Sylvia made the time out time out signal with her hands. signal with her hands.

"Can we go off the record, Roscoe?"

"Briefly."

"What exactly did Eleanor tell you?"

"I presume that 'off the record' means that you're not going to send an urgent message to Foggy Bottom telling Natalie Cohen what Eleanor told me."

"Girl Scout's honor."

"Okay. Actually, she didn't tell me much. She said I wouldn't believe what an evil man this guy Castillo is unless I found out myself. What she did was suggest that Castillo had stolen two Russian defectors from her when she was in Vienna. And then pointed me at Alexander Darby."

Sylvia looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then said, "Eleanor and I go back a long time-"

"Meaning you have taken Darby's place as the resident spook?"

She shook her head and raised her right arm as if swearing to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help her G.o.d.

"Meaning we go back a long time," she said. "Eleanor is very good at what she's done for all those years. If she says Charley Castillo stole two heavy Russian spooks from under her nose, that means there were two Russian spooks, and she believes Charley Castillo stole them."

"She said that it cost her her job."

"Stories like that are circulating, and I've heard them," Sylvia said. "What I can't figure is why Charley would do something like that unless someone-maybe even our late President-told him to. And I can't imagine why he brought them here."

"He brought Russian spooks here?"

"Amba.s.sador Montvale thinks he did."

"How do you know that?"

"A friend of mine-you don't need to know who-was in the Rio Alba-that's a restaurant around the corner, magnificent steaks; you ought to make an effort to eat there-at a table near my amba.s.sador's. He was having lunch with Montvale. Castillo walked in. Montvale told him all would be forgiven if he gave him the Russians. Castillo told him to attempt a physiologically impossible act of self-reproduction. Montvale threatened to have him arrested; he had a couple of Secret Service guys with him. Castillo said if the Secret Service made a move, they would be arrested by a couple of Gendarmeria Nacional-they're the local heavy cops-he had with him.

"The meeting adjourned to the emba.s.sy. I guess they were afraid someone might hear them talking. When the meeting was over, Montvale went to the airport without any Russians, got on his Citation Four, and flew back to Washington. Castillo walked out of the emba.s.sy and I haven't seen him since. Reminding you that we're off the record, my amba.s.sador, who is a really good guy, thinks Castillo is a really good guy."

"Interesting."

"One more interesting thing: Right after we bombed whatever the h.e.l.l it was we bombed in the Congo, a lot of people around here, including Alex Darby, suddenly decided to retire."

"What people?"

"No names. But a Secret Service guy, and a 'legal attache,' which is diplomat-speak for FBI agent, and even a couple of people in our emba.s.sies in Asuncion, Paraguay, and across the River Plate in Uruguay."

"Are you going to tell me where I can find Alexander Darby?"

"I don't know, and don't want to know, where he is. The last time I saw him was at Ezeiza."

"The airport?"

She nodded. "Alex is somebody else I've known for a long time. A really good guy. I drove him to the airport."

"He went home?"

She paused before replying: "Alex applied for, and was issued, a regular pa.s.sport. I drove him to the airport. He left the country-went through immigration-on his diplomatic pa.s.sport. Then he went back through the line and entered the country as a tourist on his regular pa.s.sport. When he came out, he handed me-as an officer of the emba.s.sy-his dip's pa.s.sport. Then I drove him to his apartment. I haven't seen him since."

"You going to tell me where that apartment is?"

"We're back on the record, Mr. Danton. I cannot of course violate Mr. Darby's privacy by giving you that information. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course. And thank you very much, Mizz Grunblatt."

"Anytime, Mr. Danton. We try to be of service."

"That's comforting."

"Did you ever hear what Winston Churchill said about journalists, Mr. Danton?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Churchill said, 'Journalists are the semiliterate cretins hired to fill the s.p.a.ces between the advertis.e.m.e.nts.'"

"Oh, G.o.d! He's onto us! Now I suppose there's nothing left for me but to slash my wrists."

"That's a thought. Good morning, Mr. Danton."

[FOUR].

Apartment 32-B O'Higgins 2330 Belgrano Buenos Aires, Argentina 1505 5 February 2007

"I will miss the view," Alexander B. Darby-a small, plump man with a pencil-line mustache-said as he stood with Liam Duffy, Edgar Delchamps, and his wife, and gestured out the windows of the Darbys' apartment on the thirty-second floor. It occupied half of the top floor of the four-year-old building, high enough to overlook almost all of the other apartment buildings between O'Higgins and the River Plate.

"What you're supposed to be going to miss, you sonofab.i.t.c.h, is your loving wife and adorable children," Julia Darby-a trim woman who wore her black hair in a pageboy-said.

