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"I told you I did. We used to work together."
"Can you give me a hint?"
"I just did. I'll be waiting for your call, Charley."
The line went dead. [TWO] Aeropuerto Internacional Jorge Newbery Buenos Aires, Argentina 2305 23 July 2005 Sergeant Roger Markham had just turned the embassy BMW 545i onto Avenida 9 Julio near the Four Seasons hotel when the radio went off.
"Yung for Castillo."
Castillo was looking around for a microphone when Markham put one in his hand. Castillo took it and pushed the PRESS TO TALK button.
"Go."
"Sir, the aircraft will be parked on the private aviation side of the field."
"Got it. Thank you."
"Sir, ETA is forty-five minutes."
"Got it. Thank you. We're on the way."
"Out."
Well, he not only told me where the airplane will be parked, which he didn't have to do, but he called me "sir." Maybe he's resigned to me being in charge and decided he might as well go along; but on the other hand, it's equally likely, considering that everybody in the FBI got the Castillo-knows-Kennedy memo, he thinks that if we can become pals, I just might let something slip that would put him onto Howard Kennedy.
What the hell did Kennedy mean when he said, "Whatever Yung's doing he's not looking for dirty money"?
"You might as well slow down, Roger. They're forty-five minutes out."
"Am I driving too fast, sir?"
"I wish there was someplace we could get a cup of coffee," Castillo said. "Back to the hotel?"
"There's all kinds of restaurants on the river near the airport."
"Pick one."
"Yes, s- I'll do that."
"Don't let this go to your head, Roger, but maybe there's some hope for you after all." It was raining hard when they got to the civilian side of Jorge Newbery airfield, so hard that Castillo wondered if the Gulfstream was going to be able to land.
There was only one runway, paralleling the bank of the Rio de la Plata, and it didn't look like a fun place to try to land in a driving rain with gusting winds.
On the tarmac in front of a Southern Winds hangar, he saw a BMW with diplomat plates, two small white Mercedes-Benz buses, called Traffiks, each of which had a cardboard sign with CD lettered on it taped to the windshield, and a Peugeot sedan with Argentine plates.
When Sergeant Markham pulled in beside the buses, Castillo saw that the interior lights of one of the buses were on and saw Special Agent Yung, holding a newspaper, looking out at them. There was an Air Force major on the bus.
If I sit here, eventually Yung will come here, establishing me as King of the Hill. But he will get drenched and make the seats here wet. And I can get a much better look at him in the bus than I can here. I want to see his eyes.
Castillo turned to Markham.
"I suppose it's too much to expect you to have an umbrella?" The sergeant produced one instantly, seemingly out of thin air. Castillo chuckled appreciatively. "Thank you, Roger, for the umbrella."
As Castillo reached the bus, and the door swung open inwardly with a whoosh, two men got out of the Peugeot and, holding newspapers over their heads, half ran toward it.
"Well, what do you think, Yung? Are they going to be able to get in?"
"Senor Castillo?" one of the Argentine men said, and when Castillo turned, he was handed a small, handheld transceiver. He saw that it was lit up and tuned to what he presumed was the Jorge Newbery tower frequency.
