"But most important, he was not only American, which would keep the Americans off his scent, but he was an anti-American American. Possibly because he was black. Maybe not. But his being black was something else that would keep the Americans from looking too closely at him."

"And his name is Jean-Paul Lorimer," Castillo said. "And I want to know where he is."

"Just to satisfy an old man's curiosity, Karl, how long have you Americans known about Lorimer?"

"Not long. Where is he, Herr Kocian?"

"Possibly out there," Kocian said, gesturing toward the stained-gla.s.s windows lining two walls of the baths.

"You mean in Budapest?"

"I meant in the Danube," Kocian said. "Or possibly in the Seine."

"What makes you so sure he's dead?"

"Or possibly in a cell somewhere, where they are asking him for names, so there will be fewer witnesses around. But if I had to bet, I'd bet on one of the two rivers."

"What was his connection with Henri Douchon?"

"Ah, now I know why you came to see me. Otto told you about him."

"That's part of it. What about Douchon?"

"He was one of Lorimer's a.s.sistant paymasters," Kocian said. "He handled Lebanon, Egypt, Cyprus, and Turkey . . . maybe some other places, but that's all I've been able to confirm."

"Who killed him?"

"If I had to bet, I'd say either the French or the Egyptians. Possibly the Germans, or maybe even the Turks. I just don't know, but I'd bet on the French or the Egyptians."

"And you think the same people killed Lorimer?"

"The list of people who wanted to silence Lorimer includes all of the above, plus Russians, Syrians, Iranians. . . . It's a long list, Herr Gossinger."

"You don't think Lorimer would be in hiding somewhere?" Castillo asked.

"I think he might have tried to hide, after he saw what they had done to M'sieu Douchon."

"And you're sure he knew about that?"

"An old friend of mine in Vienna showed me photos of Lorimer entering and leaving Douchon's apartment in Vienna. They were taken after after someone had pulled his teeth and carved him up. After that, Mr. Lorimer disappeared. It could be, of course, that he was taken bodily into heaven, but I think it far more likely that someone besides the Austrian someone had pulled his teeth and carved him up. After that, Mr. Lorimer disappeared. It could be, of course, that he was taken bodily into heaven, but I think it far more likely that someone besides the Austrian Geheimpolizei Geheimpolizei were keeping an eye on that Cobenzlga.s.se apartment to see if Lorimer might show up, and they grabbed him." were keeping an eye on that Cobenzlga.s.se apartment to see if Lorimer might show up, and they grabbed him."

"We know that somebody bought a train ticket to Paris on his UN American Express card," Castillo said. "Let's say it was Lorimer himself. They didn't grab him in Vienna, in other words. Let's say they didn't grab him in Paris, either. If he saw what happened to Douchon, he was watching his back. Let's say he got on the train, and didn't go to Paris because he thought they might be looking for him there. So, say he got off the train in Munich. Or didn't even get on the train to Paris. He could have bought a ticket to Paris on his credit card, then bought another for cash to . . . anywhere. Maybe even to Budapest."

"That's possible, of course," Kocian said. "But I don't think you're going to be able to find him."

"If he was going to hide-and why wouldn't he have thought of having someplace to hide if something went wrong?-where do you think he might have gone?"

"Anywhere," Kocian said. "The south of France. Lebanon. Maybe even the United States. Anywhere. Who knows?"

"You didn't mention South America," Castillo said. "Argentina or-"

Castillo stopped in midsentence, surprised when Kocian flashed Otto Goerner an angry look. This caused Kocian to look at him.

"Why not South America?" Castillo pursued.

Yeah. Why not? Did these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds abduct Mrs. Mastersonin Buenos Aires and murder her husband in South America because when they couldn't find Lorimer here, they figured he might be in South America, and if his sister was there, she would probably know where he was? Or that he was there because she was?

"Otto, have you been talking to our Little Karlchen about South America?" Kocian inquired sarcastically.

"Some," Goerner admitted. "Not in this context."

"In what context?"

"I told him of your suspicions-my suspicions, too- that some of this oil-for-food money in Germany might find its way over there."

"Might find its way over there?" Kocian snapped. "The sun find its way over there?" Kocian snapped. "The sun might might come up tomorrow." come up tomorrow."

"You want to tell me about that, Herr Kocian?" Castillo asked.

"No."

"But you will, right?"

"No."

"Kranz, get out the pliers," Castillo said. "We're going to do a little dentistry."

"Karl, that's not funny!" Otto Goerner said.

"What's funny, Otto," Kocian said, seriously, "is that I'm not really sure he's kidding. I said something before about him looking like Willi. His eyes right now make him look very much like the Old Man. When the Old Man looked at you with that look in his eyes, you knew he was determined to get what he wanted."

"What I really want is to find Jean-Paul Lorimer," Castillo said.

"And what I really want is to burn the greedy b.a.s.t.a.r.ds in Germany who were involved in slimy profits from Oil for Food," Kocian said. "I'm close to having proof they won't be able to deny. And I don't want anyone-you- rushing over there and letting them know I'm getting close and giving them a chance-"

"I'm not interested in greedy German b.a.s.t.a.r.ds unless I find out they're responsible for the death of Masterson and Sergeant Markham," Castillo said.

"Are we back to vengeance?"

"I'm back to following my orders," Castillo said.

"You heard that a lot at the Nuremberg n.a.z.i trials," Kocian said. " 'All I was doing was following my orders.' "

"They said that to justify the murder of innocent people," Castillo replied. "These b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are neither innocent nor helpless."

