Hunters pa-3

by W. E. B Griffin

  McGrory stopped himself just in time from saying, "Well, give him one, Ted. And offer my best regards."

  Instead, he asked: "He didn't say what he wanted, huh?"

  "No, sir. He didn't. And I thought the call to my home, at this hour…"

  "A bit unusual, isn't it?"

  "Yes, sir, I thought so."

  "You did tell Deputy Foreign Minister Alvarez that you'd give him a cup of coffee, Ted, didn't you?"

  "Yes, sir, I did. Mr. Ambassador, may I give you my gut feeling?"

  "Of course."

  "I have the feeling, sir, that this is not a social call, but that Alvarez wants to keep it unofficial, if you take my meaning."

  "I see. And why would he want to do that?"

  "I haven't a clue, but that's my gut feeling and I thought I should mention it."

  "And you should have. And just as soon as you find out what he wanted, if anything, besides a cup of coffee, let me know."

  "Yes, sir, of course."

  "Anything else, Ted?"

  "No. That's it. Again, sorry to have to disturb you at home, Mr. Ambassador."

  "Not at all, Ted," Ambassador McGrory said and hung up.

  The ambassador picked up his coffee cup, took a sip, and found that it was tepid.

  "Goddamn it," he exclaimed, then returned the cup to the table with a bang and walked briskly out of the dining room and to his bedroom to get dressed. Since he really wanted a cup of fresh hot coffee when he got to his office, McGrory was not surprised to find that Senora Susanna Obregon, his secretary, had not yet prepared any.

  He did not remonstrate with her. It would be a waste of his time. She would have some excuse, ranging from she liked to time the preparation of it so that it would be fresh and hot when he got to the office (and today he was almost an hour early) to the fact that her second cousin's wife had just given birth to quadruplets.

  He went into his office and sat at his desk. There was only one sheet of paper in his in-box, which meant that for a change there had not been radioed overnight at least a dozen friendly suggestions from the under secretary of state on how he could better do his job.

  Having nothing else to do until his coffee arrived, he reached for the message in the in-box, slumped back in his chair, and began to read it.

  SECRET

  ASLA 3445-4 1745 4AUG05

  FROM: DEPUTY ASSISTANT SECRETARY OF STATE FOR LATIN AMERICA

  TO: US EMBASSY, MONTEVIDEO, URUGUAY

  PERSONAL ATTENTION: AMBASSADOR MCGRORY

  CONFIRMING TELECON BETWEEN ASSTSECTLATAM AND THEODORE J. DETWEILLER, JR., C/M USEMB MONTEVIDEO 1705 4 AUGUST 2005 MR. DAVID W. YUNG, JR., A SPECIAL AGENT OF THE FBI ON THE PERSONAL STAFF OF SECSTATE, IS CURRENTLY EN ROUTE TO MONTEVIDEO AND SHOULD ARRIVE THERE AFTERNOON 5 AUGUST 2005. SECSTATE COHEN HAS DIRECTED AND AUTHORIZED Mr. YUNG TO ASSUME AND DISCHARGE ALL CONSULAR DUTIES RELATING TO THE LATE DR. JEAN-PAUL LORIMER INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO REPATRIATION OF THE REMAINS AND THE PROTECTION OF ASSETS. SECSTATE FURTHER DIRECTS USEMB MONTEVIDEO TO PROVIDE Mr. YUNG WITH WHATEVER ASSISTANCE HE REQUIRES, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO TURNING OVER TO HIM ANY AND ALL USEMB RECORDS AND FILES CONCERNING Mr. LORIMER AND ANY AND ALL MATERIAL REGARDING JEAN-PAUL BERTRAND WHOSE IDENTITY Mr. LORIMER HAD APPARENTLY ASSUMED. THIS SPECIFICALLY INCLUDES ALL INFORMATION REGARDING THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF Mr. LORIMER'S DEATH KNOWN TO EMB AND/OR OBTAINED FROM URUGUAYAN GOVERNMENT SOURCES. SECSTATE AUTHORIZES AND DIRECTS Mr. YUNG TO, AT HIS DISCRETION, SHIP ALL SUCH MATERIALS VIA DIPLOMATIC POUCH TO STATE DEPT, PERSONAL ATTENTION SECSTATE, OR TO MAKE SUCH OTHER ARRANGEMENTS FOR THEIR SHIPMENT TO SECSTATE AS HE DESIRES.

