The Hostage Part 34

He had just rolled onto his back, breathing heavily, and put his arm over his eyes.

"Yeah," Betty said. After a moment, she s.h.i.+fted around on the bed so that she could rest her head on his chest.

He put his arm around her and ran the b.a.l.l.s of his fingers gently up and down her spine.

"What happens now?" Charley asked. "Your brother comes in and breaks both my legs?"

"Well, he'd have no trouble finding us," Betty said. "We left a trail of my clothes from the living room into here."

He chuckled.

"What are you thinking now, Charley? 'I knew all along she'd be easy'?"

"Worse than that. I think-ignore that-I know know I'm in love with you." I'm in love with you."

"You're under no obligation to say something like that."

"'Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free,'" Castillo quoted. "I think John Lennon said that."

She tweaked his nipple.

"That's from the Bible, Bible," she said, chuckling.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"No response? In other words, are my feelings for you reciprocated? Partially reciprocated? Or reciprocated not at all?"

She raised her head and looked down at him.

"My G.o.d, couldn't you tell?" she asked, then: "You want me to say it, don't you?"

He nodded.

"Okay. I love you. I guess I knew that when I walked into Counterterrorism and saw the guy who'd thought I was a hooker in the Warwick bar and my heart jumped."

"Oh, boy!"

[FOUR].

The Buenos Aires Herald Azopardo 455 Buenos Aires, Argentina 0327 24 July 2005 Azopardo 455 Buenos Aires, Argentina 0327 24 July 2005 At almost exactly this time-although neither of them cared a whit what hour it was, or even what day, as Charley reached down to pull Betty onto him-a small white Fiat van pulled away from the loading dock at the Buenos Aires Herald Buenos Aires Herald building in downtown Buenos Aires. building in downtown Buenos Aires.

It drove to the Austral Air Cargo building at Jorge Newbery airfield, where the driver handed over approximately six hundred copies of the Herald, Herald, so fresh from the press that the ink had not had time to completely dry. so fresh from the press that the ink had not had time to completely dry.

The newspapers were tied together in sixteen packages, each with a simple address. Most were in fifty-copy packages, but some of the packages contained far fewer-in three instances, only five.

The Austral people put all of them into three large blue plastic s.h.i.+pping containers, and then put the containers on a baggage cart. After all other cargo and pa.s.senger luggage had been loaded aboard Austral Flight 622, the containers would be loaded aboard-last on, first off.

Flight 622 would depart Jorge Newbery at 0705 and land in Montevideo twenty-five minutes later. The blue plastic containers would be off-loaded first, and turned over to a representative of the Herald, Herald, who would arrange for their further distribution. who would arrange for their further distribution.

He would load two hundred copies in his car. They were destined for downtown Montevideo (150) and for Carrasco, a suburb through which he would pa.s.s on his way downtown.

The others he took to the airport's bus terminal, where they were stacked according to their destination. The Route 9 stack would be placed aboard the first morning bus to San Carlos, Maldonado, and Punta del Este, the posh seaside resort on the Atlantic Ocean. The Route 8 stack would see stacks of the newspaper dropped off at Treinta y Tres, Melo, and Jaguaro. The Route 5 bus would drop off newspapers at Canelones, Florida, and then continue across the dam holding back the Lago Artificial de Rincon Del Bonete to Tacuarembo, where it would drop off the last stack. There were just three copies of the Herald Herald in the last stack. in the last stack.

The manager of the Tacuarembo Bus Terminal-he was paid to do so-would then telephone the manager of a remote estancia to tell him the Herald Herald had arrived. Sometimes it didn't-things happened-and telephoning the estancia manager to tell him that the newspapers had, or had not, arrived saved the manager an hour-long ride down an unpaved highway. had arrived. Sometimes it didn't-things happened-and telephoning the estancia manager to tell him that the newspapers had, or had not, arrived saved the manager an hour-long ride down an unpaved highway.

All of this took time, of course, and it was almost three in the afternoon before the Herald Herald was delivered to Estancia Shangri-La and another half hour before it was in the hands of El Patron, who was taking an afternoon siesta with Juanita, a sixteen-year-old maid. was delivered to Estancia Shangri-La and another half hour before it was in the hands of El Patron, who was taking an afternoon siesta with Juanita, a sixteen-year-old maid.

