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"He also thinks he can actually play gin," Santini said. "When we were on the presidential detail, waiting, we got to play a hell of a lot of gin. I took a lot of his money."
They smiled at each other.
"But we digress, Herr Gossinger," Santini said. "We were talking about my little suggestion."
"Let's hear it."
"If, say," Santini began, "a fellow Secret Service agent just happened to be passing through Buenos Aires, and checked in with me at the embassy, and he and I just happened to bump into Ken Lowery, and I told Lowery, 'I was just telling Agent Whatsisname here about Mrs. Masterson,' Lowery would understand that-he's always making reference to 'we federal agents' as if he were one-and would probably stumble over his tongue to tell you how he's dealing with the problem."
"Am I detecting you don't think too much of this guy's ability as an investigator?"
"He's a good guy, like I said, but how many times do you think he's had a chance to investigate anything more serious than some dip diddling another dip's wife? Such conduct being detrimental to the foreign service of the United States."
Castillo chuckled, then asked, "What would happen to you if they found out you'd set this up? And they probably would, sooner or later."
"Maybe they would send me home in disgrace," Santini said. "And I could go back to being a real Secret Service agent. Coming down here wasn't my idea. Or maybe you could have told me, as the Presidential Agent, what you were doing and ordered me to keep my mouth shut."
"Consider yourself so ordered," Castillo said. "But I have to tell you the last time I did that-to a guy who had some information I needed-the DCI wasn't impressed and relieved him for cause. He finally wound up with a letter of commendation from the President, but he had a very uncomfortable couple of days before that happened."
"What'll happen will happen," Santini said.
"How come they sent you down here?"
"I hurt myself, and was placed on limited duty, so they sent me down here to look for funny money."
"How'd you hurt yourself?"
"Joel didn't tell you?"
Castillo shook his head.
"If you laugh, I'll break both your arms," Santini said, conversationally. "I fell off the Vice President's limo bumper, and the trailing Yukon ran over my foot."
"I won't laugh, but can I smile broadly?"
"Fuck you, Herr Gossinger," Santini said, smiling.
"What would another Secret Service agent be doing, passing through Argentina?"
"Any one of fifty things, it happens all the time, at least once a month. Usually, it's a supervisory special agent bitching about my expenses; crap like that. The only problem I can see would be if somebody asked you to prove who you were."
"Wait one," Charley said.
Less than two minutes later, he handed his Secret Service credentials to Santini.
"Hall got you these?" he asked when he'd examined them.
Castillo shook his head.
"Joel went to Hall and got them for me."
"These would work, I think. Your call."
"It looks to me like a winner," Castillo said. "Thanks, Tony."
Santini made a deprecating gesture.
