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“As one professional to another, Colonel Castillo, can we get this over with quickly?” Murov asked, in Russian.
“Do you speak Hungarian, Mr. Monteverde?” Castillo asked, in Hungarian.
Monteverde’s face showed he did not.
“Pity,” Castillo said, in Russian. “Hungarian seems to have become the lingua franca of interrogations like this. Now you won’t know what Mr. Murov and I are talking about, will you?”
Monteverde’s face showed he understood this.
Castillo then said in Hungarian: “As a matter of personal curiosity, Mr. Murov—though it doesn’t really matter—when did you become aware of President Clendennen’s mental instability? Before or after he became President?”
“It wasn’t much of a secret, was it, Colonel?” Murov replied.
“Lester, where’s the cigarettes I asked for for these gentlemen?” Castillo asked.
Janos gave a quick order in Hungarian, and the waiter walked to Lester and handed him a package of Sobranie cigarettes.
Bradley looked at them dubiously.
“Those are Sobranie, Les,” Castillo explained. “I don’t know whether those are Russian made or the ones they make in London.”
“Huh?” Lester said.
“Cigarettes are very bad for your health, Lester. I wouldn’t smoke one of those, if I were you.”
“No, sir, I hadn’t planned to,” Bradley said.
Everyone on the patio—including Murov and Monteverde—looked askance at the exchange.
Lester walked to Murov and Monteverde, handed them cigarettes, then lit them for them.
“Thank you,” Monteverde said.
“Beware of either Americans or Hungarians bearing gifts,” Castillo said in Hungarian. “Especially counterfeit Russian cigarettes.”
Pevsner and Tarasov smiled and shook their heads.
Monteverde eyed his cigarette suspiciously.
“It’s soaked with sodium pentothal, of course,” Castillo said, in Spanish. “My protocol is to use that before pulling fingernails and doing other things like that.”
Monteverde’s face showed that he was perfectly willing to accept that.
I think I’ve got him.
“Tell me, Señor Monteverde,” Castillo then went on in Spanish, “when you were in Cuba, did you happen to run into Major Alejandro Vincenzo?”
Monteverde’s face showed that he had, and was surprised that Castillo knew of the Cuban Dirección General de Inteligencia officer.
“No,” he said.
“He got in a gun fight with Lester in Uruguay,” Castillo said, conversationally. “Right out of the O.K. Corral. Lester put him down with a head shot, offhand, from at least one hundred yards. That’s why we call him ‘Dead Eye.’”
Monteverde looked at Castillo as if he couldn’t believe what Castillo had just said.
“Well, those things happen in our line of business, don’t they?” Castillo said. “Sometimes people just don’t make it.”
He let that sink in for a moment, and then said, “Lester, why don’t you take Mr. Monteverde back where he came from? What we’re going to do next is see if Colonel Alekseeva and Chief Pena can’t talk Señor Monteverde into making the right decisions tonight, before things get unpleasant.”
