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“I think Ambassador McGrory is going to give him a hard time when he gets to Uruguay. For concealing his special status from him. And I find myself thinking McGrory has the right to be annoyed.”
“He shouldn’t be annoyed at Yung,” Darby said. “Yung was just following orders.”
“That ‘just following orders’ philosophy covers a lot of sins, doesn’t it?”
“Mr. Ambassador, I’m pretty sure before you tell somebody something, you consider who you’re telling it to, how trustworthy they are. And that’s how it should be. I’ve never understood why people don’t seem to understand that works both ways.”
“I’m not sure I follow you, Alex.”
“How much the guy in charge—a corporal in a rifle squad, a station chief in the agency, an ambassador—gets told, official rules be damned, depends on how much the underling thinks the guy in charge can be trusted.”
Silvio considered that a moment and then said, “I have to ask, Alex. How much do you tell me?”
“When I got here, Mr. Ambassador, based on my previous experience with people in your line of work, I was careful when I told you what time it was. After a while, when I got to know you, I started telling you everything.”
“Thank you,” Silvio said, simply.
“Mr. Ambassador, I’d like to get on a secure line and let Castillo know what’s happened in Montevideo and here.”
“He should know, of course, and right away. But I can do it, Alex. You don’t have to.”
“Why don’t you let me do it, sir?” Darby replied. “I don’t feel guilty about going behind McGrory’s back.”
“Ouch!” Ambassador Silvio said. He paused thoughtfully. “Obviously what has happened, Alex, is that my close association with you has corrupted me. I just realized that I was happy that you offered to make the call. Thank you.”
He pushed the secure phone toward Darby.
VI
[ONE]
Executive Offices
Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H.
Fulda, Hesse, Germany
1105 6 August 2005
Otto Görner, managing director of Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H., reached for his private line telephone with his right hand without taking his eyes off the editorial on his desk. It was anti-American, blasting the President of the United States of America personally and the policies of the U.S.A. generally.
He had known from the first couple of sentences that he would not permit it to run in any of the Tages Zeitung newspapers. The author would then think—and more than likely share with his peers—unkind thoughts about the Amizaertlich editor in chief of the Tages Zeitung newspapers for killing a well-thought-out piece about what the Gottverdammt Amis had done wrong again.
By the fourth paragraph, Görner had realized—with some relief—that he would have killed the piece anyway based on its departure from what he regarded as the entirely Germanic editorial principles of the newspaper chain—in essence, to be fair—and not solely because running it would have offended the Ami who was the sole stockholder of Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H.
“Görner,” he growled into the telephone.
“Have you got any influence with the storm trooper guarding the parking lot?” a very familiar voice inquired in English. “He won’t let me in.”
“Speak of the devil,” Görner said.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Put him on, Karlchen,” Görner said as he rose quickly from his desk and went to his window, which overlooked the parking lot.
Carlos Guillermo Castillo, born Karl Wilhelm von und zu Gossinger, was standing by the red-and-white-striped barrier pole to the parking lot and extending a cellular telephone to the guard there of.
As the guard some what suspiciously put the cellular to his ear, Castillo looked up at the window, saw Görner, and blew him a kiss. The guard followed that gesture, too, with interest.
