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“Estancia Shangri-La,” Castillo corrected him without thinking.
“Whatever,” Delchamps went on, “in far-off Uruguay were professionals. And we have since learned that one of them was a heavy hitter Cuban spook. And Ace tells us the people who tried to snatch Uncle Billy on the Franz Joséf Bridge in romantic Budapest also were pros. As were the two you took down in the Gellért, right, Ace?”
Castillo nodded. “And they all had garrotes.”
“They all had what?” Doherty asked.
“It’s a device—these were stainless steel—not unlike the plastic handcuffs the cops are now using. They put it around your neck and choke you to death,” Castillo said.
“And what was that about you taking someone down in the Gellért? What’s the Gellért?”
“It’s a hotel, Jack, on the banks of the Danube,” Delchamps said. “You should take the little woman there sometime. Very romantic.”
“The man I lost in the Uruguayan operation was killed with a garrote,” Castillo said, softly. “The men who attempted to snatch Eric Kocian on the bridge in Budapest had both garrotes and a hypodermic needle full of a tranquilizer. The two men who went to Kocian’s hotel room in Budapest had garrotes. When Mr. Masterson was kidnapped in Buenos Aires, she was knocked out with a shot in her buttocks…”
“You had to kill two people in Budapest?” Doherty persisted.
Castillo nodded and went on: “The garrote was used routinely by only the East German Stasi and the Hungarian Allamvedelmi Osztaly and Allamvedelmi Hatosag…”
“Which are?” Doherty asked.
“They were the Hungarian version of the Stasi. Sándor Tor, Kocian’s bodyguard, told his people to find out if the two in the hotel were ex-AVO or ex-AVH. They were to call Dick here if that connection could be made. They haven’t called, which strongly suggests they were not AVO or AVH, leaving only Stasi. It fits, Edgar.”
“What fits?” Doherty asked.
“Off the top of your head, Jack,” Delchamps asked, sarcastically, “who—besides the Israelis and Ace here’s intrepid band of special operators—could mount, at just about the same time, professional snatch operations in Argentina, Uruguay, and Hungary?”
“You’re saying you think the KGB is involved in this?” Doherty asked, incredulously.
“No, Jack, not the KGB,” Delchamps said. “If we are to believe Mr. Putin, the bad old KGB, which he once led, is dead. It was replaced by the Federalnaya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti Rossiyskoy Federatsii, commonly called the FSB. And, yes, that thought has been running through my head.”
“It fits, Edgar,” Castillo repeated.
“Let’s see if great minds really run down the same path, Ace,” Delchamps said. “What
’s your scenario?”
“Putin’s afraid his role in this is going to come out,” Castillo began. “So get rid of the witnesses. Starting with Lorimer.”
“Starting with Lorimer’s number two, the guy who got whacked in Vienna,” Delchamps said.
“Right,” Castillo agreed. “And Lorimer, who suspected he was about to be whacked, put his Plan A into effect the moment he learned his pal was gone.”
“‘Plan A’?” Miller parroted.
“Get the hell out of Dodge,” Castillo said. “He already had his alter ego set up in Uruguay. And his nest egg. Plan A was to stay out of sight until they stopped looking for him.”
“Okay,” Miller said, agreeing.
“So when he disappeared, how to find him?” Castillo said. “Through his sister.”
“You don’t really think the FSB keeps dossiers on UN diplomats, do you?” Delchamps said. “Listing next of kin, things like that?”
Castillo nodded. “Why wouldn’t they?”
When Delchamps didn’t respond, he went on: “So they snatched his sister and told her they would kill her children if she didn’t locate her brother for them and then murdered her husband to show how serious they were.”
“So who is they?” Delchamps said. “The KSB? I don’t think so. But just for the sake of argument, let’s say that Putin, out of the goodness of his heart, found some sort of employment for a group of deserving Stasi types who had lost their jobs when the Berlin Wall came down. You never know when you’re going to need a good assassin.”
