The Hunters

by W. E. B Griffin

  Görner considered that for thirty seconds, then asked: “When will your airplane be here?”

  Castillo thought out loud: “It was probably ten, Washington time, by the time Dick had the cashier’s check from the Riggs Bank. Torine said twelve hours from then. That would make it ten tonight, and how far ahead of Washington is Budapest? Five hours this time of year?”

  “Six,” Görner furnished.

  “That’ll put them into Ferihegy at four tomorrow morning. Figure an hour—maybe a little more—to clear customs and get to the Gellért. Five o’clock. I think we’d better spend a day here, both to give Billy a chance to get his stuff together and for Torine and Fernando to get some rest.”

  Görner nodded.

  “You can protect him in Argentina?” he asked.

  Castillo nodded. “But I’m a little worried about here. That one cop doesn’t look like much protection. Can you do something about that?”

  Görner took his cellular telephone from his pocket and punched an autodial button.

  Thirty seconds later, he said, “As soon as someone wakes up long enough to answer the goddamned telephone at the Budapester Tages Zeitung, there will be people from the security service here within fifteen minutes.”

  “Can they be trusted?”

  “Eric trusts them,” Görner said and then turned his attention to his cellular telephone: “Hier ist Generaldirektor Görner…”

  [THREE]

  Room 24

  Telki Private Hospital

  2089 Telki Kórház Fasor 1

  Budapest, Hungary

  1750 6 August 2005

  Doctor Fredric Czerny put his head into the corridor and, shaking his head in what was obviously resignation, signaled for Castillo and Görner to come into Eric Kocian’s room.

  “Úr Kocian and I are negotiating his release from the hospital,” he said. “He wishes you to participate.”

  Max trotted after them, sat on his haunches by the bed, and offered Kocian his paw.

  “Traitor!” Kocian said but took the paw and then caressed Max’s massive head.

  “What are the points in dispute?” Castillo asked.

  “I told him I would release him probably tomorrow afternoon, as I think he needs another day of bed rest,” Czerny explained.

  “And I said if I have to spend another day in bed, I would prefer to do so in my own bed instead of on this Indian bed of nails,” Kocian said. “Starting right now.”

  “My counteroffer was to release him after breakfast tomorrow, with the caveat he will actually go to his bed and stay there for twenty-four hours. he said that whether he stays in bed depends on when you plan to leave for Argentina.”

  “Very early in the morning, the day after tomorrow,” Castillo said.

  “Why then?” Kocian asked.

  “Because that’s when the plane leaves,” Castillo said.

  “You understand Max is going?”

  “I understand Max is going,” Castillo said. “I couldn’t leave him; we’re pals.”

  Kocian snorted, then said: “You see, Fredric? We have reached agreement. I will leave your charnel house in the morning. Before breakfast, as the food you serve in here would poison an oxen.”

  “You will leave after breakfast and after I have another look at you in the morning, and then only if Úr Gossinger will guarantee that you will go directly from here to your apartment and get in bed and stay there.”

  “Will I be paroled, Karlchen, to have a bath and attend to necessary bodily functions?”

  “As long as you’re quick about it and the bath is in your bathroom,” Castillo said. “Doctor, I’ll see that he stays in bed if I have to chain him to it.”

  “You may well find yourself doing just that,” Dr. Czerny said, quickly shook Castillo’s and Görner’s hands, and walked out of the room.

  “There will be security people from the Tages Zeitung here in a couple of minutes,” Otto Görner announced. “And I will arrange with them to take you from here to your apartment in the morning.”

  “Do you ever think before you act, Otto?” Kocian asked.

  “Something’s wrong?” Görner said.

  “Max dislikes security people,” Kocian explained. “They apparently have a special smell. Max tends to bite people he dislikes and the security people know it. They may go on strike.”

  Castillo said, “I want you alive, so you can talk to me. These people will keep you alive until I can get you on the airplane.” He paused. “What about the cop at the door? Max has no problem with him.”

