W. Griffin - The Hostage

He walked down the corridor to the bank of elevators and pushed the down-arrow button. The door opened almost immediately, and he found himself looking at a slim man in his early forties, with shortly cropped, thinning hair. He wore a light brown single-breasted suit and a subdued necktie. He would not stand out in a crowd.

"Either you're a much better actor than I've previously given you credit for being, or that startled look is genuine," the man said.

So it was Pevsner's 767 at Ezeiza. I wonder what the hell they're doing in Buenos Aires?

"Good morning, Howard," Castillo said.

"I would say, 'How are you?'" Howard Kennedy said. "But I think the more important question is 'Who are you to day?'"

"Today my name is Castillo," Charley said. "How about you?"

"Charley Castillo, intrepid Green Beret? Or Charley Castillo of the Secret Service?"

It was a high-speed elevator. The door opened onto the lobby as Castillo's mouth opened. There were people-a family, husband, wife, and two teenaged boys-waiting to get on the elevator.

"The latter, Howard," Castillo said as he got off the elevator.

Kennedy waited until no one was within hearing.

"So what brings you to Gaucho Land, Charley?" he asked.

"I'll tell you what I'm doing here if you tell me what you are."

"Over a cup of coffee? I'll buy. I know from painful experience how little the government pays its law enforcement agents, even the very good ones."

"Flattery, and the offer of a free cup of coffee, will get you everywhere."

Kennedy smiled and touched Castillo's arm.

"This is probably very foolish of me, but I'm really glad to see you."

Castillo smiled at him.

"I'm not sure if I'm glad to see you, or just overwhelmed with curiosity."

Kennedy chuckled and led the way to the nice restaurant set for breakfast and lunch, an open area furnished with low tables and leather-and-chrome armchairs.

A waitress-a stunning young woman with long legs and large dark eyes-appeared almost immediately. They ordered coffee.

"And bring some pastry, please," Kennedy added. When she had gone, he said, "Very nice. I envy you your bachelor status."

"I saw the Pan Arabic 767 at Ezeiza," Charley said. "I wondered if it was yours."

"My, you are observant, aren't you? It got in at an obscene hour, and I came here to take a shower and a nap. And then, surprise, surprise!"

"You were going to tell me what you're doing here."

"We brought a load of tapestries and other decorations from Riyadh for the King Faisal Islamic Center, and we're going to take back two dozen polo ponies, and cases of boots and saddles and other accoutrements, for the game of kings."

"So you're now a horse trader?"

"Your turn, Charley."

"There's a personnel problem at the embassy. They sent me down to see what it really is."

"Instead of what the ambassador is saying it is?"

Castillo nodded. "Something like that."

The waitress appeared with coffee and pastry.

"That was quick," Kennedy said.

He reached for a petit four.

Castillo said, "My grandfather used to say the only things the Argentines do consistently well is eat."

Kennedy chuckled. "You going to tell me the nature of the personnel problem at the embassy?"

"Just as soon as you tell me what you're really doing here."

Kennedy smiled at him. "Now that I think about it, I really don't give much of a damn about personnel problems in the embassy."

"On the other hand, I'd really like to know what you're really doing here."

"I'm sure you would. But you're going to have to be satisfied with that it is neither illegal nor inimical to the interests of the United States."

"I could ask for no more," Castillo said, and then asked, "You ever see that Mel Gibson movie where they kidnap his kid?"

"No. I can't say that I have. I'd love to know why you're asking."

"It was the in-flight movie. I fell asleep in the middle, and I've been wondering how it turned out."

"I think you're serious."

"They kidnapped his kid, and he had to decide to pay the ransom, which his wife and the FBI wanted him to do, or not pay."

Kennedy shook his head.

"In a previous employment," Kennedy said, "I worked a half dozen big-dollar kidnappings. Big-dollar kidnappings are usually either inside jobs, in which case a couple of good interrogators can usually find out who done it in a matter of hours. Or they're professional jobs, in which case the victim is kept alive only long enough for them to collect the ransom. Phrased somewhat indelicately, if you pay the ransom, you lose the victim and the money. Does that satisfy your curiosity, Charley? What did Gibson do?"

"I told you I fell asleep before that happened."

"And now you'll lie awake nights wondering about it," Kennedy said sarcastically, and then asked, "How long are you going to be here, Charley?"

Castillo raised both hands in a Who the hell knows? gesture.

"Maybe we can have dinner," Kennedy said, "or drinks."

"I'd like that."

"How do I get in touch with you?"

"Here, I suppose."

"You don't have a cellular? Or you're not going to give me the number? Which?"

"You show me yours and I'll show you mine."

"Deal."

They exchanged cellular phones.

I know how come I have a cellular, even though I just got here.

So where did you get yours, Howard? Maybe you didn't just arrive in the obscene hours of the morning?

"Rushed right from the plane to the cellular store, did you, Charley?"

"Howard, it's not nice-didn't your mommy tell you?-to read other people's minds. But, to satisfy your curiosity, I got mine from the Secret Service guy here. The Secret Service takes care of its own. Where did you get yours?"

"I borrowed it from a friend."

"Sure."

Kennedy looked at him and smiled, but didn't respond directly. He handed Charley's cellular back to him.

"I'd love to push the autodial buttons on that, and see who answers."

"Who do you think might answer?"

"They call the FBI guys in embassies 'legal attaches,' I guess you know."

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Castillo responded, "none of the autodial buttons will call the FBI. I don't even know anybody in the FBI here. As a matter of fact, I just learned they don't even have an FBI detachment, or whatever, at the embassy. What about your buttons?"

Kennedy didn't reply directly to that, either. Instead, he said, "So what's on your agenda right now? Can I drop you someplace?"

"I'm going to the embassy."

"It's right on my way. I'll drop you."

"On your way to where?"

"The King Faisal Islamic Center. It's just a couple of blocks from the embassy."

"I have a hard time picturing you touching your forehead to the floor in prayer."

"It's business, Charley. Just business."

"Isn't that the line the Mafia uses, just before they shoot people?"

"Would that the Arabs were as easy to deal with as the Mafia," Kennedy said, and stood up. He took a wad of money from his pocket and dropped several bills on the table. "You want a ride or not?"

A black Mercedes-Benz S500 with heavily darkened windows was waiting for Kennedy when he came through the revolving door. A large man who looked vaguely familiar got quickly out of the front passenger seat and opened the rear door.

"You remember Herr Gossinger, don't you, Frederic?" Kennedy said.

"Guten morgen, Herr Gossinger," the man said without expression.

The last time I saw you was in Vienna. I pegged you as either Hungarian or Czech, but what the hell. It all used to be Austria.

"Gruss Gott!" Charley said, trying to sound as Viennese as possible.

Kennedy got quickly in the backseat, and Charley slid in after him. [TWO] The United States Embassy Avenida Colombia 4300 Buenos Aires, Argentina 0905 22 July 2005 As Kennedy's Mercedes turned off Avenida Libertador, Castillo could see both the American embassy and the ambassador's residence, a large, vaguely European-looking mansion fronting on Libertador. A large, armored, blue Policia Federal van was parked on the street across from it, but Charley couldn't see any police.