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"For a while, I thought we had."
"But?"
"We were at the safe house in Pilar, just about to wind up putting things together-Inspector Doherty called it 'an investigation to determine what has to be investigated'-when Max caught you sneaking through the bushes."
"Oh."
"Opening the possibility that others may have put together what you did. So we quickly folded the tent and came home. And I again thought we'd come out clean. And then the President said, 'Go get Special Agent Timmons.' So now we're going to have to go back down there, and the whole thing is back at risk of being compromised."
"You don't have to go back to Uruguay, do you?"
"I wouldn't be surprised that as we try to do this, we'll have to go to Uruguay. And there's something else."
"What?"
"Lorimer's father is a retired ambassador. Apparently a very good guy. He lost his house in New Orleans to the hurricane. And he's decided that until things settle down, he wants to take his wife and go to Estancia Shangri-La, which he now owns."
"Uh-oh."
"Yeah. And-since he has a serious heart condition-the secretary of State thought it would be best if he didn't learn what a miserable sonofabitch his son was. He thinks the bastard was killed by roving bandits. Among the other impossible things I have to do, one is talk him out of going to Uruguay. Not only would it be dangerous for him and his wife-"
"Why?"
"The money, for one thing."
"What money?"
"The sixteen million. We have it, but they don't know that."
"You have it?" Lorimer asked, surprised.
Castillo nodded. "It's now the Lorimer Charitable amp; Benevolent Fund."
Which also now has forty-six million of illegal oil-for-food profits that Philip J. Kenyon of Midland, Texas, thought he had safely hidden from the IRS and the Justice Department-and everybody else-in the Caledonian Bank and Trust Limited in the Cayman Islands.
I don't think Lorimer has to know about that. I've already given him enough to think about.
Which means I've already told him too much.
"That's how we pay for everything," Castillo went on.
"I wondered about that," Lorimer said. "So what happens now?"
"Now we go to bed," Castillo said. "Not only is
my tail dragging, but I've learned-painfully-that the brilliant thoughts I have at one o'clock in the morning with half a bag on turn out to be stupid in the morning."
[THREE]
Valley View Ranch
North Las Vegas, Nevada 0835 3 September 2005 When Castillo, wearing a polo shirt and khaki slacks, walked out of the house to the pool, he found Tom McGuire, Jake Torine, and Lorimer, all in sports shirts and slacks, sitting at a table drinking coffee. He saw Casey's cook standing by an enormous stainless steel gas grill that apparently also functioned as an ordinary stove, and decided they were politely waiting for their host to show up before eating.
Jake nodded at Castillo but didn't speak.
"Eddie," Castillo ordered, "why don't you ask Sergeant Mullroney to join us for breakfast?"
Lorimer wordlessly got out of his chair and went into the house.
