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“I’m really glad to see you, Lowe,” Montvale said. “We have a situation here that requires someone of your experience, and I might add, of your reputation.”
“I’m here to serve, sir.”
“I just got off the horn with the DCI,” Montvale said. “He tells me there will be six very good officers of the Clandestine Service on the next American Airlines flight from Dallas to help deal with the problem.”
“Which is?”
“I can’t get into that here.” He turned to Sylvia Grunblatt. “Nothing personal, Mizz Grunblatt, but I’m afraid you don’t have the need-to-know.”
“Mr. Montvale, in Ambassador Silv
io’s absence, I am acting for him.” She lost her diplomatic cool at that moment, and added: “That makes me, as I’m sure you know, the senior officer of the United States in Argentina.”
Jesus, now the goddamned press agent is going to give me trouble?
“What you say may well be true, Mizz Grunblatt, but I have only your word for it. On the other hand, I have been—and Mr. Ellsworth has been—sent down here by the President of the United States personally, and until the President tells me otherwise, I’m not going to breach security. Do we understand one another?”
“I think we’ll let Ambassador Silvio decide who’s right,” Grunblatt said.
“I’m looking forward to that,” Montvale said. “What I need from you now, Mizz Grunblatt, is a vehicle to pick up these agency people in the morning.”
“Can’t help you,” she said. “For one thing, I told you there are no free vehicles; the ambassador needed everything in the garage. And, now that I think about it, inasmuch as I presume these six spooks are traveling as tourists, rather than government employees—much less accredited diplomatic personnel—I couldn’t order the use of government vehicles if I wanted to.”
“I’ll look forward to seeing you in the morning when I call on the ambassador, Miss Grunblatt,” Montvale said. “Where are you staying, Mr. Lowe?”
Sylvia Grunblatt answered for him: “I’m going to put him in the apartment recently vacated by the Darbys.”
“You can move in there tomorrow,” Montvale said. “We need to talk. I’ll put you up in the Alvear Plaza with us. Let’s go, gentlemen.”
The manager on duty at the Alvear was the epitome of courtesy and regret, but there wasn’t an available room of any type in the house. He could, however, remove the king-size bed in either Mr. Montvale’s suite or Mr. Ellworth’s, and replace it with two single beds.
“Put them in Mr. Ellsworth’s suite,” Montvale ordered, and turned to Ellsworth. “It’s only for one night, Truman.”
An otherwise marvelous dinner in the Alvear Palace’s La Bourgogne restaurant was tainted midway by the appearance of the manager on duty. He was profusely sorry to report that the single beds he had planned to put in Mr. Ellsworth’s accommodation had already been put into service. He had found another king-size bed, but regrettably, there was not room for it in Mr. Ellsworth’s room.
“Would Mr. Montvale possibly consider having it placed in his room?”
“It’s only for one night, Charles,” Truman Ellsworth said, dripping with compassion.
After dinner, I. Ronald Spears was dismissed with orders to find decent accommodations for the men who would arrive in the morning. He was ordered to meet their plane, install them in wherever he had found for them to stay, and then bring them to the Alvear.
Montvale, Ellsworth, and Lowe then went to the Lobby Bar for an after-dinner drink. It was crowded with people of good cheer, but not one of the patrons of either sex would ever see sixty—or maybe sixty-five—again.
They then all went to Montvale’s suite, where, after the hotel staff had very carefully—and thus very slowly—installed the extra king-size bed, Montvale explained the situation to the new CIA station chief, Buenos Aires.
“So what I would suggest you do, Bob, is send two of the guys coming in to Ushuaia, taking Spears with them. Maybe he can learn something from good officers.”
“I still have trouble accepting that Alex Darby is catting around down there with a hooker. ...”
“Maybe she’s not a hooker, Bob. It could be a midlife crisis and he’s in love. It could also be—unlikely but possible—that he’s sitting on these two Russians for Castillo down there. It sounds like something Colonel Castillo would think up. Anyway, I want two good men down there—with I. Ronald Spears—as soon as they can get there. And I want that town really searched. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the other ones, I think, should nose around the embassy. See if they can get anything from the DEA people, the FBI people, the Secret Service people. Someone has to know something about where to find Castillo and these Russians.”
“Yes, sir. As soon as they get here tomorrow, I’ll brief them on what we have, and what we want them to do.”
Montvale and Lowe went to bed in their adjoining king-size beds shortly thereafter.
