"In my briefcase," Castillo said, and picked it up from the floor and placed it on a coffee table. Yung pushed himself out of his chair and walked to the table as Castillo opened the briefcase.

"Well, I can save you time about him," Yung said.

"Excuse me?"

"Bertrand," Yung said. "The guy in the picture."

"This picture?" Castillo asked and held it up. "You know this guy?"

"His name is Bertrand," Yung said. "He's a Lebanese antiquities dealer."

"A Lebanese antiques dealer?"

"Antiques are old furniture, things like that," Yung clarified. " are old furniture, things like that," Yung clarified. "Antiquities are things boosted from King Tut's tomb, things like that. Really old stuff. And Bertrand's very good at it, makes a lot of money. I learned a lot from him." are things boosted from King Tut's tomb, things like that. Really old stuff. And Bertrand's very good at it, makes a lot of money. I learned a lot from him."

"About antiquities antiquities?"

"About how to have money in a bank and not worry about getting it back out. You do know, don't you, why people don't use Argentina much to launder and/or hide money?"

"No. But I wondered why there were so many FBI agents in Montevideo and zero in Argentina."

"Because this is where the money is laundered and hidden," Yung said. "Argentina used to be the place, but a couple years ago, just before Argentina defaulted on its government bonds, the government decided to help themselves to the dollars in everybody's bank accounts. The peso on one Sunday was worth one U.S. dollar. On Monday morning, the government announced the 'pesification of the dollar.' All dollar deposits in Argentine banks were converted to pesos at a rate of one-point-three pesos per dollar. In other words, if you had a hundred dollars on Sunday, on Monday you had a hundred thirty pesos. Now, if you wanted dollars, you had to buy them, and the rate was five to the dollar. In other words, your hundred-dollar deposit was now worth twenty-six. A lot of people-including a lot of honest ones-took a h.e.l.l of a bath. The Argentines blamed it on the IMF, who had loaned them the money they couldn't, didn't want to, repay."

"Fascinating!"

"Their argument was pure Argentine. It was like some guy on a thousand-a-month salary buying a Cadillac with no money down. Then, when it comes time to make the monthly payment, he says, 'Not only am I not gonna make the payment, but I'm gonna keep the Caddy, too, because you should have known I couldn't afford to pay for it.'"

"You're serious, aren't you?" Castillo asked.

"Absolutely. The banking system took a h.e.l.l of a beating. The Scotia Bank-one of Canada's biggest; they'd been doing business in Argentina for more than a century-just took their losses and pulled out. For a while it looked like CitiBank and Bank of Boston were going to take their their losses and leave, too, but they finally decided to stay." losses and leave, too, but they finally decided to stay."

"How did this affect the antiquities dealer? Bertrand?"

"Well, first of all, he was smart enough to have his money here-a lot of money; the last time I looked it was a little over sixteen million, U.S.-and not across the river. And then he's got an interesting deal with the banks."

"What kind of a deal?"

"This is pretty complicated. . . ."

"Make it simple for me," Castillo said.

"Okay. He doesn't deposit deposit his money in his banks. He his money in his banks. He loans loans it to them, just like he was another bank. Banks are always borrowing money from each other, so n.o.body notices one more loan. They don't pay Bertrand what they have to pay other banks, so they're happy. And he's happy because he has their note, callable on demand. Or he can endorse the bank's promissory note over to somebody-anybody-else, an individual or another bank. You see how it works? Like a super cashier's check." it to them, just like he was another bank. Banks are always borrowing money from each other, so n.o.body notices one more loan. They don't pay Bertrand what they have to pay other banks, so they're happy. And he's happy because he has their note, callable on demand. Or he can endorse the bank's promissory note over to somebody-anybody-else, an individual or another bank. You see how it works? Like a super cashier's check."

"I'm not sure," Castillo admitted. "How is he sure the banks will come up with the money when he says, 'Pay me'?"

"Because he's taken out insurance that they will," Yung said, just a little smugly. "He gets it either from the bank or the insurance company. It costs him a little money, sure, but his money is safe."

"What if somebody steals the promissory notes?"

"Unless he signs them, they're just pieces of paper."

"You know a lot about this guy, don't you, Yung?"

"I've been keeping my eye on him ever since I came down here."

"You know something about his personal habits? Where he lives?"

"He's got an estancia-he calls it 'Shangri-La'-in Tacuarembo Province, and a fancy condominium in Punta del Este. He doesn't use the condo much because, getting to his personal habits, he likes the young girls- very young girls-he has at Shangri-La."

"There's one thing you don't know about this guy, Yung," Castillo said.

"And what's that?"

"His real name is Jean-Paul Lorimer."

Yung looked at Castillo incredulously, and then smiled.

"You're kidding!"

Castillo shook his head. "Uh-uh. Can you show me where Shangri-La is on a map?"

XVIII.

[ONE].

Nuestra Pequena Casa Mayerling Country Club Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1305 29 July 2005

Alex Darby-notified by the guards at the gate that his guests were arriving-was waiting at the door of the large, stucco house when Castillo, Britton, and Santini drove up.

