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Castillo turned to Munz.
“The ranch is outside Midland, Texas, Alfredo. It’s been in my family for a very long time. It’s pretty large, even by Argentine standards. The reason for that is here you wonder how many head you can graze on one hectare. Out there, we wonder how many hectares it will take to feed one steer enough so that we can move him to a feeding pen. There’s a nice house; your family will be comfortable. Most important, it’ll be absolutely safe. There’s an airstrip which can’t be seen from the nearest road. No one will know who’s there. And you heard what I said to Joel about the Secret Service?”
Munz nodded. “Thank you, Karl.”
“Is that about it? Are we ready to move? Have we forgotten anything?”
“You can bet on that,” Santini said. “But, yeah, we better get moving.”
[FIVE]
Unicenter
Panamericana Highway
Buenos Aires, Argentina
1830 8 August 2005
David W. Yung, Jr., was more than a little embarrassed at the emotions he was feeling as he sat drinking a cup of hot chocolate with Julio Artigas at a small table in the food court, a collection of fast-food vendors on the top floor of the vast, multilevel shopping center.
He was sad and angry, emotions he knew were inappropriate for a special agent of the FBI, and especially for one who had just been assigned to the OOA and really wanted to stay there, which meant that he was going to have to prove he had the ability to be really calm and professional under pressure—not sad and really pissed-off.
He had just watched Colonel Alfredo Munz casually get up from another small round table forty feet away—one with a woman and two teenage girls sitting at it—and walk to the men’s room.
Except going to take a leak and wash his hands wasn’t what Munz was really doing.
What Munz was doing was carrying his family’s passports to Solez, who was waiting for him in the men’s room. What that in effect meant was that Munz was saying good-bye to his family for God only knew how long, turning them over to the protection of people—including a Chinese man with a bandaged hand—whom they had never seen before.
This showed on the girls’ faces. They were young and pretty, Yung thought. One was about sixteen years old, the other a little older—on the cusp of y
oung womanhood—and they were clearly frightened.
They should not be involved in something like this.
Goddamn these bastards!
The younger girl glanced at their table. Yung caught her eye and smiled at her, hoping it helped in some way tell her, It’s going to be okay.
She looked startled for a moment, then looked away.
I shouldn’t have done that. Someone may have seen it.
But, dammit, I wanted to give her some sign of encouragement.
As choreographed, Solez came out of the men’s room, fumbled through his pockets, and just perceptibly nodded at Yung and Artigas. He took a package of cigarettes from his pocket and, taking his time about it, lit one with a Zippo lighter.
Munz, also as planned, came out a moment later, took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, put one to his lips, then looked unsuccessfully for a lighter or match. He looked at Solez, then asked for a light. Solez produced his Zippo and lit Munz’s cigarette.
Munz looked very quickly at his wife and daughters, then headed for the escalator. Solez walked in the other direction, toward the elevator. This, too, was according to plan.
Castillo now appeared from the direction of the escalator. He feigned pleasant surprise when he noticed Yung and Artigas and walked to their table. They shook hands, patted backs, and made kissing gestures in the Argentine manner.
Now Señora Munz and the girls had seen all the players.
Castillo walked toward the elevator.
Artigas murmured, “See you at the terminal,” and got up and walked toward the escalator.