  BARBARA L. QUIGLETTE

  DEPUTY ASSISTANT SECRETARY OF STATE FOR LATIN AMERICA

  SECRET

  The sonofabitch interrupts my breakfast to tell me the deputy foreign minister wants to talk to him unofficially and didn't mention this?

  Goddamn him! He should have called me the moment he got off the phone from talking to the under secretary! Last night!

  McGrory pushed himself out of his high-backed, blue-leather-upholstered chair and walked quickly to his office door, still holding the radio teletype printout.

  "Susanna," he ordered, "I want to see, right now, in this order, and separately-in other words, one at a time-Mr. Detweiller, Mr. Monahan, and Mr. Howell."

  "Yes, sir," Senora Obregon replied. Three minutes later Senora Obregon reported that neither Mr. Detweiller nor Mr. Howell had yet come in but that Mr. Monahan was on his way to the ambassador's office and asked if she should send him in or make him wait until he'd seen the others.

  "Send him in, please," McGrory ordered.

  Monahan appeared at the office door moments later.

  "You wanted to see me, Mr. Ambassador?"

  McGrory waved him into the office but not into one of the chairs in front of his desk.

  "I'm a little curious, Monahan, why you did not elect to tell me Yung is on the personal staff of the secretary of state," McGrory said.

  "Excuse me?"

  "You are the special agent in charge, are you not? And you were aware, were you not, of Yung's status?"

  "That's two questions, Mr. Ambassador."

  "Answer them one at a time."

  "I'm the senior FBI agent here, Mr. Ambassador, but not the SAC."

  "What's the others?"

  "A SAC is in charge of the special agents," Monahan replied and then clarified: "It stands for Special Agent in Charge."

  "And you're not?"

  "No, sir. I'm the senior agent. I've been with the bureau longest. But I was never appointed the SAC."

  "You're telling me you're not in charge of the other FBI agents? Is that what you're saying?"

  "Yes, sir. I'm sort of in charge, because, like I say, I'm the senior agent. But not really, if you take my meaning."

  "If you're not really in charge, Monahan, who is?"

  Monahan seemed puzzled by the question for a moment, then answered it: "You are, Mr. Ambassador."

  McGrory thought: Sonofabitch! Is he stupid or just acting that way?

  He went on: "And Special Agent Yung, who does he work for?"

  "When he was here, he worked for you, sir."

  "Not the secretary of state?"

  "Up the chain of command, maybe," Monahan said. "I never thought about that. I mean, he worked for you and you work for the secretary of state, if you follow me. In that sense, you could say he worked for the secretary of state."

  Senora Obregon put her head in the door.

  "Mr. Howell is here, Mr. Ambassador."

  McGrory thought, There's no sense going any further with this. he said, "Monahan, I have to see Mr. Howell right now. Please keep yourself available."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Ask Mr. Howell to come in, please, Senora Obregon," McGrory said. "Interesting," Cultural Attache Robert Howell said, handing the message back to McGrory. "I wonder what it means?"

  "I was hoping you could tell me," McGrory said.

  "Well, all I can do is guess. Mr. Masterson's father-in-law is a retired ambassador. We heard in Buenos Aires that the father-in-law has heart problems and perhaps Secretary Cohen-"

  "I mean about Yung being on the personal staff of the secretary," McGrory interrupted.

  "Mr. Ambassador, you never elected to tell me about that. I simply presumed Yung was one more FBI agent."

  "I didn't know he was on the secretary's personal staff, Robert," McGrory said.

  "You didn't? Even more interesting, I wonder what he was doing down here that even you didn't know about? Does Monahan know?"

  McGrory didn't answer the question.

  Instead, he said, "Deputy Foreign Minister Alvarez telephoned Ted Detweiller at eight this morning. He wanted to know if Detweiller would be in his office at nine and, if so, if Detweiller would be kind enough to offer him a cup of coffee."

  "I wonder what that's all about?" Howell said.

  "I intend to find out. As soon as Detweiller gets here, I'm going to tell him he
has the flu and is going home. Since he is unfortunately not able to give Deputy Foreign Minister Alvarez his cup of coffee, I will. And I want you to be here when I do so."

  "Yes, sir." "Mr. Ambassador," Senora Obregon announced from his door, "Deputy Foreign Minister Alvarez and another gentleman to see you."

  McGrory rose quickly from his desk and walked quickly to the door, smiling, his hand extended.

  "Senor Alvarez," he said. "What an unexpected pleasure!"

  Alvarez, a small, trim man, returned the smile.

