W Griffin - Hunters
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- Название:Hunters
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Jesus, did Howell know about this before McGrory told him?
Did they both know about it?
Were they both involved?
You're letting your imagination run away with you, Julio!
You've seen too many spy movies-bad spy movies.
Yeah. But you always were a good interrogator, able to pick up things like the looks between Darby and Howell.
What the hell is going on here?
"According to Artigas, the Uruguayan police have no idea, either," Howell said.
"What do you think it was, Mr. McGrory?" Darby asked. "A robbery? An attempted kidnapping?"
That's "Mr. Ambassador," thank you very much, Darby!
"I have no idea what it was," McGrory said. "The question, it would seem to me, is, what do we do about this photograph?"
"Alex?" Silvio asked.
"I would suggest, Mr. Ambassador…"
Silvio is Mr. Ambassador, McGrory thought, and I'm not? You sonofabitch!
"…that we get this information into the hands of Mr. Castillo. Or that Mr. McGrory should. The photo turned up in Uruguay. On Mr. McGrory's watch, so to speak."
"Who's Castillo?" McGrory asked.
"This is classified information, Mr. Ambassador," Silvio said. "When Mr. Masterson was abducted, the President told me he had appointed Mr. Castillo to supervise the investigation. And later, the President charged him with the security of the Masterson family and with their repatriation to the States."
"Who's he?"
"He's the President's agent."
"What does that mean?"
"I can only tell you what the President told me," Silvio said.
"Is that the same man who came to Montevideo to see Special Agent Yung?"
"Yes, I believe so."
"What's his connection with Yung?" McGrory asked.
Silvio shrugged.
Artigas wondered: And what's the connection between this and Yung suddenly being ordered to the States?
"What we can do, if you'd like, Mr. Ambassador," Silvio said, "is send the photograph to the secretary, together with the information that Darby positively identified this man as Mr. Masterson's brother. You are sure, are you not, Alex?"
"Yes, sir, I'm sure. I met him several times when Jack and I were in Paris."
Just in time, McGrory stopped himself from saying he would take care of notifying the secretary, thank you just the same.
I am not going to be twisting alone in the wind, he thought.
"Yes, I think that's the way to go," he said.
Artigas thought: Senor Pompous, I think you're wondering if, without having any idea why, you're in the deep do-do.
God, I hope so. [SIX] Hacienda San Jorge Near Uvalde, Texas 1330 3 August 2005 Major C. G. Castillo stood by a barbecue grill constructed from a fifty-five-gallon barrel, his eyes stinging from the smoke of the mesquite fire. He had a long, black cigar clamped in his teeth and was attired in khaki pants, a T-shirt printed with the legend YOU CAN ALWAYS TELL A TEXAS AGGIE, BUT NOT MUCH, battered western boots, and an even more battered Stetson hat, its brim curled.
He saw Estella, a short, massive, swarthy woman who had been helping at the ranch as long as he could remember, come out of the big house carrying a walk-around telephone and he had the unpleasant premonition that the call was going to be for him.
But then Estella gave the phone to Abuela and he saw her smile and say, "How good it is to hear your voice," and he returned his attention to the steaks broiling on the grill.
He had just annoyed Maria, his cousin Fernando's wife, by solemnly proclaiming that only males could be trusted to properly grill a steak and challenged her to name one world-class female chef. Or, for that matter, one world-class female orchestra leader.
Castillo didn't believe any of this, but there was something in Maria that had always made him really like to ruffle her feathers. He thought of her as his sister-in-law, but technically that wasn't accurate. Fernando was his cousin, not his brother. But if there was a term to describe the wife of your cousin, who was really more like your brother, he didn't know it.
He felt a tug at his trouser leg and looked down to see Jorge Carlos Lopez, who was seven, his godchild and the fourth of the five children of Fernando and Maria. Jorge was holding up a bottle of Dos Equis beer to him.
"You have saved my life, Jorge," Charley said solemnly, in Spanish. "You will be rewarded in heaven."
He looked around, saw Fernando standing by the table set for lunch on the shaded veranda of the big house, and gave him a thumbs-up to express his appreciation for the beer.
He then surreptitiously reached in his trousers pocket and came out with a small computerized meat thermometer, which gave an almost immediate and very accurate indication of temperature.
There was nothing wrong in getting scientific confirmation of what your thumb suggested when pressed into a broiling steak, especially if no one saw you use the device and remained convinced you had an educated thumb.
He stabbed each of the steaks with the thermometer-there were eight inch-and-a-half-thick New York strips-and saw they all had interior temperatures of just over 140 degrees Fahrenheit.
He put the thermometer back in his pocket, then turned and faced the veranda.
"I proclaim these done!"
Fernando applauded, and several of the rugrats joined in.
At that point, Charley saw Abuela advancing on him holding out the walk-around telephone.
"It's for you," she said. "Dick."
Shit! I knew it.
"Thank you," he said. "Wait until I get the steaks on the platter."
Abuela laid the telephone on the table beside the grill, then picked up the platter-a well-used, blood-grooved wooden board with horseshoe handles-and held it out for him to put the steaks on it. Then she started for the veranda.
"I'll carry that, Abuela," he called after her.
"I am old, tired, and decrepit, but I can still carry this," she said.
Charley picked up the telephone.
"Why do I think I'm not going to like this?" he asked by way of greeting.
"Dona Alicia was glad to hear my voice," Major H. Richard Miller, Jr., said. "She told me."
"As you well know, she is too kind for her own good, especially where cripples are concerned. What's up?"
"I think you better get back here, Charley."
"Jesus, I haven't been here thirty-six hours."
And not only that, I really wanted to have a closer look at that Gulfstream. Surprising Charley, Fernando had met him at San Antonio International Airport.
"To what do I owe the honor?" Castillo said.
"I want to show you something."
"And it wouldn't wait until we were at San Jorge?"
"No. You have any checked luggage?"
Castillo shook his head.
Fernando's car, a new twelve-cylinder black Mercedes-Benz S600, was in the short-term parking lot. Castillo remembered reading in a magazine that the sedan had a sticker price somewhere north of $140, 000.
"Is this what you wanted to show me?"
"No."
"Nice wheels."
"It's Maria's," Fernando said.
"You must have been a really bad boy."
"Fuck you, Gringo."
"What exactly did you do wrong?"
"Well, for example, I went to Europe and South America without taking her along."
"She didn't like that?"
"No, she did not."
"I can't understand that."
Fernando shook his head but didn't reply.
He then drove them around the airport to Lemes Aviation, a large business-aviation operation.
"Don't tell me you pranged the Lear?"
"No. But it's in here for a hundred-hour maintenance a lot sooner than I thought it would be."
"You'll get a check, eventually, from the Secret Service. You know the deal: They chartered it."
"I know the deal," Fernando said.
He pulled the Mercedes into a parking slot at the Lemes building and they got out. But instead of going in the building, Fernando marched purposefully toward a hangar. Castillo followed him expecting to see the Lear, on which he was sure Fernando was going to show him something that had happened that was going to require expensive repair.
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