W. Griffin - The Hostage

"Howard's getting the wine," Pevsner said in Russian, and then switched to English. "Greet our guest in English," he said to the children. "Charley, this is Elena. Darling, this is Mr. Castillo."

Elena, shyly, almost blushing, curtsied and said, "How do you do, Mr. Castillo?" in a pronounced British accent.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Elena."

The ten-year-old was even more shy. The six-year-old was not. He walked past his brother, put out his hand, and announced, "I am Sergei and I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir."

"And I'm pleased to meet you."

"Aleksandr!" Pevsner said, propelling the ten-year-old into action.

The ten-year-old, squirming, finally offered his hand and mumbled something unintelligible.

Pevsner beamed proudly.

"You'll have to excuse the robes, Mr. Castillo," Anna Pevsner said. "But my husband said he wasn't sure if you could come, and the children like to have a swim when they come from school."

"Well, I certainly don't want to interfere with that," Castillo said.

The six-year-old, Sergei, beamed at Castillo.

"I really hate to leave them alone in the pool," Anna said.

"Howard can watch them for a few minutes, darling," Pevsner said.

Kennedy came into the room.

"Howard, would you mind watching the children in the pool for a few minutes?"

"Not at all."

Howard is being banished from the conversation I'm about to have with Pevsner and his wife. What's going on?

The older two children, trailed by Kennedy, went out of the sitting room. Sergei marched up to Castillo, shook his hand, and ran after them.

"Nice kids, Alex," Castillo said.

"Thank you, Charley," Pevsner said, and then, as a younger maid-this one looked Argentine-came in with a tray holding glasses, a bottle of wine, and a large chrome corkscrew, said, "Ah, finally, the wine!"

"Why don't we sit down?" Anna asked, gesturing at the red-leather couch and armchairs.

Castillo sat in one of the armchairs. Anna sat on the couch, and Pevsner, after gesturing for the maid to put the tray on the coffee table, sat beside her and reached for the wine and corkscrew.

"Local wine," Pevsner said, "from a bodega near Mendoza, in the foothills of the Andes. Ever been to Mendoza, Charley?"

"Uh-huh. We have some friends there."

Pevsner poured the wine into enormous crystal glasses, handed one first to his wife, then one to Charley. Then he tapped his glass against Charley's.

"Welcome to our home, Charley," he said.

"Thank you."

Charley took a sip, and expressed his appreciation with a smile.

"Why do I think, Charley, that your curiosity is about to bubble over? 'What in hell is Alex doing here?'"

"Maybe you're reading my mind again," Castillo said.

"What we're doing, Charley, is hiding in the open," Pevsner said. "Aleksandr Pevsner, a Hungarian whose estates were seized by the communists, got everything back when freedom came, and then, having enough of both Hungarian winters and oppressive governments, sold everything and came to the New World to start life again. He invested his money in land and vineyards. Including this one, as a matter of fact." He tapped the wine bottle.

"Very clever," Castillo said.

"There's a tradition of that, you know, of people running from what's going on in Europe to find peace in Argentina. There's a bona fide grand duke of the Austro-Hungarian empire-actually, his grandson, but he has taken the title and is pleased when I call him 'Your Grace'-in a little town called Maschwitz near here. He teases me that I have the same name as an infamous Russian scoundrel."

"Very clever," Castillo repeated.

"Think about it, Charley. Where could we live? In Russia? Russia is now not far from where it was before the 1917 revolution. Crime and corruption are rampant, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if communism-under another name, of course-came back. Anywhere in a Muslim country? I do business there, of course, but can you imagine Anna in an environment like that, not even allowed to drive a car? Living in constant fear that some Muslim fanatic will machine-gun her car because she's obviously an infidel? And while this may surprise you, there are people in Prague and Vienna and Budapest and Bucharest who don't like me."

"I'm shocked," Castillo said.

"There is corruption here, of course. And crime. The newspapers are full of stories of robbery and kidnapping. The result of that has been the development of what I call the country club culture. The upper classes live in places like this, and when they go to Buenos Aires, they frequently are accompanied by bodyguards-called 'security'-which raises no eyebrows whatever."

"I saw the guy in the golf cart with the shotgun," Castillo said.

"I have a few of my own people, of course, but most of my security is Argentine. There is golf here… Do you play, Charley?"

Castillo shook his head.

"And polo. I don't play, but Aleksandr and Sergei are taking lessons, and Anna and Elena are taking courses in horse riding… what's that called?"

"Equestrianism," Anna furnished.

"… equestrianism at the stables here. And, of course, the schools are good. The better ones, like Saint Agnes in the Hills, are a British legacy."

"Your kids go to a school called 'Saint Agnes in the Hills'?" Castillo asked, smiling.

Pevsner smiled back. "Which has an Anglican priest for a headmaster. There being no Russian Orthodox church to speak of in Argentina, and since the Anglicans and the Russian Orthodox recognize each other's priesthood and liturgy, Elena was last year confirmed into the Anglican church."

"Well, you seem to have everything under control, Alex," Castillo said. "Good for you."

"I thought so, Charley, until Howard came here this morning and asked me, 'Guess who got onto my elevator in the Four Seasons just now?'"

"At the risk of repeating myself, I had no idea until today that either you or Howard had ever been near Argentina. And if you're worried that I'm going to tell anyone we bumped into each other, don't."

"You said something about a kidnapping?"

"The wife of the chief of mission at the American embassy is missing under circumstances that suggest kidnapping," Castillo said.

"Kidnapping is common here," Pevsner said. "Didn't she have security?"

"Why would anyone kidnap a diplomat's wife?" Anna asked. "Does he have money?"

"A lot of money," Charley said.

"I didn't see anything in the paper," Pevsner said, as he leaned forward to pour wine into Charley's glass.

"They're trying to keep it quiet. They hope that maybe when the kidnappers find out she's a diplomat's wife, they'll turn her loose."

"That's not what they're liable to do," Pevsner said. "I can make a couple of calls for you, if you'd like."

"All contributions gratefully received," Castillo said. "So far there's been no contact. I really feel sorry for the husband. They have three kids, and they want to know when Mother's coming home."

"Oh, God!" Anna said. "How awful!"

"Yeah," Castillo said.

"Where did they take her?" Anna asked. "Not from their home?"

"From the parking lot of the Kansas restaurant in San Isidro."

"Alex and I eat there often," Anna said, then, a touch of horror in her voice: "Not right in front of her children?"

Castillo shook his head. "She was waiting for her husband to pick her up after work. The kids were at home."

"And the President sent you down here to do what?" Pevsner asked.

"Find out what happened and report to him."

"Speaking of the President, and before I make those calls, did you ever have a chance to mention to him that I was helpful in getting that airplane back for you?"

"Yes, I did." The President's diary for that weekend read, in part: Friday 17 June 2005 7:55 PM: Arrival at President's Residence. Saturday 18 June 2005 through Sunday 19 June 2005 8:25 PM: No official events or guests or visitors. Sunday 19 June 2005 8:25 PM: Departure for The White House.