  “There is an exception to every rule,” Kocian said. “And I suspect the cop—his name is Kádár—has been feeding Max leberwurst. Max likes leberwurst.”

  “So we will get the security people a supply of leberwurst,” Castillo said.

  Kocian considered this a moment.

  “No. Hanging around my bed of pain is no fun for Max,” he said, finally. “And the cop at the door has already been there too long. So when my security people arrive, I will send him away. And you will take Max to my apartment. You may stay with him, providing you take him for a late-night walk.”

  “Two questions,” Castillo said. “Where is your apartment? And will they let me into it?”

  “On the top floor of the Hotel Gellért,” Kocian replied, the expression on his face making it obvious he thought Castillo should have known where he lived. “And if you’re with Max, of course they will. You will find dog food in the kitchen, and there will be some beef bones in the refrigerator. He gets one large, or two small, only after he eats his dog food.”

  “Yes, sir. And what does he like for dessert?”

  “There is a dish of chocolates beside my chair. He gets two only.”

  “Okay.”

  “For reasons I can’t imagine, chocolate is supposed to be bad for dogs. In Max’s case, too much chocolate causes flatulence—and he can clear a room with it—so be wise and strong when he begs for more. He’s a very appealing beggar.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  “There’s a leash hanging from the door handle,” Kocian said. “You’d better put him on it. Unless I am there, Max tends to go pretty much where he wants to.”

  Two minutes later, there was a knock at the door and two burly men—obviously armed under their suits—came into the room, saw Max, and stayed close to the door. Max growled softly but deeply and showed a thin but impressive row of teeth.

  “What did I tell you?” Kocian asked.

  “How many of you are there?” Castillo asked.

  They looked at him but didn’t answer, looking instead at Görner.

  “You can tell him,” Kocian said. “That’s Herr Karl von und zu Gossinger.”

  “There are three of us, Herr Gossinger,” one of the men said, in German.

  “You heard what happened to Mr. Kocian?” Castillo asked, in Hungarian.

  Both nodded. The same man said, “Mr. Kocian was assaulted on the Szabadság híd.”

  “It was not a robbery. It was far more serious and it may well happen again,” Castillo said.

  They both nodded again.

  “I want two men outside this door at all times,” Castillo ordered. “And I want at least two more close by.”

  “I can have another man—as many men as you would like, sir—here in fifteen minutes.”

  “Get two,” Castillo ordered. “Do you know how to use your pistols?”

  “They’re all retired policemen, Úr Gossinger,” Kocian answered for them.

  “Everyone has cellular telephones?” Castillo asked.

  They nodded.

  “If anything at all suspicious happens, you notify first the police and then me. That means you will have to give me one of your telephones. I will be in Úr Kocian’s apartment.”

  The man who had spoken gestured for the other to give Castillo his cellular telephone.

  “Thank you,” Castillo said, examining it. “And how do I call you with this?”

  The man showed
him.

  “In the morning, we are going to move Úr Kocian from here to his apartment. We don’t want anyone to know we’re doing that, which means we don’t want anyone to see him leaving the hospital or entering the hotel. He will be in a wheelchair. Suggestions, please?”

  “I will not be in a wheelchair,” Kocian announced.

  “Úr Kocian will be in a wheelchair,” Castillo repeated.

  “We could get a van from the Tages Zeitung, sir. Back it up to the loading dock in the basement of the hospital and then do the same thing at the Gellért.”

  “I want one of you to drive the van,” Castillo ordered. “And when you are prepared to leave, I want you to call me. You will say, ‘Úr Kocian is having his breakfast and waiting for the doctor.’”

  The man nodded and smiled.

  “Did I say something amusing?” Castillo asked. “You’re smiling.”

  “Excuse me, sir. I was just thinking you sound more like a policeman than a newspaper publisher.”

  “Think what you like about me, but don’t repeat what you’re thinking.”

  “No offense intended, sir.”

  “None taken,” Castillo said.

