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When it was obvious that Yung wasn’t going to reply, Ordóñez continued.
“Until recently, he was head of SIDE. You know what that is?”
“I know what SIDE is,” Yung said.
“El Coronel Munz was recently retired,” Ordóñez said. “The word went around that he was retired because of his inability to quickly apprehend whoever it was who first kidnapped Mr. Masterson and then murdered her husband before her eyes.”
Yung said nothing. He took a sip of his scotch.
“The Argentines, unfortunately, are like that,” Ordóñez said. “They always like to divert blame from themselves. What’s the English phrase, ‘Find a scapegoat’?”
“Something like that.”
“The Argentine government can now say, ‘Why should we be embarrassed that a U.S. diplomat’s wife was kidnapped and the diplomat himself murdered on our soil? We have sent the man who should have prevented that from happening into disgraceful retirement for incompetence.’”
“That wasn’t very nice of them, was it?” Yung said.
“No. But that’s the way it is. And when the word got around that El Coronel Munz had shot himself while cleaning his pistol, many people thought that he had somehow missed while attempting to take his own life because of the shame his incompetence had brought down on his head.”
“Shot himself cleaning his pistol, did he?”
“You’re sure you don’t know at least who I’m talking about?”
Yung didn’t respond.
“How do I translate your silence and the inscrutable look on your face, David? That you do know Alfredo Munz—or at least who he is—or that you don’t?”
“Try, that’s one of the questions Yung doesn’t have to answer unless he wants to,” Yung said.
Ordóñez made a thin smile.
“Well, David, I was not one of those who believed that Munz was either incompetent or had shot himself while attempting suicide or cleaning his pistol.”
“You didn’t?”
“Not for a second. You see, David, Alfredo Munz is a close friend of mine—one might even say a dear friend.”
“Is that so?”
“We met because we were, so to speak, counterparts. He ran SIDE on his side of the river Plate and I ran —run— the Interior Police Division of the Uruguayan Policía Nacional on this side. Despite the innocuous name, my unit does for Uruguay what SIDE does for Argentina.”
“I didn’t know that, of course,” Yung said.
“Of course you didn’t,” Ordóñez said. “After all, you were just one of a dozen or so FBI agents in your embassy involved in nothing more than the investigating of money laundering, right?”
“If you say so.”
“Well, shortly after Alfredo and I started to work together, we learned—I’m sure to our mutual surprise—that we were both honest cops. Unfortunately, there aren’t that many of us in either Argentina or Uruguay.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Well, over the years, as Alfredo and I worked together on projects of mutual interest—for example, dignitary protection…”
“‘Dignitary protection’?”
“That involves the protection of our own officials, diplomats, and visiting dignitaries, such as heads of foreign states. Fidel Castro, for example. Did you know that when Fidel Castro visits Uruguay, he and the more important members of his entourage always stay at the Belmont House Hotel right down the street from here?”
“I think I heard that,” Yung said.
