."

"Oh, then I really am sorry, my friend."

"I spoke with Howard just before he left."

"He didn't mention that."

"I asked him to find out what he could about a man named Jean-Paul Lorimer, a UN diplomat in Paris. The next time you speak with him, would you tell him that I now really want to know about this man?"

"I'll have Howard contact you. Where will you be?"

"Here until about noon tomorrow. That's when we leave with Masterson's family. And his body."

"I doubt if I'll hear from him before that. Then you'll be in Washington?"

"First Mississippi, then Washington. Tell him to call my cellular or the hotel."

"I will. And I will also see what I can learn about this Lorimer person. Jean-Paul Lorimer, you said?"

"Right. I would really be grateful."

"I hesitate to say this to someone of your background, but are you adequately protecting yourself?"

"I have two SIDE cars, four SIDE agents-including a major-and, far more rea.s.suring, an American Marine I'm not sure is old enough to vote."

Pevsner chuckled, then said, seriously: "There are some very dangerous people-obviously professionals- involved in whatever's going on. I'm sure you appreciate that."

"I do. You haven't had any fresh ideas about what this is all about, have you?"

"No. And no one I've talked to-people one would think would have at least an idea-have any idea, either."

"Keep asking, will you?"

"Of course. And Anna will pray for you-and yours- my friend."

"Thank you."

"Friends take care of friends, my friend. We'll be in touch, Charley. Be careful."

"Goodbye, Alex."

Pevsner switched to German: "Not goodbye. Auf wiedersehen. Auf wiedersehen."

Castillo broke the connection, then looked at the cellular.

Flash! CNN and the New York Times New York Times have learned have learned that C. G. Castillo, the President's not-so-secret agent, is a close personal friend of Aleksandr Pevsner, the infamous Russian arms dealer and all-around bad guy. Their source is an unnamed FBI agent whose reports have been reliable in the past. that C. G. Castillo, the President's not-so-secret agent, is a close personal friend of Aleksandr Pevsner, the infamous Russian arms dealer and all-around bad guy. Their source is an unnamed FBI agent whose reports have been reliable in the past.

s.h.i.t!

He put the cellular in his pocket.

What the h.e.l.l is in that tissue-wrapped package?

He walked around the bed, pushed the rose on top of the package out of the way, and untied the bow that held the tissue paper in place.

The package contained the freshly laundered bra.s.siere and underpants of Special Agent Elizabeth Schneider, which the room maid had apparently found where they had been kicked under the bed.

"Oh, Jesus!" Castillo breathed.

With some difficulty-his eyes were watering-Castillo rewrapped the intimate apparel and put it in his laptop briefcase, in the s.p.a.ce beside the extendable handle.

Then he swallowed hard, breathed deeply, and picked up his bag and the briefcase and went into the sitting room.