  “Sir,” the man said. “We will take good care of Úr Kocian and get him safely and discreetly to the Gellért in the morning.”

  “Good,” Castillo said.

  He meant that. Obviously, he really likes Eric. Why should that surprise me?

  “There is one thing, sir…”

  “Which is?”

  “The dog, sir. Sometimes he can be difficult…”

  “What it is,” Kocian said, “is that you smell like leberwurst.”

  “I’m taking Max with me,” Castillo said.

  The man’s face registered both surprise and relief.

  “I think that would be best, sir.”

  Sándor Tor was waiting with the silver Mercedes-Benz S500 when Görner and Castillo walked out of the hospital door. Max lunged toward it, towing Castillo after him.

  “I called the office and had them send other security people over,” Görner said.

  “I saw them,” Tor said. “He ran off the people I had placed in the corridor.” He paused, then asked, “How is he?”

  “He’s all right,” Görner said. “The hospital will never be the same, but Úr Kocian is fine.”

  “He also ran me off,” Tor said. “He said I made him nervous.”

  “Having you around would be like admitting he needed your protection,” Castillo said.

  “After you drop us at the Gellért, you can come back here and go see him. Your excuse will be that Úr Gossinger”—he nodded at Castillo—“suggested you drive the van in the morning.”

  “The van in the morning?”

  “We’re going to move him, very quietly, to the Gellért in the morning,” Castillo said. “Tell him I just put you in charge of the movement.”

  “Thank you very much, Úr Gossinger.”

  Tor opened a rear door of the Mercedes.

  Max, nearly knocking Castillo off his feet, jumped in and sat up on the seat.

  “Jesus,” Castillo said, letting go of the leash and tossing it into the car. “Go ahead, Otto. I’ll get in front.”

  Görner started to get in the back. Max announced he didn’t think that was the way things should be by showing a thin row of teeth and growling.

  “Damn that dog!” Görner said and got in the front passenger’s seat.

  Castillo got in the back. Max showed he thought that was a very good idea by leaning over and lapping Castillo’s face.

  “The Gellért, right, Úr Görner?” Tor asked when he was behind the wheel.

  “No,” Castillo said. “Take us to the American embassy, please.”

  Görner looked at him in surprise but didn’t say anything.

  [FOUR]

  The Embassy of the United States of America

  Szabadság tér 12

  Budapest, Hungary

  1825 6 August 2005

  There was a Marine sergeant on guard behind a bulletproof-glass window in the lobby of the seven-story century-old mansion housing the United States embassy.

  “Sir, you can’t bring a dog in here,” the sergeant said.

  “Think of him as a friend of man, like a Seeing Eye dog,” Castillo replied.

  The sergeant smiled, but said, “Sir, that’s the rules.”

  Otto Görner watched as C. G. Castillo slid his Secret Service credentials through the slot under the glass. The sergeant examined them carefully, then returned them.

  “Why don’t we get the ambassador on the horn and see if he won’t make an exception for my puppy?” Castillo asked.

  “Sir, the ambassador’s not in the embassy.”

  “Well, then get the duty officer down here,” Castillo said. “And I’m going to have to speak to the ambassador, so why don’t you, one, call the duty officer and, two, get the ambassador on that phone for me?”

  He pointed to a telephone on the counter.

  The Marine guard picked up the change of tenor in Castillo’s voice—from We’re joking with each other to That’s a command.

  “One moment, sir,” he said and picked up his telephone.

  The ambassador came on the line very quickly.

  “And how are you, Mr. Castillo?” he asked. “Actually, I’ve been expecting you.”

  “A little bird named Montvale told you I was coming?”

  “And that he wants to speak to you.”

  “I need a secure line, sir, to do just that,” Castillo said.

  “Not a problem. Tell the Marine guard to pick up.”

  “And I need a waiver, sir, of your no-canines-on-the-property rule.”

  “You’ve got a dog with you?”

  “Yes, sir. A sweet puppy who whines piteously when I tie him to a fence or something and leave him.”

