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Christ, he’s got us!
“José, there’s a very strict rule that n
othing surreptitious—especially using Special Forces—can take place in a country without the ambassador’s knowledge and approval.”
“Yes, I know,” Ordóñez said. “But let me go on. All of these questions were in my mind when I went to the English hospital during the autopsy procedures on Mr. Lorimer and the Ninjas. And then, looking at the Ninja who had been shot in the head, I had the strangest feeling that I had seen him before.”
“Had you?”
“It took me thirty-six hours to remember when and where,” Ordóñez said. “And then I took out my photo album—and there it was. A photograph of Fidel Castro standing in front of the Belmont House Hotel with three familiar faces in the background. El Coronel Alfredo Munz, me, and Major Alejandro Vincenzo of the Cuban Dirección General de Inteligencia.”
“Jesus H. Christ!” Yung blurted. “Are you sure?”
Ordóñez nodded slowly. “We generally make a practice of getting fingerprints of people like that who visit our country. We have yours, for example. I checked the prints. Major Vincenzo of the Cuban DGI, who came here as Castro’s security chief, was one of the Ninjas who died at Estancia Shangri-La of a Special Forces bullet in his brain.”
“They were Cubans?”
“We could not match the prints of any of the others, but there is no question about Vincenzo.” Ordóñez stood up. “If I may, friend David, I will have another Famous Grouse while you decide what help you can offer me.”
“What the hell was a Cuban doing at the estancia?” Yung blurted.
Ordóñez laughed.
“You will forgive me if I say that your reaction is as transparent as was Ambassador McGrory’s? You were genuinely surprised to hear that, weren’t you, Señor Inscrutable?”
“Yeah, I was,” Yung said.
“May I start asking questions?”
“I’ll tell you what I can,” Yung said.
He thought, Now I really wish I was Castillo. I’m in way over my head here.
“Let’s start with the most important thing to me,” Ordóñez said from the bar. “Why are you protecting the Munz family? And from whom?”
“Munz is concerned for their safety.”
“What concern of that is yours?”
“We owe him.”
“Why?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“You will forgive me if I suspect it has something to do with his wound,” Ordóñez said. “Which poses more questions, including the original one: from whom?”
“We don’t know. The people who murdered Masterson, probably.”
“They would be the same people who sent the Ninjas to the estancia, do you think?”
“That sounds reasonable, but we don’t know.”
“And from the Russian mafioso, Pevsner?”
“Possibly, maybe even probably.”
“Let me be honest with you, David. I am very relieved to find that Munz trusts you with the lives of his family. That means you can be counted among the good guys.”
