W Griffin - Hunters

The bartender appeared.

"They have other stuff, but they make a really good hamburger," Delchamps said.

"Sounds fine," Castillo said.

Delchamps ordered-in fluent Parisian French, Castillo noted-the hamburgers, medium rare, and two bottles of Dortmunder Union beer.

"Do you find it interesting, Herr Gossinger, that your tail is resting where very possibly Hemingway's tail once rested?"

"Yes, I find that interesting," Castillo said.

"And would you be interested in hearing the true story of Hemingway's war service as an officer?"

"I would be interested."

"He drove an ambulance in the Italian Army Medical Corps," Delchamps said. "Normally, as you know, Herr Oberst, ambulance drivers are privates. Oh, every once in a while there's a PFC, and maybe even a corporal after long and faithful service, but usually a private."

"I suppose that's true," Castillo said.

"Hemingway was a lieutenant," Delchamps said. "The Italian government decided it wouldn't be good if all the starry-eyed American boys who rushed to do their part in the war to end all wars wrote home to Mama about how privates driving ambulances in the Italian Army were treated and fed, so they made them all second lieutenants."

"Really?"

"True story. You found it interesting, I hope?"

"Absolutely! But you know what I would really find interesting to know?"

"And what is that?"

"Please tell me if you deliver these fascinating, interesting lectures on little-known facts of history to everyone who comes to Paris or if you have some interesting-possibly nefarious-purpose in relating them to me."

"In your case, Herr Oberst Gossinger, I was ordered to do so," Delchamps said as he took a sheet of paper from his pocket.

That's the second time he called me "Herr Oberst." I wonder what's that all about?

"This came in at six this morning, Colonel," Delchamps said, handing the paper to Castillo, "making it necessary for me to get out of bed at that obscene hour and go to the fucking embassy to get it. I was, as you can imagine, more than a little pissed, for several reasons."

Castillo unfolded the sheet of paper and read it.

DELIVER IMMEDIATELY TO EDGAR J. DELCHAMPS ONLY AND REPORT TIME OF DELIVERY OR REASONS FOR FAILURE TO DO SO

COLONEL C. G. CASTILLO, USA, IS PRESENTLY EN ROUTE PARIS ON A MISSION FOR THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES WHICH HE MAY AT HIS SOLE DISCRETION ELECT TO CLARIFY FOR YOU. COLONEL CASTILLO WILL BE FURNISHED WHATEVER ASSISTANCE AND INTELLIGENCE HE REQUESTS, TO INCLUDE, BUT NOT LIMITED TO, ACCESS TO AGENCY-OWNED AVIATION ASSETS. FURTHER, IT IS DIRECTED THAT YOU FURNISH HIM WITH ANY INTELLIGENCE NOT SPECIFICALLY REQUESTED BUT IN WHICH YOU FEEL HE MAY BE INTERESTED.

"When Montvale called the last time you came here, he told me you were a major, Ace," Delchamps said, accusingly.

"I'm a lieutenant colonel as of yesterday," Castillo said.

"Then permit me to be among the very first to congratulate you."

"I didn't have anything to do with this," Castillo said, handing the message back. "But it does explain the interesting history lectures, doesn't it?"

"You going to tell me about this presidential mission you're on or are we going to fuck around with each other in the dark?"

"It's more than a mission. There's been a Presidential Finding," Castillo said. "The bottom line of which is, I'm supposed to find and 'render harmless' whoever whacked Jack the Stack Masterson in Buenos Aires."

"And you're working for who? Montvale directly?"

"The President directly. Montvale thinks I should be working for him."

"Well, that explains that little middle-of-the-night billet-doux, doesn't it?"

"He makes me feel like a sixteen-year-old virgin with some thirty-year-old guy chasing me who won't take no for an answer."

"I take your point, even if I don't think you were ever a sixteen-year-old virgin," Delchamps said. "The UN notified the embassy that Lorimer was killed during a robbery in Uruguay, of all goddamned places. That's obviously bullshit. You have the real skinny on that?"

"He was whacked, with a Madsen, at an estancia he owned down there."

"Your source reliable?"

"I was there. I had just told Lorimer he was about to be returned to the bosom of his family when somebody stuck a Madsen through the window, put two bullets in his head, and wounded one of the guys with me."

"You do get around, don't you, Ace?"

"The bad guys also garroted one of my guys, a Delta Force sergeant who wasn't easy to get to. They were real professionals."

"Who all unfortunately left this vale of tears before they could tell you who they worked for?"

Castillo nodded. "There were six of them, all dressed in black, no identification."

"Sounds like Spetsnaz or Mossad," Delchamps said. "Or maybe even Frogs from Rip-em."

"From where?"

The bartender delivered their Dortmunder Union. Delchamps waited until he was out of earshot before answering.

"Le premiere Regiment de Parachutistes d'Infanterie de Marine," Delchamps explained. "Rip-em, from the acronym, are pretty good. The French version of the English SAS, which is where they got started. Rumor has it that they've got a bunch of ex-Spetsnaz. From Spetsnaz to Legion Etrangere to Rip-em."

"French?" Castillo thought aloud.

"Why not? The Frogs were up to their ears in the oil-for-food business and, from what I hear, Lorimer knew which ones."

"I never even thought of the French," Castillo admitted.

"You didn't learn anything from Lorimer? Jesus, how the hell did you find him? In Uruguay?"

"I did find what we believe to be almost sixteen million skimmed from the bribe funds, but, as you put it, he passed from this vale of tears before I could ask him about it."

"Sit on that, and see who tries to get it."

"We've got it," Castillo said.

"Good for you!" Delchamps said and took his beer glass and, in a toast, clinked it against Castillo's.

Delchamps took a sip, then continued: "You were going to tell me how you found Lorimer. I was convinced-as I told you-that he was feeding the fish in either the Seine or the Danube."

"I have a source, a reporter, who's been running down the transfer of money from oil-for-food profits from Germany to South America-Uruguay and Argentina-and I got some names from him. I was showing them to an FBI agent in Montevideo who was working money laundering. He opened one of his files and Jean-Paul Lorimer's picture was in it. He had another identity-Jean-Paul Bertrand, Lebanese passport, antiquities dealer-and what I'm guessing is that when they stopped looking for Lorimer, he was going to move elsewhere…with the sixteen mil."

"Reporter from where?"

"A German newspaper."

"That makes me wonder about Gossinger," Delchamps said.

"I was born in Germany to a German mother. So far as the Germans are concerned, that makes me a German forever and eligible for a German passport. It's a handy cover."

"You going to tell me who Castillo is?"

"My father was a Huey pilot who got killed in Vietnam before he got around to marrying my mother. When I was twelve, my father's parents found out about me and off I went to the States, with my father's name on my American passport."

Delchamps met his eyes for a moment but didn't respond directly. Instead, he said, "I would say that maybe the KSK is involved, but-"