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“How?”
“Don’t let him know you’re going to the States tomorrow. Tell him you’re going the day after tomorrow. Better yet, the day after that.”
“You mean stay here another forty-eight hours? I can’t do that. I want to get Munz’s family out of here as quickly as possible.”
“I didn’t suggest that you stay here for another forty-eight hours,” Silvio said.
Castillo met his eyes.
“You are a friend, aren’t you?” Castillo said after a moment.
“My advice is to go to Philadelphia and see Special Agent Schneider. From what I’ve seen of you two, she’s the only person in the world who can get your mind off this and that’s what you really have to do. Get your mind off everything about this for forty-eight hours so that when you go back to work you’ll be running on all eight cylinders.”
“It would be very nice to be running on all eight cylinders when I go to see Montvale. And almost suicidal not to be.” He paused, then met Silvio’s eyes again. “Thank you very much.”
Silvio nodded and waved at the swinging door leading to his living room.
[TWO]
Tony Santini was standing by the large picture window of the simply but richly appointed living room of the ambassador’s residence when Castillo and Silvio entered.
“Before we get into this, Charley,” Santini said, evenly, “where do you want Solez to sit on Yung? You were a little vague about that
.”
“Where are they now?”
“He called two minutes ago. They’re riding around in the park near the waterworks,” Santini said, gesturing toward the river Plate.
The Buenos Aires potable-water plant was near the river not far from the Jorge Newbery airfield, five minutes or so from the ambassador’s residence.
When Castillo didn’t immediately reply, Santini added, “Yung’s anxious to see you. And he’s got another FBI agent with him.”
“What’s that about?” Castillo wondered aloud, then went on immediately, “Is he in a black car?”
Santini shook his head. “An embassy BMW. We don’t have much of a fleet of black cars, Charley.”
“Mr. Ambassador, can I bring them here?” Castillo asked.
Silvio nodded and picked up a telephone from a side table and punched a button.
“This is Ambassador Silvio,” he said into the handset. “Mr. Solez and two others will be at the gate in a few minutes. Please see they are sent to my apartment.”
Castillo wondered aloud: “I hope his having somebody with him doesn’t mean that he’s hurt worse than we’ve heard.”
No one replied.
Santini was already on his cellular.
“Ricardo, come to the residence. You’re expected,” he said without any preliminaries, then broke the connection. Yung, Solez, and “Legal Attaché” Julio Artigas came into Silvio’s living room ten minutes later.
They made their manners to Ambassador Silvio, Santini, and Lowery, then Yung walked to Castillo.
Artigas was surprised at seeing Castillo: Jesus Christ, he’s not any older than I am. And he’s calling all the shots?
“You all right, Dave?” Castillo asked.
“I’m in much better shape than my Blazer, Major,” Yung said. “It has at least a half dozen double-aught buckshot holes in it.”
