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“Getting himself garroted,” Castillo said, softly.
“No shit? How the hell did that happen? Kranz was no amateur.”
“Neither, obviously, were the bad guys. It was a stainless steel garrote, with handles.”
“Well, who the hell were they?”
“I don’t know, Vic. There ensued a brief exchange of small-arms fire, during which three more of the bad guys met their fate. Kensington found the last of them, number six, lying on the ground near Kranz. Seymour had gotten a knife into him before going down.”
“And Kensington finished him off?”
Castillo nodded.
“Understandable—those two went way back together—but inexcusable. He should have remembered that dead people don’t talk much.”
“I mentioned that to him,” Castillo said.
“So you hauled your ass out of wherever you were?”
“After Kensington took a 9mm bullet out of the ex-SIDE guy.”
“And what was in the a safe?”
“An address book and withdrawal slips for the money Lorimer had squirreled away in Uruguayan banks.”
“You got the money? What did you say, sixteen million?”
“I think we should have it first thing in the morning.”
“And what’s in the address book?”
“It’s in code. It’ll be at Fort Meade at eight this morning. When they do their thing, I’ll be able to have a good look. Anyway, we got the hell out of there and the hell out of South America.”
“Seymour? You didn’t leave him there?”
“We left Lorimer and the six bad guys there—no identification on any of them—and dropped Kranz off at MacDill on the way to Washington.”
“And then you came here. Why?”
“I wanted your opinion, Vic.”
“Well, that’s a first.”
“Mr. Masterson told me the bad guys wanted Lorimer and that was why they executed Masterson, to make the point they were willing to kill to find him. Well, he’s been found. The bad guys are going to hear that he’s dead. Does that remove the threat from the Masterson family?”
“Unless the bad guys really want their sixteen million back.”
“We don’t know that it’s the bad guys’ sixteen million. Or that they know we have it. They may have been after Lorimer just to shut him up….”
“Or both,” D’Allessando said. “Whack him and get their money back.”
“Or both,” Castillo admitted. “Anything happen here to suggest they’re watching her?”
“Not a thing. We have taps on all the phones, including the cellulars. Nothing. And no tourists at the plantation, either.”
“I’d like to tell her I think the threat is gone.”
“And I’d like to take my guys back to the stockade,” D’Allessando said. “They’re getting a little antsy. I didn’t tell them why they’re here, and they’re starting to think of themselves as babysitters. Thank God the widow—and Masterson’s father—are such good people.”
