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Jack Britton said: "Little Red Riding Hood--"
" 'Under Britches,'" Castillo automatically corrected him. "Little Red Under Britches."
"I'd love to know the etymological root of that," Sandra Britton said.
"--doesn't know that Sandra's a professor," Jack Britton finished.
Sandra added: "And while I don't think I could render the lady colonel hors de combat with a karate chop, I am famous for my icy stare's ability to silence a roomful of obstreperous students."
"Jack, did the State Department issue you a diplomatic passport?"
"The embassy gave us both one the minute we walked in the door. I don't even know what it's good for."
"It identifies you as a diplomat," Castillo explained. "Which means you can't be searched and then arrested for carrying a concealed weapon."
"Really?" Sandra said. "When do I get my gun?"
"Do you know how to use one?"
"Sherlock here took me shooting on our honeymoon."
"You sure you want to get involved?"
"You said there may be a connection between all the things that have happened. And in the course of one of those things, my new car and house got shot up. Hell yes I want to get involved."
"Congratulations, Mrs. Britton," Castillo said formally. "You are now a member of the Office of Organizational Analysis. Just as soon as we have a moment, I'll get you on the horn with Agnes Forbison and we'll get you on the payroll."
"You're serious," Jack Britton, surprised, declared out loud.
"In the words of your bride, 'Hell yes.' "
Castillo had just decided that Sandra Britton being here was a fortunate happenstance.
He had also just realized that neither Darby nor Santini had opened their mouths, not even to ask questions.
That could be because my briefing was brilliant, covering absolutely everything that needed to be said.
No questions necessary.
More likely, however, it's because they don't like what they heard and are deciding how and when they can tactfully suggest to the boss that he's about to fuck up by the numbers.
When Castillo walked over to the quincho with the Brittons, Alex Darby, and Tony Santini, sitting on its verandah were Alfredo Munz, Edgar Delchamps, and Jack Davidson. Munz was holding a bottle of Coca-Cola; Delchamps and Davidson, liter bottles of Quilmes beer.
"Kensington?" Castillo asked.
"With our guests," Delchamps said, jerking his thumb toward the interior of the quincho.
"Everybody up to speed?" Castillo asked.
"Ace, is this where you ask, 'Any questions or comments?' " Delchamps said.
Castillo shrugged. "Okay. Any questions or comments?"
"Charley," Darby said, "you're aware that there is a U.S. government agency that's charged not only with trying to get the bad guys--and girls, come to think of it--to change sides but has all the facilities in place to deal effectively with them. Yes? They call it the CIA."
"I've heard that."
"With that in mind," Darby went on, "now that you've gotten Berezovsky and family safely out of Europe--where, I suspect, they were about to be grabbed by the Sluzhba Vnezhney Razvedki and/or the Federal'naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti, which, I also presume you know is charged with keeping defectors from defecting--"