Jean-Paul Lorimer, sitting up in bed, read the front-page banner headline with dismay, and muttered, "Merde!" "Merde!"

The banner headline read: AMERICAN DIPLOMAT MURDERED IN PORT AREA and showed a photograph of the late J. Winslow Masterson.

Lorimer was of course disturbed and at first frightened. Jack was, after all, his brother-in-law, and this had to be very difficult on poor Betsy.

But there was no reason, to judge from the Herald Herald's rather extensive coverage of the matter, for Jean-Paul Lorimer to think it had anything to do with him.

Jack and his family had been ripe for something like this to happen for years, ever since he had been given that obscenely generous payment for being run over by the beer truck.

And Argentina certainly was the place for it to have happened. Kidnapping there had replaced schools that taught English as the national cottage industry.

He would not-could not-allow what had happened to Jack to force him to change his plans. All this really meant was that it would soon be discovered that Jean-Paul Lorimer was missing in Paris-and that might have already happened.

If he called Betsy to express his condolences, even if he didn't tell her where he was calling from, that would mean that although he had been missing since the thirteenth of July-in other words, for ten days-he'd been alive on the twenty-third.

That didn't even get into the matter of traceable telephone records, which would locate him.

And his expression of condolences would, after all, be hypocritical.

I never liked the arrogant sonofab.i.t.c.h, and am not at all sorry that he got knocked off his high horse with two bullets in the brain. all sorry that he got knocked off his high horse with two bullets in the brain.

There was even an upside to this.

The attention by the press would be to the murder of Jack the Stack Masterson, who despite his Phi Beta Kappa key didn't have enough brains to get out of the way of a beer truck, and no one would pay much, if any, attention to the disappearance of his brother-in-law in France.

He dropped the Herald Herald onto the floor beside the bed and turned to Maria del Juanita. onto the floor beside the bed and turned to Maria del Juanita.

"Darling, put some clothes on, and tell Senora Sanchez I will have my coffee in the library."

VIII.

[ONE].

El Presidente de la Rua Suite The Four Seasons Hotel Cerrito 1433 Buenos Aires, Argentina 0647 24 July 2005

A full minute after Special Agent Jack Britton lifted the bra.s.s knocker on the door of suite 1500-which was actually a switch triggering the door chimes-Major C. G. Castillo pulled the door open to him.

Castillo was wearing a plush white ankle-length terry cloth robe adorned with the crest of the Four Seasons hotel. He needed a shave, his hair wasn't combed, and it wasn't wet, either.

Britton thought, I got here even before he got into the shower, I got here even before he got into the shower, then said: "Schneider's not up yet, either. Or she's in the shower. She didn't answer when I knocked. But your driver is. They put him through to me by mistake. I told him I'd tell you he was here." then said: "Schneider's not up yet, either. Or she's in the shower. She didn't answer when I knocked. But your driver is. They put him through to me by mistake. I told him I'd tell you he was here."

"Come on in, Jack," Castillo said. "We're running a little late. They haven't even taken the dishes away from last night."

Castillo walked to the telephone on the coffee table, punched a number, and in Spanish asked the concierge to send up his driver with copies of La Nacion, Clarin, La Nacion, Clarin, and the and the Herald; Herald; to check on his suit with the valet; and to immediately send up two large pots of coffee. to check on his suit with the valet; and to immediately send up two large pots of coffee.

Britton listened and watched intently, trying to understand what was being said.

And then his interest really perked up.

The bedroom door opened and Special Agent Schneider came out, dressed as she had been the night before in blue jeans and a sweater.

"Good morning, Jack," she said, matter-of-factly.

She had her voice under control but not her blush mechanism.

"If you're going to order breakfast," she said, "order a big one for me."

She then walked out of the El Presidente de la Rua Suite, calling over her shoulder, "I won't be long."

The door closed, and Britton and Castillo looked at each other.

"I think, Jack," Castillo said finally, "that this is one of those times when silence would be golden."

Britton nodded, then said, "Sorry. I have to say this. From the way you looked at her just now, I could tell that you're not fooling around with her, that it's something more serious. So good for you. I know she's nuts about you."

"How the h.e.l.l could you know that?"

