"Joel went to Hall and got them for me."

"These would work, I think. Your call."

"It looks to me like a winner," Castillo said. "Thanks, Tony."

Santini made a deprecating gesture.

"The dips don't go to work until nine," he said. "So why don't you get yourself settled, and then about nine, take a taxi to the emba.s.sy?"

"Okay."

"Facing the emba.s.sy, to the right is the gate for employees. Use that one. The guards are Argentines. Flash the tin at one of them, and they'll escort you into the building, to Post One, where there's a Marine guard. Flash the tin at him, tell him you want to see me. I will appear and profess surprise at seeing Supervisory Special Agent Castillo, and get you a visitor's badge. Then we will arrange to b.u.mp into Lowery."

"Sounds good. A taxi? Not a remise?"

"A taxi to the emba.s.sy. There's no sense in letting SIDE know you went right from your hotel to the emba.s.sy."

Castillo asked for an explanation with a raised eyebrow.

"For a little background," Santini said, "the drivers of Palermo Remise are off-duty cops. That means they can carry guns. That's useful; there's a lot of bad guys here. The problem is I suspect the off-duty cops they send me are SIDE agents. If my cynicism is on the money, I've worked out an unspoken agreement with SIDE. I use their remises, the drivers report to SIDE where I go, and who I talk to. That way they don't have to put a tail on me. I just don't talk business in a remise."

"Understood," Castillo said.

"But generally-unless you don't want SIDE to know where you're going-Palermo Remise is a good idea," Santini said, and handed him a business card. "It never takes them much longer than ten minutes to pick you up, no matter where you are. They use cellulars."

Castillo nodded.

"Thanks, Tony."

Santini handed him a Motorola cellular telephone and a charger. Again, Castillo asked about it with a raised eyebrow.

"My personal cell number is Auto Four," Santini said. "My personal-unlisted-number is Five, and my office is Six. I've got a good Argentine administrative a.s.sistant, Daniel. As far as I know, As far as I know, he's not working for SIDE." he's not working for SIDE."

Castillo nodded his understanding.

"You can call the States with that, but it's about nine dollars a second, so don't spend hours chatting up your girlfriend."

"Who pays the bills for this? The Secret Service or the emba.s.sy?"

"The Secret Service. Which means me. Which means, I guess, Supervisory Agent Castillo, you can talk to your girlfriend as long as you want to."

Hi there, Betty. Charley Castillo. I was just sitting here in my hotel room in Buenos Aires wondering how things are going up there in Georgia, and thought I'd give you a call.

Yeah, I know they must be keeping you pretty busy there in agent school, or whatever the h.e.l.l they call it.

Sorry to bother you.

"Thanks, Tony."

Santini touched his arm.

"See you a little after nine," he said, and walked from the balcony, through the room, and out the door.

Charley took a shower. The only word to describe the bathroom was sumptuous. sumptuous. Except for the ceiling, everything was marble. There was both a Jacuzzi and a large shower stall, and a heated chrome rack on one wall held enough thick towels to dry an elephant. Except for the ceiling, everything was marble. There was both a Jacuzzi and a large shower stall, and a heated chrome rack on one wall held enough thick towels to dry an elephant.

He put on what he thought of as his "bureaucrat's uniform," a dark gray single-breasted suit with a white b.u.t.ton-down shirt and a striped necktie.

He looked at his watch and saw that it was five minutes past eight, which meant it was five minutes past seven in Washington. Calling Joel Isaacson to thank him for Santini would have to wait. And it didn't make sense to send an e-mail. For one thing, he didn't have much to say, except what Santini had told him. Maybe after he talked to the security guy at the emba.s.sy he would know more. And if by twelve-eleven in D.C.-he didn't know more, then he would send an e-mail saying just that: Nothing yet. Working on it. Best wishes. Sherlock Holmes. Nothing yet. Working on it. Best wishes. Sherlock Holmes.

He reached for the telephone to call room service and then changed his mind. He would have coffee in the lobby. If there was nothing else to attract his attention- and he thought there was a good chance there would be; the only other place he knew where there were so many good-looking women was Budapest-he'd have a look at the Buenos Aires Herald. Buenos Aires Herald.

He thought for a moment about what to do with Gossinger's pa.s.sport and credit cards, and then put them in the padding of the laptop case. It was always awkward to be found with two sets of identification.

He walked down the corridor to the bank of elevators and pushed the down-arrow b.u.t.ton. The door opened almost immediately, and he found himself looking at a slim man in his early forties, with shortly cropped, thinning hair. He wore a light brown single-breasted suit and a subdued necktie. He would not stand out in a crowd.

"Either you're a much better actor than I've previously given you credit for being, or that startled look is genuine," the man said.

So it was Pevsner's 767 at Ezeiza. I wonder what the h.e.l.l they're doing in Buenos Aires?

"Good morning, Howard," Castillo said.

"I would say, 'How are you?'" Howard Kennedy said. "But I think the more important question is 'Who are you to day?'"

"Today my name is Castillo," Charley said. "How about you?"

"Charley Castillo, intrepid Green Beret? Or Charley Castillo of the Secret Service?"

