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“For as long as it takes,” Castillo said. “Fernando, we don’t know who these people are, but we have to presume they have access to credit card databases, hotel registries, all of that sort of thing. Christ, Howard Kennedy even knew where I was when I used my cell phone! The minute Munz’s family used a credit card, checked into a hotel, these bastards would know it. At the ranch, they won’t use credit cards. And when they talk to Colonel Munz, they’ll do it over the Secret Service communications system or a Delta Force radio. No one’s going to locate them because they’ll be invisible. If you can think of a better place I can put them, tell me.”
Fernando, shaking his head, threw up both hands in a gesture of resignation.
“I don’t like it, Carlos.”
Castillo looked at his wristwatch.
“It’s now eleven minutes after eight,” he said. “If all goes the way we hope, the following things are going to happen: In the next couple of minutes, we’ll hear from Solez, reporting that he met Artigas at the Buquebus terminal. Next—I’m guessing about eight-thirty—we’ll hear from Yung that Señora Munz and the girls are in a taxi at Unicenter and headed for the terminal. Forty-five minutes or so after that—at 2115—we should hear from Artigas that they arrived all right and are in the process of getting on the boat. Fifteen minutes after that, we should hear that the boat has sailed. And three and a half hours—give or take—after that, we should hear from Yung and Artigas that they’re in Montevideo and on their way to the Belmont House Hotel in Carrasco. When that happens, we can go to bed.”
“Where, Charley?” Torine asked.
“You, me, and Fernando in the Four Seasons. There’s no way we can get Max in there, Billy, which means you and Sándor will stay here.”
“There’s only one guest room,” Sieno said. “But it has two double beds.”
“Max has been in the best hotels in Europe,” Kocian said. It was a challenge.
“And I bet a lot of people talked about that, didn’t they?” Castillo said, evenly. “The subject is not open for debate.”
“And what am I to be fed?” Kocian asked.
“I was just thinking about that,” Castillo said. “Obviously, we can’t go to a restaurant. What about takeout? What’s the name of that steak place by the embassy?”
“The Rio Alba,” Sieno furnished.
“What about calling them after Santini checks in and get them to make half a dozen large lomos and a salad to match, plus papas Provençal, and then have Santini and Solez pick it up on their way here? It’s almost on their way.”
“Good idea,” Torine said.
“Lomo?” Kocian asked, dubiously. Then, in Hungarian, added, “Some native dish, presumably? And what in God’s name are papas whatever you said?”
“And ask for some bones for Max,” Castillo said, ignoring him. “And a couple of bottles of wine.”
“Is the wine drinkable in this country?” Kocian asked.
“I think you will find it entirely satisfactory, Úr Kocian,” Sieno said, in Hungarian. “And the beef is the best in the world. A lomo is filet mignon. The ones from Rio Alba weigh half a kilo. Papas Provençal are pommes frites with parsley, etcetera.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you speak Hungarian?” Kocian demanded.
“I thought everybody did,” Sieno said, straight-faced. “I know the colonel does.”
Kocian saw the smile on Sándor Tor’s face.
“You find this amusing, do you, Sándor?” Kocian demanded.
“I think everybody does, Úr Kocian,” Torreplied.
Castillo’s cellular vibrated.
“¿Hola?”
“I just gave those papers to Artigas,” Tony Santini announced without preliminaries. “Want us to stick around until the bus leaves?”
“I don’t think so, Tony,” Castillo replied after a moment. “I’m afraid you might be recognized. And when Yung gets there, he’s obviously not an Argentine. Solez and Artigas can pass. So tell Solez to stick around and then take a cab here.”
“I was thinking of giving Artigas my car,” Santini said. “That’d give them wheels when they get there. And it’s an embassy car with a radio and CD plates, so no trouble getting it…”
“Good idea.”