"When we were in G-Man School, the subject of our conversations always seemed to wind up with you. And the proof came last night when we were eating. Both of you looked at everything but each other. And then, just now, the two of you looked like Adam and Eve in the garden before Eve started fooling around with the snake. She's a good lady. You're lucky."

Because he could think of nothing else to say, Castillo asked, "Is that what you call it, 'G-Man School'?"

"Yeah. Actually, it wasn't too bad." He grinned. "Betty was a laugh when they finally put us on the range. She had kept her mouth shut and her face straight when they were explaining how to squeeze squeeze the trigger and telling her not to let the recoil throw her, after a while she'd get used to it, but I could tell she didn't like being patronized. the trigger and telling her not to let the recoil throw her, after a while she'd get used to it, but I could tell she didn't like being patronized.

"Anyway, there we are on the pistol range, two lowly candidates and the instructor. I'm standing behind her. So she gets the 'open fire' order, and her Glock sounds like an Uzi.

"'This was timed fire, Candidate Schneider. One aimed shot One aimed shot at a time.' at a time.'

"'That's what I did, sir,' Schneider says, all sweet and feminine. 'I aimed each time, sir.'

"'Well,' the instructor adds, 'as you will see, you'll never hit anything firing that rapidly. Roll back number seven.'

"So they rolled the target back to us and she'd put all fourteen rounds into the bad guy's face.

"The instructor didn't like being duped but couldn't let it go. 'It would seem, Candidate Schneider, that you have had some previous marksmans.h.i.+p experience. If you're trying to make me look foolish or whatever, it won't work.'"

Castillo chuckled.

The door chimes went off. It was the lady from the valet service with Castillo's suit.

"There's a room-service menu in the drawer of that desk," Castillo said, and pointed. "When Roger gets up here, find out what he wants, and then order for everybody. I'm going to get dressed."

[TWO].

Special Agent Schneider sat across the breakfast table from Major Castillo, which position precluded Major Castillo from surrept.i.tiously holding her hand-or perhaps touching her knee-beneath the table, but did not, he soon learned, prohibit Special Agent Schneider from rubbing the ball of her foot against his calf.

They were almost finished eating when the chimes sounded again.

Roger Markham rushed to the door, and Castillo was wondering what the h.e.l.l it could be now when he heard a familiar voice: "You're American, right? Maybe a Marine?"

"Yes, sir," Markham replied.

"Go back in there, throw Major Castillo and whoever's with him out of bed, and tell him Colonel Jake Torine, USAF, wishes a moment of his valuable time."

Castillo, laughing, started to get out of his chair. As he did, he saw from Special Agent Schneider's face that she failed to see what was amusing.

Colonel Torine, a tall, somewhat bony man in a sports jacket and slacks, marched into the sitting room and saw the people at the table in the dining alcove.

"Oops!" he said. "Sorry, Charley. I didn't know you had people in here."

"Good morning, sir," Castillo said. "I should have contacted you last night."

"No. It's the other way around. I should have reported to you reported to you when we got in last night. Those were my orders, from General Allan Naylor himself. But it was late, and raining like h.e.l.l, and I figured I'd wait until morning. The defense attache told me where I could find you." when we got in last night. Those were my orders, from General Allan Naylor himself. But it was late, and raining like h.e.l.l, and I figured I'd wait until morning. The defense attache told me where I could find you."

"Great!" Castillo began.

Torine silenced him with an upraised palm and went on: "Then I got here, and the hotel had never heard of you. So I stood there in the lobby for a couple of minutes, wondering why the attache had sent me to the wrong hotel, and then I decided that there are two Four Seasons hotels, and I was in the wrong one, so I went back to the desk and asked the guy where the other one was."

Castillo laughed.

"At that point, I remembered your alter ego, asked for Herr Gossinger, and here I am."

Castillo saw from their faces that Betty had some idea what was going on, and Jack Britton and Roger Markham none at all.

"Guys, I sometimes use the name Gossinger when I'm working," he explained. "That's how I'm registered here."

Britton, who had worked deep undercover for years as Ali Abid Ar-Raziq, nodded his understanding. Roger Markham's face registered what could have been awe.

My G.o.d, he's a real intel operator with a phony ID and all!