  The ambassador laughed. “Okay. The Marine can handle that, too.”

  “And I need to see the man who gets his pay from Langley.”

  “That’s not a problem at all. He’s probably with my duty officer, waiting for you to show up so he can tell you personally that Ambassador Montvale wishes to speak with you.”

  Two men came into the lobby through the metal-detector arch. They were both in their forties and both were wearing dark gray summer-weight suits that Castillo suspected had come from Brooks Brothers.

  “I think they have both just walked into the lobby, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “Hand the phone to one of them,” the ambassador said.

  “Thank you very much, sir.”

  “Happy to be of service,” the ambassador said.

  Castillo handed the phone to the nearest of the two Americans.

  “The ambassador,” he said.

  The second man said, “Sir, the embassy has a rule about dogs.”

  Max growled. The second man looked very uncomfortable.

  “I have just been granted a waiver,” Castillo said.

  The man holding the telephone said “Yes, sir” into it a half dozen or so times, then handed the phone to Castillo. “The ambassador wishes to speak with you, Mr. Castillo.”

  “Yes, sir?” Castillo said into the handset.

  “If there’s anything else you need, Mr. Castillo, just call me.”

  “Thank you very much, sir.”

  “Get the Marine guard on the line, please. If I tell him you’re to have the keys to the kingdom, it’ll be easier.”

  “Thanks again, sir,” Castillo said and motioned for the guard to pick up his telephone.

  “Why don’t we go inside?” the man who had been talking to the ambassador asked, gesturing to the metal-detector arch.

  Otto Görner asked with his eyes what he was supposed to do. Castillo, making no effort to hide the gesture, motioned for him to go through the metal detector.

  “And this gentleman is, Mr. Castillo?” the man who had talked with the ambassador asked, looking at Görner.

  “This is Mr. Smith. He’s with
me.”

  “I really have to have a name, Mr. Castillo.”

  “You’d really like to have a name, so that you can tell Ambassador Montvale who I had with me. That’s not quite the same thing.”

  “And this gentleman is, Mr. Castillo?” the man repeated.

  Okay, so you’re the resident spook. I sort of thought you might be.

  “Sergeant, will you get the ambassador on the horn again?” Castillo said, raising his voice.

  The two locked eyes for a moment. Then the man said, “That won’t be necessary, Sergeant. If you’ll follow me, gentlemen, please?”

  They passed through the metal-detector arch. As the man Castillo had decided was the CIA station chief went through it, the device buzzed and a red light began to flash.

  Why does that make me think you’re carrying a gun?

  So thank you, metal detector, for bringing that to mind.

  An elevator took them all to the basement, where the second man walked ahead of them to a heavy steel door and opened it with a key.

  Inside was a bare room, with four unmarked doors leading off it.

  “Mr. Castillo,” the CIA man announced, “I have been instructed to tell you that Ambassador Montvale wants to talk with you as soon as possible.”

  “And behind one of these doors is a secure phone?” Castillo asked.

  The CIA man nodded.

  “Okay,” Castillo said. “And while I’m talking to Montvale, please get me a weapon. Black. Preferably an Uzi, with a spare magazine.”

  Görner’s eyes widened for an instant.

  “I’m not sure that I can do that, Mr. Castillo,” the CIA man said.

  “You don’t have a Uzi?”

  “Provide you with a weapon.”

  “You can either check that out with the ambassador or wait until I have Ambassador Montvale on the line and he will tell you that you can.”

  “May I ask why you need a weapon?”

  “No,” Castillo said, simply.

  The two locked eyes again for a moment, then the CIA man took a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked one of the steel doors. It opened on a small room furnished with a table and a secretary’s chair. On the table were two telephones—one of them with a very heavy cord—a legal tablet, a water glass holding half a dozen pencils, and an ashtray. Hanging from a nail driven into a leg of the table were a dozen or more plastic bags of the sort used by grocery stores. BURN was printed all over them in large red letters.