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"I went over to Marburg an der Lahn a couple of weeks ago. They were doing a fund-raiser for the library at the university. All Alte Marburgers were invited. I overheard parts of a conversation between some of the big shots. What caught my attention was a line, something about 'Der Fuhrer was the first to come up with that idea. Ha, ha!'"
"You've lost me."
"You remember that during World War Two, Hitler-the top Nazi-sent a lot of money to Argentina to buy themselves a sanctuary when they lost the war?"
"Uh-huh."
"These guys were talking about moving money to Argentina."
"To buy sanctuary? Sanctuary from what? You're talking about drug money?"
"What I'm thinking about is Iraqi oil-for-food money bribes that may have wound up in the pockets of these guys."
"Jesus!"
"Yeah, Jesus. Anyway, I've got people looking into it here, and the idea I had-probably not a good one-was that
maybe you would hear something in Argentina."
"I'll keep my ears open," Charley said.
"Just that, Karl," Goerner said seriously. "If you hear something, anything, pass it to me. But stop there. You understand me?"
That's as close as he's ever come to saying, "You and I know you're not really a journalist."
"I take your point."
"I also have people looking into the mysterious deaths of people who knew about these oil-for-food bribes."
"I take your point, Otto."
"Aside from that, have a good steak and a bottle of wine for me, and don't try to spread your pollen on more than ten or twelve of those lovely Argentine senoritas."
"Didn't I tell you? I have taken a vow of chastity. Celibacy is supposed to increase your mental powers."
"Ach, Gott, Karlchen," Goerner laughed. "Keep in touch."
"Kiss my godchildren, and say hello to Ol' Whatsername."
"My regards to Fernando and your grandmother. Auf wiedersehen!"
The line went dead.
Castillo hung up, shifted his weight in the chair so the back came up, and then got out of it. He finished the bottle of Dos Equis as he looked around the apartment to see if he had forgotten anything, and then put on the jacket to his seersucker suit.
He looked at himself in the mirror.
I am probably going to freeze my ass off in Buenos Aires until I can get to the Hyatt, but on the other hand, I won't have to go through Reagan and Miami International wearing a woolen sports coat. [THREE] Miami International Airport Miami, Florida 1850 21 July 2005 As Castillo stood before the luggage carousel waiting for his suitcase, he had very unkind thoughts about Delta Airlines, on whose flight 431 he had just arrived.
When he boarded the airplane at Ronald Reagan Washington National, he had had the suitcase in hand. All of the overhead luggage bins in the first-class section were full. The first-class section itself had not been anywhere near full-probably because Delta's DCA-MIA first-class fare bordered on the rapacious-which suggested, ergo sum, that the luggage in the first-class bins had been placed there by people traveling economy class as they passed through the first-class section en route to the rear of the aircraft.
"I'm afraid you'll have to check that," the stewardess told him.
"Why do I suspect that all the luggage in the bins does not belong to first-class passengers?"
"I'm afraid you'll have to check that," the stewardess repeated.
"I don't suppose that since I thought I would have space in the first-class bins, and find that I don't, you could put this in with the coats and jackets? I really hate to check it."