Kocian nodded. "That's true." He looked into Castillo's eyes. "You never told me exactly what your orders are."

"I'm to find the people responsible for the murders and render them harmless," Castillo said.

" 'Render them harmless'? Is that the same as 'terminate with extreme prejudice'?" Kocian asked. "Isn't that the euphemism for a.s.sa.s.sination you Americans used in Vietnam?"

"My orders are to 'find them and render them harmless, ' " Castillo repeated. "The idea is to make it clear that there are certain things you can't get away with."

"And that sounds like vengeance to me. So what does that make you, the agent of the Lord?"

"No. Not of the Lord. It doesn't say 'Gott Mit Uns' 'Gott Mit Uns' on my uniform buckle." on my uniform buckle."

Kocian nodded at him. "Touche," he said, and then looked at Goerner. "There's a lot of the Old Man in him, isn't there?"

"Yes," Goerner said, simply. "There is."

"Your grandfather was a man of his word," Kocian said. "When he told you something, you could trust him. Are you that way, Karl?"

"I like to think of myself as an officer and a gentleman, if that's what you mean."

"That's what I mean," Kocian said. "What I'm going to do, Karl, if you give me your word you won't turn it over to the CIA, or anyone in your government, is give you the names of Germans I believe have both profited from Oil for Food and are now trying to hide that money in Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay . . . all over the southern tip of South America. If you can use this information to find Lorimer, fine. But you give me your word you won't use it for anything else."

"You have my word."

"And that you won't tell anyone where you got it."

"Agreed."

"And that these gentlemen will be similarly bound by our agreement."

"Agreed. When do I get the names?"

"Once I get to the office, it will take me an hour or more to go through what I have. I want to make sure in my own mind that if you have to render any of these people harmless-that's a much nicer phrase than 'terminate with extreme prejudice,' isn't it?-that they really deserve such treatment."

"Fair enough."

"And I don't want you-especially Otto-coming to the office and making people curious. So why don't you meet me at the Karpatia at noon? You know where it is, Otto."

Goerner nodded.

"And so do I," Castillo said. "Not far from the American emba.s.sy."

Kocian nodded. "We can have a nice lunch," he said and, not without effort, got to his feet. Then, grunting, he bent over and picked up his ashtray, his cellular telephone, and the books and magazines.

Then he waddled down the tiled floor of the bath and disappeared through a door.

"You got more out of him, Karl," Otto Goerner said, thoughtfully, "than I thought you would. I can only hope that's a good thing. What he didn't say was that these people would torture and kill him without thinking twice about it if they knew he knows as much as he does. And unless you're very careful with those names, they will learn he does."

Castillo nodded but didn't reply. Then he stood up.

"Let's get out of here," he said, wrapping a towel around his waist. "I want to get on the horn."

[TWO].

The Emba.s.sy of the United States of America Szabadsag ter 12 Budapest, Hungary 1105 28 July 2005 Otto Goerner touched Castillo's arm as they started to get out of the taxi in front of the American emba.s.sy, a seven-story century-old mansion.

"You're not going to need me in there, are you?" Goerner asked.

"No."

"And it might even be a bit awkward, no?"

"I'll handle it," Castillo said.

"Why don't I keep the cab, go to the Karpatia, get us a table, get myself a cup of coffee . . ."

"Okay, Otto. This won't take long. We'll see you there," Castillo said, and he and the others got out of the taxi. As Castillo watched it drive away, Sergeant Seymour Kranz touched his arm.

"Major, what the h.e.l.l is that?" he asked, pointing.

Castillo looked. In the park facing the emba.s.sy was a statue of a man in uniform with his hands folded behind his back.

"It's a statue, Seymour. Budapest is full of them. They even have a section of the Berlin Wall around here somewhere."

"That's an old-timey American uniform," Kranz said.

"I'll be d.a.m.ned, I think he's right," Colonel Torine said.

Castillo looked again and asked, "What time is it in Washington, Seymour?"

Kranz consulted his watch and reported, "Oh-four-oh-five, sir."

"Since it won't make much difference to whoever we get out of bed whether it is oh-four-oh-five or oh-four-ten, let us go and broaden our cultural horizons by examining the statue," Castillo said. "Why the h.e.l.l would there be a statue of an American officer in a park in Budapest?"

They walked to the statue. It was indeed of an American, wearing a World War I-era uniform of riding boots and breeches. He looked as if he were examining the emba.s.sy and found it wanting.

There was a bronze plaque with a legend in English beneath it. Kranz read it aloud: "Harry Hill Bandholtz, Brigadier General, U.S. Army. 'I simply carried out the instructions of my Government, as I understood them, as an officer and a gentleman of the United States Army.'"

"I wonder what the h.e.l.l that's all about?" Fernando said.

"I wonder what the instructions he carried out were to get him a statue?" Kranz asked.

"Gentlemen," Castillo said, "fellow history buffs. Perhaps there is a public information officer in the emba.s.sy who can enlighten us all. Shall we see?"

There might have been a public information officer at the emba.s.sy, but they never got to meet him.

They encountered first a Marine guard, a buck sergeant, who politely but firmly told them there was no way they could see the amba.s.sador without an appointment.

Colonel Torine produced his Air Force identification.

"Sergeant, you get the defense attache on the phone, or down here, and do it now."

The Marine guard examined the photo ID carefully, and then picked up his telephone.