W. Griffin - The Hostage

"Because he's taken out insurance that they will," Yung said, just a little smugly. "He gets it either from the bank or the insurance company. It costs him a little money, sure, but his money is safe."

"What if somebody steals the promissory notes?"

"Unless he signs them, they're just pieces of paper."

"You know a lot about this guy, don't you, Yung?"

"I've been keeping my eye on him ever since I came down here."

"You know something about his personal habits? Where he lives?"

"He's got an estancia-he calls it 'Shangri-La'-in Tacuarembo Province, and a fancy condominium in Punta del Este. He doesn't use the condo much because, getting to his personal habits, he likes the young girls- very young girls-he has at Shangri-La."

"There's one thing you don't know about this guy, Yung," Castillo said.

"And what's that?"

"His real name is Jean-Paul Lorimer."

Yung looked at Castillo incredulously, and then smiled.

"You're kidding!"

Castillo shook his head. "Uh-uh. Can you show me where Shangri-La is on a map?"

[ONE] Nuestra Pequena Casa Mayerling Country Club Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1305 29 July 2005 Alex Darby-notified by the guards at the gate that his guests were arriving-was waiting at the door of the large, stucco house when Castillo, Britton, and Santini drove up.

"Come on in," he said. "Have any trouble finding it?"

"Just followed the signs," Castillo said. "'Our Little House'? Isn't that a little cutesy-poo for a safe house, Alex?" He looked around the foyer and the well-furnished living room. "And fancy. What's this place costing the agency?"

"There are safe houses and safe houses, Charley. This is a safe house, but not the agency's. I own it. I stole it."

"You own it?"

Darby didn't reply.

"Come on in, and we'll have some coffee. Unless you want something stronger?"

"I would love something very strong, but not now," Castillo said as they followed Darby into the living room and sat down around a coffee table.

"Get this, Charley," Darby said, and pointed under the coffee table.

Castillo saw him push a floor-mounted button with his shoe.

There was a faint tinkle of a bell, and a moment later a middle-aged woman in a maid's uniform appeared.

"Yes, sir?"

"Juanita, will you bring us some coffee, please?" Darby asked. "And some pastries?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very classy," Castillo said. "You said you own this place? Correction, you said you stole it."

"Both," Darby said. "What do you think a place like this is worth?"

"Half a million, anyway. Probably more, a lot more, with the panache of Mayerling attached."

"You heard what happened here a couple of years ago, the 'pesification'?"

"Special Agent Yung delivered a lecture on that just now in Carrasco."

"I'd been here a couple of months when that happened. Nobody had any dollars anymore. The government had just converted them to pesos, at a third-a fourth-of what they had been worth before. People were desperate for dollars; the bottom fell out of the real estate market. I paid a hundred and seventy-five grand for this."

"You did steal it," Castillo said. "And you live here?"

"I rent it to Cisco Systems. They pay me twelve thousand a month so the guy who runs things for them in the Southern Cone has a nice place to live, reflecting the prestige of Cisco Systems to the natives. He lets me use it when I need it."

He saw the look on Castillo's and Santini's faces. "You know what Cisco Systems does, right?"

"Data transfer? Something to do with the Internet?"

"Largest operators in both. Can you imagine how much goes over their nets that would be of interest to me?"

"This guy is undercover with the agency?"

"No. But he's a retired Signal Corps colonel. He used to work for IntelSat. From time to time he tells me things he's found interesting. And from time to time- like now-I ask him if I can borrow the place to get out of the city for a couple of days. Cisco maintains an apartment in the Alvear Plaza for visiting executives. So he and his wife stay at the Alvear for a couple of days, do the restaurants, go to the Colon, etcetera."

"Nice deal!"

"It's now all paid for, so the rent goes in my pocket." He paused, smiled, and chuckled. "Which came to the attention of the counterintelligence people in Langley. I guess the Riggs Bank felt it their patriotic duty to tell them I was depositing a lot more money than I should be on what the agency pays me. So they investigated. They came down here and spent three weeks investigating."

"And?"

"I'd already told my boss what I was doing. His reaction was jealousy, not disapproval. So when they triumphantly laid on his desk their report that the guy in Buenos Aires was in the real estate business, he said, 'I know.'"

Castillo chuckled.

"And it's like we're queer, Charley, to answer that question before you ask it. The Cisco guy doesn't ask, and I don't tell."

"You're a lot smarter than you look, Alex," Castillo said.

"So what did you find out from the FBI guy in Montevideo?"

Castillo didn't answer the question, but asked one: "What time is Ambassador Silvio coming?"

"I didn't know how quickly you could get here, so I told him three. Everybody will be here at three. Is that okay?"

"That's fine," Castillo said. "I've got an errand to run. I'm sure I can be back by then. While I'm gone, Tony and Jack can tell you what happened with that sonofabitch in Montevideo."

"I thought maybe you'd be pals after he was told to make nice," Darby said.

"Not quite. And I'm going to need some maps, topographic maps, of Tacuarembo Province, Uruguay. The more detailed, the better. And of the terrain on a reasonably straight-line route from here to there."

"Why do I think you're planning a helicopter flight?"

Castillo didn't answer that question, either.

"And, to go on my errand, I'm going to need a car without CD tags."

"Our host has a Mercedes SUV he lets me use. It comes with a driver."

"I don't want the driver," Castillo said. "Just the car."

The maid came in, pushing a cart with a silver coffee service.

"By the time you finish the coffee, I'll have the keys to the Mercedes."

"I don't have time for coffee, Alex," Castillo said, and stood up. [TWO] Buena Vista Country Club Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1345 29 July 2005 Castillo braked to a stop at the heavy, yellow-striped barrier pole, and with some difficulty finally found the window control switch and lowered the window.

The guard eyed him suspiciously but didn't speak.

"I'm here to see Mr. Pevsner."

"I'm sorry, sir. But there's no one here by that name."

"Get on the phone and tell Mr. Pevsner his friend from Vienna is here."

The guard opened his mouth.

"Get on the phone and tell Mr. Pevsner his friend from Vienna is here," Castillo repeated. "That is not a friendly suggestion."

The guard stared at him for a moment, and then said, "Park over there, please, senor." He pointed to a three-car, nose-in parking area.

Castillo saw that another heavy steel barrier pole would keep people out of the country club until it was raised, and that a menacing-looking tire shredder would keep them from changing their minds about wanting to enter Buena Vista and backing out. The guard waited until Castillo had parked the Mercedes before he returned to the guard shack, and the moment the guard entered the shack, another came out, leaned against it, folded his arms on his chest, and stared at the car.

Castillo got out and waved and smiled at the guard, which seemed to confuse him. Castillo took out a small cigar and lit it.

Five minutes later, a Mercedes-Benz ML350 identical to Castillo's came through the gate, made a U-turn, and pulled in beside Castillo. Castillo had examined it carefully, but the windows were so heavily darkened that it wasn't until the door opened that Charley could see the driver, and then recognize him.