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"And what you want to do, Mr. Ambassador," Delchamps said, softly, "is pass Charley's choppers off as just more government helicopters."
"Taking care of that nice, sick old man and his wife," Ambassador Lorimer said, smiling, then finishing his Sazarac. "Nothing to be concerned about by the indigenous personnel or the local police. The more activity here, I would suggest, Chief Inspector Ordonez, the better. All Colonel Castillo would have to do is make sure that none of his helicopters are here when yours are. A matter of scheduling, it would seem…"
"And we could move all the fuel we're going to need onto the estancia in the open," Castillo thought aloud.
"The fuel to service the police helicopters will be brought
to Shangri-La on Policia Nacional trucks," Ordonez offered.
"May I infer that this suggestion has been helpful?" Ambassador Lorimer asked.
"You have just saved our ass, Mr. Ambassador," Castillo said, and then, suddenly serious, added: "And very possibly the lives of Special Agent Timmons and the two Argentine gendarmes those bastards are holding."
Ambassador Lorimer locked eyes with Castillo a moment.
"If that's true, Colonel…"
"It's true, Mr. Ambassador."
"I was about to say that would please me very much. I'm familiar with the philosophy that vengeance is the Lord's. But I am a sinner, and I would very much like to think I did some harm to the people who took my son's life."
Castillo didn't reply.
"And that being the case," Lorimer went on, "don't you think a small celebratory taste would be in order?"
"Yes, sir, I would indeed."
[FOUR]
Estancia Shangri-La
Tacuarembo Province
Republica Oriental del Uruguay 0355 19 September 2005 When the radio went off-"Little Bo-Peep, Red Riding Hood One"-Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo, USA, wearing a dyed-black flight suit and puffing on a long, thin, nearly black cigar, was sitting at a somewhat unstable table. It was set up in a field about five hundred meters from the big house of Estancia Shangri-La and held a glowing Coleman lantern, two large thermos bottles of coffee, two insulated food containers, and the control console of an AFC communications system. Sipping coffee at the table were Chief Inspector Jose Ordonez of the Uruguayan Policia Nacional, U.S. Ambassador (Ret.) Philippe Lorimer, U.S. Army Chief Warrant Officer Five Colin Leverette, and Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC.
"Answer them, Lester," Castillo ordered as he glanced at the Huey-once glossy white but now looking tired and battered-fifty meters away that belonged to the Policia Nacional.
"Go, Red Riding Hood," Corporal Bradley said into his microphone.
"We're due east of you, on the deck. Estimate five minutes," the voice said over the console speaker.
Bradley looked at Castillo for instructions.
"Acknowledged. No wind. Look for automotive headlights," Castillo said.
"Acknowledged. No wind. Look for automotive headlights," Bradley repeated into the microphone.
Chief Inspector Ordonez stood up.
"I suppose I had best get back to Montevideo," Ordonez said.
Castillo stood up, too.
"That's probably a good idea," Castillo said.
He put out his hand.
"Thank you, Jose."
