W. Griffin - The shooters

"Ouch!" Castillo said.

"Indeed," Montvale replied. "According to Senator Johns, the ambassador proudly related how he had dealt with the situation. McGrory apparently threw the deputy foreign minister out of his office. But then Johns-the senator said his curiosity was piqued-had a chat with the Uruguayan ambassador here in D.C., who assured him Lorimer's murder had been thoroughly investigated by the Uruguayan authorities, who were convinced that it was drug related, as was the death of another American, one Howard Kennedy, who was found beaten to death in the Conrad Hotel in Punta del Este. The ambassador told the senator, off the record, that there was reason to believe Kennedy was associated with your good friend Aleksandr Pevsner, who he had heard is in that part of the world, and that Pevsner was probably behind everything."

"And what do you think Senator Johns believes?" Castillo asked.

"I don't know what he believes. I think he suspects that something took place down there that his brilliant brother-in-law doesn't know, something that the government of Uruguay would just as soon sweep under the rug. And I suspect that the senator would love to find out that the President sent Special Forces down there."

"He didn't. He sent me."

"That's splitting a hair, Charley, and you know it. The question, then, is is your operation going to be blown?"

"I don't think so-"

"There's that word 'think' again," Montvale interrupted.

"I don't think there will be any trouble starting in Uruguay," Castillo said. "The head of the Interior Police Division of the Uruguayan Policia Nacional, Chief Inspector Jose Ordonez-I thought I told you this."

"Tell me again," Montvale said.

"Ordonez was at the Conrad when we got there. He actually took us to see the bodies-"

"Bodies? Plural?"

"Plural. The other one was Lieutenant Colonel Viktor Zhdankov of the FSB's Service for the Protection of the Constitutional System and the Fight against Terrorism. Delchamps told Ordonez who it was, and Ordonez made the point that Delchamps was wrong, that Zhdankov was a Czech businessman. Quietly, Ordonez said it would provide problems for him, and the Uruguayan government, if he had to start investigating the murders of a senior Russian intelligence officer and a man known to have close ties to Aleksandr Pevsner."

Now it was Castillo's turn to let what he had said sink in.

After a moment, Montvale nodded thoughtfully.

Castillo went on: "Ordonez then said his investigation of the bodies at Lorimer's estancia had made him believe that it was another drug deal gone wrong, that he doubted that any arrests would be made, and that for all practical purposes the case was closed. He added that he thought it would be a good idea for us to leave Uruguay right then and stay away until all the, quote, bad memories, unquote, had a chance to fade."

"And you think he knows the truth?"

"The first time I told you about this-and now I remember when I did-I told you that he's a very smart cop and has a very good idea of exactly what happened. That's why I-here comes that word again, sorry-think that we're safe as far as Uruguay is concerned."

"And in Argentina? You left bodies lying around there, too."

"Munz says he thinks the Argentine government would like the whole business-Masterson's murder in particular, but what happened in the Sheraton garage, too-forgotten. Munz-and I remember telling you this, too-says he thinks the Argentine government is perfectly happy to chalk up the Sheraton shooting to drug dealers; their alternative being investigating what Lieutenant Colonel Yevgeny Komogorov of the FSB was doing with a Uzi in his hand when he got blown away in the garage. They couldn't keep that out of the newspapers."

Montvale considered that, grunted, and asked. "Where is Munz?"

"In the living room with the others."

"Delchamps, too?"

"You said 'everybody,' Ambassador."

"Let's go talk to them," Montvale said, and then, as if remembering Castillo didn't like being ordered around, added: "I'd like confirmation of what you told me, Charley. No offense."

"None taken."

"Or would you rather ask them to come in here?"

Castillo pushed himself away from the wall and gestured toward the door.

The battered coffee table in the living room now held a bottle of Famous Grouse, a bottle of Jack Daniel's, and a cheap plastic water pitcher, telling Castillo the odds were that he now was entertaining everybody with his liquor stock from his vacated suite in the Mayflower Hotel.

"Keep your seats, gentlemen," Montvale ordered somewhat grandly and entirely unnecessarily, as nobody in the room showed the slightest indication of wanting to stand up for any reason.

They all looked at him, however, as he scanned the room and finally selected the fireplace as his podium. He was tall enough so that he could rest his elbow on the mantel. He was seeking to establish an informal, friendly ambience. He failed. Everyone knew what his relationship with Castillo was.

"The situation is this, gentlemen," Montvale began. "Senator Johns has an inkling of what went on in Uruguay and Argentina. Colonel Castillo tells me that he doesn't think the operation has been compromised. I'm concerned about a possible serious embarrassment to the President, and therefore I'd like to be sure that it's not going to blow up in our faces."

No one responded.

"Mr. Delchamps? Would you care to comment?"

Delchamps took a healthy swallow of his drink.

"I vote with Charley," he said simply. "Thirty minutes after the kid marched Lorimer into the living room, Charley ordered the shutdown, and we were out of Argentina within hours. Charley ordered what I thought were exactly the right actions to shut the mouths of anyone else who might be theorizing. But shit happens. This may get compromised. I just don't think it will."

Delchamps looked at the others in the room, who nodded their agreement.

Montvale chuckled.

"Did I say something funny?" Delchamps challenged.

"Oh, no. Not at all," Montvale said quickly. "What I was thinking was it's really a rather amusing situation. What we have in this room are very skilled, highly experienced intelligence officers, enjoying the confidence of the President, who were nonetheless forced to shut down their operation-what did you say, you were 'out of Argentina within hours'?-because of one unimportant little lieutenant who had no idea what he was sticking his nose into. You'll have to admit, that is rather amusing."

No one else seemed to find it amusing.

Delchamps took another swallow of his drink, looked thoughtful-if not annoyed-for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders.

"Let me tell you about that unimportant little lieutenant, Mr. Montvale," he said, an edge to his tone.

"Please do," Montvale said sarcastically.

"Jack Doherty and I had a long talk with him on the trip from B.A.," Delchamps said. "It's not that he was running at the mouth…even willing to talk. What it was, Mr. Montvale, is that Jack and I, between us, have more experience pulling things from reluctant people than you are old."

Montvale's face showed no response to that.

"We started out to learn who he'd been running his mouth to," Delchamps went on, "and what he'd said. The first impression we got was that he had been listening, not running his mouth, and that was the impression we had when we finished. Right, Jack?"

"That's it," Doherty agreed. "He's one hell of a young man, Mr. Ambassador."

"Who talks too much," Montvale said, "and has come close to compromising your operation."

"Listen to what I'm saying, for Christ's sake!" Delchamps said.

"Just who do you think you're talking to?" Montvale demanded.

"Your name, I understand, is Montvale. Do you know who you're talking to?"