"Come on in," he said. "Have any trouble finding it?"

"Just followed the signs," Castillo said. "'Our Little House'? Isn't that a little cutesy-poo for a safe house, Alex?" He looked around the foyer and the well-furnished living room. "And fancy. What's this place costing the agency?"

"There are safe houses and safe houses, Charley. This is a safe house, but not the agency's. I own it. I stole it."

"You own it?"

Darby didn't reply.

"Come on in, and we'll have some coffee. Unless you want something stronger?"

"I would love something very strong, but not now," Castillo said as they followed Darby into the living room and sat down around a coffee table.

"Get this, Charley," Darby said, and pointed under the coffee table.

Castillo saw him push a floor-mounted b.u.t.ton with his shoe.

There was a faint tinkle of a bell, and a moment later a middle-aged woman in a maid's uniform appeared.

"Yes, sir?"

"Juanita, will you bring us some coffee, please?" Darby asked. "And some pastries?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very cla.s.sy," Castillo said. "You said you own this place? Correction, you said you stole it."

"Both," Darby said. "What do you think a place like this is worth?"

"Half a million, anyway. Probably more, a lot more, with the panache of Mayerling attached."

"You heard what happened here a couple of years ago, the 'pesification'?"

"Special Agent Yung delivered a lecture on that just now in Carrasco."

"I'd been here a couple of months when that happened. n.o.body had any dollars anymore. The government had just converted them to pesos, at a third-a fourth-of what they had been worth before. People were desperate for dollars; the bottom fell out of the real estate market. I paid a hundred and seventy-five grand for this."

"You did steal it," Castillo said. "And you live here?"

"I rent it to Cisco Systems. They pay me twelve thousand a month so the guy who runs things for them in the Southern Cone has a nice place to live, reflecting the prestige of Cisco Systems to the natives. He lets me use it when I need it."

He saw the look on Castillo's and Santini's faces. "You know what Cisco Systems does, right?"

"Data transfer? Something to do with the Internet?"

"Largest operators in both. Can you imagine how much goes over their nets that would be of interest to me?"

"This guy is undercover with the agency?"

"No. But he's a retired Signal Corps colonel. He used to work for IntelSat. From time to time he tells me things he's found interesting. And from time to time- like now-I ask him if I can borrow the place to get out of the city for a couple of days. Cisco maintains an apartment in the Alvear Plaza for visiting executives. So he and his wife stay at the Alvear for a couple of days, do the restaurants, go to the Colon, etcetera."

"Nice deal!"

"It's now all paid for, so the rent goes in my pocket." He paused, smiled, and chuckled. "Which came to the attention of the counterintelligence people in Langley. I guess the Riggs Bank felt it their patriotic duty to tell them I was depositing a lot more money than I should be on what the agency pays me. So they investigated. They came down here and spent three weeks investigating."

"And?"

"I'd already told my boss what I was doing. His reaction was jealousy, not disapproval. So when they triumphantly laid on his desk their report that the guy in Buenos Aires was in the real estate business, he said, 'I know.'"

Castillo chuckled.

"And it's like we're queer, Charley, to answer that question before you ask it. The Cisco guy doesn't ask, and I don't tell."

"You're a lot smarter than you look, Alex," Castillo said.

"So what did you find out from the FBI guy in Montevideo?"

Castillo didn't answer the question, but asked one: "What time is Amba.s.sador Silvio coming?"

"I didn't know how quickly you could get here, so I told him three. Everybody will be here at three. Is that okay?"

"That's fine," Castillo said. "I've got an errand to run. I'm sure I can be back by then. While I'm gone, Tony and Jack can tell you what happened with that sonofab.i.t.c.h in Montevideo."

"I thought maybe you'd be pals after he was told to make nice," Darby said.

"Not quite. And I'm going to need some maps, topographic maps, of Tacuarembo Province, Uruguay. The more detailed, the better. And of the terrain on a reasonably straight-line route from here to there."

"Why do I think you're planning a helicopter flight?"

Castillo didn't answer that question, either.

"And, to go on my errand, I'm going to need a car without CD tags."

"Our host has a Mercedes SUV he lets me use. It comes with a driver."

"I don't want the driver," Castillo said. "Just the car."

The maid came in, pushing a cart with a silver coffee service.

"By the time you finish the coffee, I'll have the keys to the Mercedes."

"I don't have time for coffee, Alex," Castillo said, and stood up.

[TWO].

Buena Vista Country Club Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1345 29 July 2005 Castillo braked to a stop at the heavy, yellow-striped barrier pole, and with some difficulty finally found the window control switch and lowered the window.

The guard eyed him suspiciously but didn't speak.

"I'm here to see Mr. Pevsner."

"I'm sorry, sir. But there's no one here by that name."

"Get on the phone and tell Mr. Pevsner his friend from Vienna is here."

The guard opened his mouth.

"Get on the phone and tell Mr. Pevsner his friend from Vienna is here," Castillo repeated. "That is not a friendly suggestion."

The guard stared at him for a moment, and then said, "Park over there, please, senor." He pointed to a three-car, nose-in parking area.