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“In Belgrano,” Sieno replied, chuckling. “Fifteen-sixty-eight Arribeños.”
Belgrano was one of Buenos Aires’s upscale neighborhoods.
“What’s there?”
“My apartment, Major,” Sieno said. “Sixteenth floor.”
“Your apartment?”
“The Cuban embassy is on the next corner. We use the apartment to take pictures of people going into the embassy and to grab their radio transmissions. Not exactly a safe house, but there’s a steel door and TV monitors, and Alex Darby figured it will do until you decide what you really need.”
“He’s a colonel now,” Solez called from the backseat, and added for Castillo, “Doña Alicia sent me an e-mail.”
“You and Doña Alicia have big mouths,” Castillo said and then asked Sieno, “Where is Alex Darby?”
“I’m hoping he’ll be at the apartment when we get there.”
“And Tony Santini?”
“Your Major Miller called Darby, Maj—Colonel—and asked him to have somebody meet the seven twenty-five American Airlines flight from Miami. Tony said he’d do it. I overheard enough of the conversation to think that the corporal—from the Marine guard detachment at the embassy—you took to the States and some other military type, a replacement for the guy you lost, will be on it.”
I wonder what the hell that’s all about? Castillo thought, and then said it: “What’s that about?”
“I don’t have any idea, but Alex should be at the apartment when we get there and he’ll know.”
“Paul, can you get out of the habit of calling me Colonel? My name is Charley.”
“Sure.”
“And you, Ricardo, get in the habit of keeping your mouth shut.”
“You going to tell Abuela that, Colonel Gringo?” Fernando asked, coming to Ricardo’s aid.
Castillo ignored him and asked, “Where’s Sergeant Kensington?”
“All alone—except for his radio, of course—in that luxury suite of yours in the Four Seasons,” Solez said.
“Darby decided keeping him there, and the radio linkup, was more important than worrying about what that’s costing,” Sieno said. “At least until he heard from you.”
“I am often known as the last of the big spenders,” Castillo said.
He had a sudden flash of memory: Betty Schneider in his arms in the enormous bed in the master bedroom of the El Presidente de la Rua suite at the Four Seasons Hotel.
And then these bastards shot her.
And I didn’t—as promised—go to see her before I started this round of the Grand Tour of Europe and South America.
I’m either a dedicated professional who allows nothing to get in the way of carrying out the mission or a four-star, world-class prick.
And if Betty believes the latter, who can blame her?
Well, I’ll get on my knees, apologize, and beg for forgiveness when I see her.
[TWO]
The apartment building at 1568 Avenida Arribeños was on the corner of Avenida José Hernandez, a block off Avenida Libertador. The lobby, behind walls of plate glass, was brightly lit, and Castillo wondered if the Cubans—tit for tat—might be keeping it under surveillance.
Rule 17: Always give the bad guys more credit for smarts than they probably deserve. If Darby is working on their embassy, they almost certainly know it. They may not be able to do anything to stop the snooping, but they certainly can take pictures of everybody going into the apartment building and pass them around.