And was immediately sorry.

"Strike that, Alex," she added. "I was just lashing out at the fickle finger of fate."

"It's okay, honey. And I really don't think it will be for long."

"Hope springs eternal in the human breast," Julia said solemnly.

"And the movers never show up when they're supposed to," Edgar Delchamps said as solemnly.

The apartment showed signs that the movers were expected any moment. Cardboard boxes were stacked all over, and suitcases were arranged by the door.

"And it is always the c.o.c.ktail hour somewhere in the world, so why not here and now?" Alex said.

Julia smiled at Edgar and Liam, and said, "Every once in a great while, he has a good idea. The emba.s.sy's gla.s.ses are in the cupboard, so all we have to do is find something to put in them."

"The booze is in the suitcase with the 'seven' stuck on it," Alex said, and looked at the suitcases by the door. "Which, of course, is the one on the bottom." He switched to Spanish. "Give me a hand, will you, Liam?"

Liam Duffy-a well-dressed, muscular, ruddy-faced blond man in his forties-looked to be what his name suggested, a true son of Erin. But he was in fact an Argentine whose family had migrated to Argentina more than a century before.

They went to the stack of suitcases, moved them around, and in about a minute Alex Darby was able to triumphantly raise a bottle of twelve-year-old Famous Grouse Malt Scotch whisky.

The house telephone rang.

Julia answered it.

"It's the concierge," she announced. "Somebody's here to look at the car."

"Tell him to show it to him," Alex said.

He walked into the kitchen carrying the whisky. Liam followed him.

Ninety seconds later, the telephone rang again, and again Julia answered it.

When Alex and Liam returned from the kitchen, Julia announced, "It's the movers."

"Which one?"

"His," Julia said, nodding at Duffy.

"Have them sent up," Alex said.

"I'm way ahead of you, my darling," Julia said as she reached for her gla.s.s.

Seconds later, the doorbell chimed, signaling there was someone in the elevator foyer.

Duffy went to the door and opened it, then waved three men into the apartment. They were all wearing business suits but there was something about them that suggested the military.

"The suitcases to the left of the doorway," Duffy said in Spanish. "Be very careful of the blue one with the number seven on it."

"Si, mi comandante," one of them said.

"Did they find a pilot for the Aero Commander?" Duffy asked.

"Si, mi general. All is ready at Aeroparque Jorge Newbery."

"Whoopee!" Julia Darby said.

"And the people to stay with Familia Darby?" Duffy asked.

"In place, mi comandante mi comandante."

"Whoopee again," Julia said.

Duffy nodded at the men.

The doorbell rang again.

Duffy pulled it open.

A thirty-eight-year-old Presbyterian from Chevy Chase, Maryland, stood there.

"Mr. Darby?" Roscoe Danton asked.

"I'm Alex Darby. Come in."

Roscoe entered the apartment and offered his hand to him.

"Roscoe Danton," he said.

"That was a quick look at the BMW, wasn't it?" Darby asked.

"Actually, Mr. Darby, I'm not here about the car. I came to see you," Danton said. "I'm a journalist at The Washington Times-Post The Washington Times-Post. Eleanor Dillworth sent me."

Darby's reaction was Pavlovian. One spook does not admit knowing another spook unless he knows whoever is asking the question has the right to know.

Spooks also believe that journalists should be told only that which is in the best interests of the spook to tell them.

"I'm afraid there's been a mistake," Darby said, politely. "I'm afraid I don't know a Miss Duckworth."

"Dillworth." Roscoe made the correction even as he intuited things were about to go wrong. "Eleanor Dillworth."

Comandante General Liam Duffy also experienced a Pavlovian reaction when he saw the look in Darby's eyes. He made a barely perceptible gesture with the index finger of his left hand.

The two men about to carry luggage from the apartment quickly set it down and moved quickly to each side of Roscoe Danton. The third man, who was already on the elevator landing, turned and came back into the apartment, looking to Duffy for guidance.

Duffy made another small gesture with his left hand, rubbing his thumb against his index finger. This gesture had two meanings, money money and and papers papers.

In this case, the third man intuited it meant papers. He walked to Danton and said, reasonably pleasantly, in English, "Papers, please, Senor."

"Excuse me?" Roscoe said.

Julia Darby looked annoyed rather than concerned.

"Gendarmeria Nacional," the man said. "Doc.u.ments, please, pa.s.sport and other ident.i.ty."

Roscoe wordlessly handed over his pa.s.sport.

The third man made a give me the rest give me the rest gesture. gesture.