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The waiters quickly poured the champagne, and then walked around, offering it on trays to everyone.
“I give you . . .” Hotelier said, raising his glass.
“Whoa!” Castillo said. “Two things before we do that, if you please. One, why are we talking about such things with these fellows in here passing the champagne?”
“They work for me,” “Investment Banker” said. “They are trustworthy.”
“Somewhat reluctantly—I’m paranoid on the subject of who gets to hear what—I’ll give you a pass on that.”
“Thank you,” Investment Banker said. “Anything else, Colonel?”
“One more thing,” Castillo said. “Two-Gun, give the nice man the envelope.”
David W. Yung had earned the moniker “Two-Gun” when he and Edgar Delchamps were about to pass through customs into Argentina. Yung was at the time a legal attaché—the euphemism for FBI agent—accredited to both Argentina and Uruguay, and thus immune to laws regarding the carrying of firearms. Delchamps enjoyed no such immunity; if found in possession of a weapon, he would have been arrested. The problem had been solved by his giving Yung his Colt Officer’s Model .45 ACP pistol to carry through customs—thus resulting in Yung’s immediately being dubbed “Two-Gun.”
Yung walked to Investment Banker and handed him a large manila envelope. It was fully stuffed and held together with thick rubber bands.
“And this is?” Investment Banker said.
“I’ve been told it contains two hundred thousand dollars in circulated currency,” Castillo said. “I never opened it.”
“The funds we sent to you?”
“Correct. I wanted you to have them in case you were thinking your money had anything to do with the success of Operation March Hare.”
“Did you really think you could put my Carlos in your pocket for a miserable two hundred thousand dollars?” Señorita Barlow demanded.
“Señorita Barlow,” Annapolis said reasonably, “that was all that Colonel Castillo asked for.”
“Score one for the Navy, Sweaty,” Castillo said.
During her association with the Merry Outlaws, “Svetlana” had quickly morphed first to “Svet” and then even more quickly to “Sweaty.”
Annapolis pressed his advantage.
“We stood willing to provide whatever was asked for,” he said.
“Yeah,” Aloysius Casey said, “but you thought you were buying something that wasn’t for sale.”
“It seems to me,” Investment Banker said, “if I may say so, that our problem has been one of communication . . .”
“I just told you what our problem was,” Casey interrupted. “You thought you were buying something that wasn’t for sale.”
“It seems to me, if I may say so,” Delchamps said sarcastically, “that the Irishman has just put both thumbs on the problem. You thought you owned us for two hundred thousand.”
There was silence for a moment, then Investment Banker said, “If I may continue, gentlemen?”
He interpreted the silence that followed to mean there was no objection, and he went on: “If either of us had, when suspicions arose, contacted the other . . .”
“You were suspicious of us?” Yung challenged sarcastically.
“Yes, indeed, Counselor,” Investment Banker said. “Perhaps I was being paranoid, but when the Locator suddenly showed Colonel Castillo to be halfway between Budapest and Vienna—on a Danube riverboat that has the reputation of being a floating brothel—when last we’d heard he was on the Lopez Fruit and Vegetables Mexico property, I began to question Dr. Casey’s data, and thought we might be having a problem.”
“I thought putting Charley on the Love Boat was a nice touch,” Delchamps said smugly.
Casey explained: “We were just a little worried that one of you might tell Montvale, or maybe even Clendennen, that Charley was in Mexico—and where.”
President Clendennen recently had appointed Charles W. Montvale to be his Vice President. He had previously been director of National Intelligence.