It was a high-speed elevator. The door opened onto the lobby as Castillo's mouth opened. There were people-a family, husband, wife, and two teenaged boys-waiting to get on the elevator.

"The latter, Howard," Castillo said as he got off the elevator.

Kennedy waited until no one was within hearing.

"So what brings you to Gaucho Land, Charley?" he asked.

"I'll tell you what I'm doing here if you tell me what you are."

"Over a cup of coffee? I'll buy. I know from painful experience how little the government pays its law enforcement agents, even the very good ones."

"Flattery, and the offer of a free cup of coffee, will get you everywhere."

Kennedy smiled and touched Castillo's arm.

"This is probably very foolish of me, but I'm really glad to see you."

Castillo smiled at him.

"I'm not sure if I'm glad to see you, or just overwhelmed with curiosity."

Kennedy chuckled and led the way to the nice restaurant set for breakfast and lunch, an open area furnished with low tables and leather-and-chrome armchairs.

A waitress-a stunning young woman with long legs and large dark eyes-appeared almost immediately. They ordered coffee.

"And bring some pastry, please," Kennedy added. When she had gone, he said, "Very nice. I envy you your bachelor status."

"I saw the Pan Arabic 767 at Ezeiza," Charley said. "I wondered if it was yours."

"My, you are observant, aren't you? It got in at an obscene hour, and I came here to take a shower and a nap. And then, surprise, surprise!"

"You were going to tell me what you're doing here."

"We brought a load of tapestries and other decorations from Riyadh for the King Faisal Islamic Center, and we're going to take back two dozen polo ponies, and cases of boots and saddles and other accoutrements, for the game of kings."

"So you're now a horse trader?"

"Your turn, Charley."

"There's a personnel problem at the emba.s.sy. They sent me down to see what it really is."

"Instead of what the amba.s.sador is saying it is?"

Castillo nodded. "Something like that."

The waitress appeared with coffee and pastry.

"That was quick," Kennedy said.

He reached for a pet.i.t four. pet.i.t four.

Castillo said, "My grandfather used to say the only things the Argentines do consistently well is eat."

Kennedy chuckled. "You going to tell me the nature of the personnel problem at the emba.s.sy?"

"Just as soon as you tell me what you're really doing here."

Kennedy smiled at him. "Now that I think about it, I really don't give much of a d.a.m.n about personnel problems in the emba.s.sy."

"On the other hand, I'd really like to know what you're really doing here."

"I'm sure you would. But you're going to have to be satisfied with that it is neither illegal nor inimical to the interests of the United States."

"I could ask for no more," Castillo said, and then asked, "You ever see that Mel Gibson movie where they kidnap his kid?"

"No. I can't say that I have. I'd love to know why you're asking."

"It was the in-flight movie. I fell asleep in the middle, and I've been wondering how it turned out."

"I think you're serious."

"They kidnapped his kid, and he had to decide to pay the ransom, which his wife and the FBI wanted him to do, or not pay."

Kennedy shook his head.

"In a previous employment," Kennedy said, "I worked a half dozen big-dollar kidnappings. Big-dollar kidnappings are usually either inside jobs, in which case a couple of good interrogators can usually find out who done it in a matter of hours. Or they're professional jobs, in which case the victim is kept alive only long enough for them to collect the ransom. Phrased somewhat indelicately, if you pay the ransom, you lose the victim and and the money. Does that satisfy your curiosity, Charley? What did Gibson do?" the money. Does that satisfy your curiosity, Charley? What did Gibson do?"

"I told you I fell asleep before that happened."

"And now you'll lie awake nights wondering about it," Kennedy said sarcastically, and then asked, "How long are you going to be here, Charley?"

Castillo raised both hands in a Who the h.e.l.l knows? Who the h.e.l.l knows? gesture. gesture.

"Maybe we can have dinner," Kennedy said, "or drinks."

"I'd like that."

"How do I get in touch with you?"

"Here, I suppose."

"You don't have a cellular? Or you're not going to give me the number? Which?"

"You show me yours and I'll show you mine."

"Deal."

They exchanged cellular phones.

I know how come I have a cellular, even though I just got here.

So where did you get yours, Howard? Maybe you didn't just arrive in the obscene hours of the morning?

"Rushed right from the plane to the cellular store, did you, Charley?"

"Howard, it's not nice-didn't your mommy tell you?-to read other people's minds. But, to satisfy your curiosity, I got mine from the Secret Service guy here. The Secret Service takes care of its own. Where did you get yours?"

"I borrowed it from a friend."

"Sure."

Kennedy looked at him and smiled, but didn't respond directly. He handed Charley's cellular back to him.

"I'd love to push the autodial b.u.t.tons on that, and see who answers."

"Who do you think might answer?"

"They call the FBI guys in emba.s.sies 'legal attaches,' I guess you know."

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Castillo responded, "none of the autodial b.u.t.tons will call the FBI. I don't even know anybody in the FBI here. As a matter of fact, I just learned they don't even have an FBI detachment, or whatever, at the emba.s.sy. What about your b.u.t.tons?"