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[FIVE]
Office of the Ambassador
The Embassy of the United States of America
Avenida Colombia 4300
Palermo, Buenos Aires, Argentina
1025 3 August 2005
“Please come in, Mr. Ambassador,” Ambassador Juan Manuel Silvio, the American ambassador in Buenos Aires, said to Ambassador Michael McGrory. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”
Silvio was a tall, lithe, fair-skinned, well-tailored man with an erect carriage and an aristocratic manner. He was younger than Ambassador Michael McGrory and, despite five years less service in the Foreign Service than McGrory, had a far more important embassy. McGrory didn’t like him.
He was honest enough to admit to himself, however, that his rationale for bringing the Tacuarembó whatever it was to Silvio went beyond the fact that he had a photograph of the late Mr. Masterson, who had been Silvio’s deputy. He suspected that, whatever it was, he was liable to see egg on his face when the matter got to the State Department. McGrory knew it was better that there be egg on two faces rather than his alone.
The two shook hands.
Silvio then offered his hand to Julio Artigas and said, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure?”
“My name is Artigas, sir. How do you do?”
“Artigas is one of my legal attachés,” McGrory said. “And this is my cultural attaché, Mr. Howell.”
“We’ve met,” Silvio said. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Howell. I know you know Alex, but I’m not sure if Mr. Artigas does.”
“No, sir,” Artigas said and shook hands with a small, plump man with a pencil-thin mustache.
“Alex Darby,” the man said.
“And I know Howell and Darby know each other,” Silvio said. “What is it that they say about birds of a feather?”
McGrory thought: He might have just as well come out and said, “These two are CIA.”
“Hey, Bob,” Darby said. “Long time no see.”
“Too long,” Howell replied. “We’re really going to have to get together.”
Silvio’s secretary rolled in a coffee tray.
“Unless it’s someone important like my wife or the secretary, no calls, please,” Silvio said.
When the door had closed, Silvio went on: “You said you’d come across something that might have a bearing on what happened to Jack Masterson, Mr. Ambassador?”
“Artigas,” McGrory ordered, “show Ambassador Silvio the picture.”
Artigas opened his briefcase and took out the photograph of the wedding party. He stood up, walked over to Silvio, and handed it to him. Silvio looked at it, then handed it to Darby.
“Where’d you get this?” Darby asked.
“Do you recognize the people?” McGrory said.
“Yeah, I do. That’s Jack and Betsy at their wedding. And her parents, and Jack’s, and her brother.”
“You know who that man is?” McGrory asked.
