W Griffin - Hunters

"If somebody had the helicopter's numbers," Silvio said, "it wouldn't be hard to learn whose machine it is, would it?"

"I thought about that, sir, and decided it was information I would just as soon not have."

Silvio nodded. "You're right, of course. What about the money?"

"Before this happened, Yung was working on finding Americans-and other people-who had decided to secretly invest money down here. I don't know who he was doing that for, but he wasn't just looking for dirty money being laundered. He is therefore an expert on how to move large amounts of money around without anyone knowing. I suspect the reason Castillo sent him back down here was to make really sure there are not racks."

"I think Ambassador McGrory is going to give him a hard time when he gets to Uruguay. For concealing his special status from him. And I find myself thinking McGrory has the right to be annoyed."

"He shouldn't be annoyed at Yung," Darby said. "Yung was just following orders."

"That 'just following orders' philosophy covers a lot of sins, doesn't it?"

"Mr. Ambassador, I'm pretty sure before you tell somebody something, you consider who you're telling it to, how trustworthy they are. And that's how it should be. I've never understood why people don't seem to understand that works both ways."

"I'm not sure I follow you, Alex."

"How much the guy in charge-a corporal in a rifle squad, a station chief in the agency, an ambassador-gets told, official rules be damned, depends on how much the underling thinks the guy in charge can be trusted."

Silvio considered that a moment and then said, "I have to ask, Alex. How much do you tell me?"

"When I got here, Mr. Ambassador, based on my previous experience with people in your line of work, I was careful when I told you what time it was. After a while, when I got to know you, I started telling you everything."

"Thank you," Silvio said, simply.

"Mr. Ambassador, I'd like to get on a secure line and let Castillo know what's happened in Montevideo and here."

"He should know, of course, and right away. But I can do it, Alex. You don't have to."

"Why don't you let me do it, sir?" Darby replied. "I don't feel guilty about going behind McGrory's back."

"Ouch!" Ambassador Silvio said. He paused thoughtfully. "Obviously what has happened, Alex, is that my close association with you has corrupted me. I just realized that I was happy that you offered to make the call. Thank you."

He pushed the secure phone toward Darby.

[ONE] Executive Offices Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H. Fulda, Hesse, Germany 1105 6 August 2005 Otto Gorner, managing director of Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H., reached for his private line telephone with his right hand without taking his eyes off the editorial on his desk. It was anti-American, blasting the President of the United States of America personally and the policies of the U.S.A. generally.

He had known from the first couple of sentences that he would not permit it to run in any of the Tages Zeitung newspapers. The author would then think-and more than likely share with his peers-unkind thoughts about the Amizaertlich editor in chief of the Tages Zeitung newspapers for killing a well-thought-out piece about what the Gottverdammt Amis had done wrong again.

By the fourth paragraph, Gorner had realized-with some relief-that he would have killed the piece anyway based on its departure from what he regarded as the entirely Germanic editorial principles of the newspaper chain-in essence, to be fair-and not solely because running it would have offended the Ami who was the sole stockholder of Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H.

"Gorner," he growled into the telephone.

"Have you got any influence with the storm trooper guarding the parking lot?" a very familiar voice inquired in English. "He won't let me in."

"Speak of the devil," Gorner said.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"Put him on, Karlchen," Gorner said as he rose quickly from his desk and went to his window, which overlooked the parking lot.

Carlos Guillermo Castillo, born Karl Wilhelm von und zu Gossinger, was standing by the red-and-white-striped barrier pole to the parking lot and extending a cellular telephone to the guard there of.

As the guard some what suspiciously put the cellular to his ear, Castillo looked up at the window, saw Gorner, and blew him a kiss. The guard followed that gesture, too, with interest.

"In the future," Gorner said to the telephone, "you may admit Herr von und zu Gossinger to our parking lot at any time, even if his car doesn't have an identification sticker."

"Jawohl, Herr Gorner," the guard said.

He handed the cellular back and hurried to the switch that would cause the barrier pole to rise.

Castillo bowed toward the window and then got in his car, a Mercedes-Benz 220, which Gorner decided he had rented at an airport.

Gorner had mixed feelings on seeing Castillo. On one hand, he was-and had been since Castillo's birth-extremely fond of the boy born to the sister of his best friend. He had long ago realized that there was little difference between the paternal feelings he had for Karlchen-"Little Karl"-and those he felt for his own children.

If Erika von und zu Gossinger would have had him, either when it first became known that the seventeen-year-old girl was pregnant with the child of an American helicopter pilot she had known for only four days or, later, until the hour of her death twelve years later, he would have married her and happily given the child his name.

But Erika would not have him as her husband, although she had been perfectly willing for him to play Oncle Otto to the boy as he grew up.

And over the last three or four days, Gorner had been genuinely concerned about Castillo's safety-indeed, his life. Karlchen had called from the States and suggested Gorner "might take a look at the Reuters and AP wires from Uruguay starting about now."

Gorner had done so, and the only interesting story-about the only story at all-from Uruguay had been a Reuters report that the Lebanese owner of a farm, a man named Jean-Paul Bertrand, and six other men, unidentified, had been found shot to death on Bertrand's farm.

There had been no question at all in Gorner's mind that Bertrand was Jean-Paul Lorimer, for whom he knew Karlchen had been looking. Confirmation of that had come yesterday, with an Agence France-Presse wire story that Dr. Jean-Paul Lorimer, Chief, European Directorate of UN Inter-Agency Coordination in Paris, had been murdered during a robbery while vacationing in Uruguay.

He had not been surprised to learn that Lorimer was dead. He had been in Budapest with Karlchen when Billy Kocian had told both of them that he thought Lorimer was probably fish food in either the Danube or the Seine and he didn't believe the robbery spin at all. Lorimer had been killed because he knew too much about the oil-for-food scandal.

But Uruguay? What was that all about?

He wondered how Karlchen had learned what had happened to Lorimer so quickly.

His thoughts were interrupted when Frau Gertrud Schroder put her head in the door and cheerfully announced, "Karlchen's here. They just called from the lobby."

"Warn my wife, lock up anything valuable, and pray," Gorner said.

"You're as glad to see him as I am," she said.

"Yes. Of course," Gorner agreed with a smile.

That's only half true. I am glad to see him, but I don't think I'm going to like what he tells me, or giving him what he asks for.

Castillo came to the door forty-five seconds later.

He hugged Frau Schroder and kissed her wetly on the forehead.

She beamed.

"Do I call you 'colonel'?" Gorner said.

"Not only do you call me colonel but you pop to attention, click your heels, and bow," Castillo said as he went to Gorner and hugged him. He would have kissed him on the forehead, too, had Gorner not ducked. Then he added, "How did you hear about that?"