  "Mr. Detweiller has developed a slight case of the flu," McGrory went on, "which is bad for him, but-perhaps I shouldn't say this-good for me, because it gives me the chance to offer you the cup of coffee in his stead."

  "It's always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Ambassador," Alvarez said, enthusiastically pumping McGrory's hand. "I only hope I am not intruding on your busy schedule."

  "There is always time in my schedule for you, Senor Alvarez," McGrory said.

  "May I present my friend, Senor Ordonez of the Interior Ministry?" Alvarez said.

  "A privilege to make your acquaintance, senor," McGrory said, offering Ordonez his hand. "And may I introduce my cultural attache, Senor Howell?"

  Everybody shook hands.

  "I understand from Senor Detweiller that this is a purely social visit?" McGrory asked.

  "Absolutely," Alvarez said. "I knew Ordonez and I were going to be in the area, and since I hadn't seen my friend Detweiller for some time I thought he might be kind enough to offer me a cup of coffee."

  "He was really sorry to miss you," McGrory said.

  "Please pass on my best wishes for a speedy recovery," Alvarez said.

  "Since this is, as you say, a purely social visit, may I suggest that Senor Howell share our coffee with us?"

  "Delighted to have him," Alvarez said.

  "Please take a seat," McGrory said, waving at the chairs and the couch around his coffee table. Then he raised his voice, "Senora Obregon, would you be good enough to bring us all some coffee and rolls?"

  Howell thought: Whatever this is-it almost certainly has to do with the blood bath at Tacuarembo-it is not a purely social visit and both Alvarez and McGrory know it.

  Alvarez knows that Detweiller "got sick" because McGrory wanted to talk to him himself, which is probably fine with Alvarez. He really wanted to talk to him, anyway, but the deputy foreign minister couldn't call the American ambassador and ask for a cup of coffee.

  That's known as protocol.

  Ordonez is not just in the Interior Ministry; he's chief inspector of the Interior Police Division of the Uruguayan Policia Nacional and McGrory knows that.

  And Ordonez knows-and, since he knows, so does Alvarez-that I'm not really the cultural attache.

  I know just about everything that happened at Tacuarembo, but Senor Pompous doesn't even know that Americans-much less his CIA station chief-were involved, because Castillo decided he didn't have the Need to Know and ordered me-with his authority under the Presidential Finding-not to tell him anything at all.

  Everybody is lying to-and/or concealing something from-everybody else and everybody either knows or suspects it.

  That's known as diplomacy.

  I wonder how long it will take before Alvarez decides to talk about what he wants to talk about? It took less time-just over five minutes-than Howell expected it to before Alvarez obliquely began to talk about what he had come to talk about.

  "While I'm here, Mr. Ambassador," Alvarez said, "let me express my personal appreciation-an official expression will of course follow in good time-for your cooperation in the Tacuarembo matter."

  "Well, no thanks are necessary," McGrory replied, "as we have learned that the poor fellow was really an American citizen. We were just doing our duty."

  Alvarez smiled as if highly amused. McGrory looked at him curiously.

  "Forgive me," Alvarez said. "My wife is always accusing me of smiling at the wrong time. In this case, I was smiling at your-innocent, I'm sure-choice of words."

  "What words?" McGrory said.

  "'The poor fellow,'" Alvarez said.

  "I'm not sure I follow you, Senor Alvarez," McGrory said.

  "What is that delightful American phrase? 'Out of school'?"

  "That is indeed one of our phrases, Senor Alvarez. It means, essentially, that something said was never said."

  "Yes. All right. Out of school, then. Actually, two things out of school, one leading to the other."

  "There's another American phrase," McGrory put in. "'Cross my heart and hope to die.' Boys-and maybe girls, too-say that to each other as they vow not to reveal something they are told in confidence. Cross my heart and hope to die, Senor Alvarez."

  Howell thought: My God, I can't believe you actually said that!

  "How charming!" Alvarez said. "Well, Senor Ordonez, who is really with the Policia Nacional-he's actually the chief inspector of the Interior Police Division-was telling me on the way over that Mr. Lorimer-or should I say Senor Bertrand?-was a very wealthy man until just a few days ago. He died virtually penniless."

  "Oh, really?" McGrory said. "That's why you smiled when I called him a 'poor fellow'?"

  Alvarez nodded. "And I apologize again for doing so," he said, and went on: "Senor Ordonez found out late yesterday afternoon that Senor Bertrand's bank accounts were emptied the day after his body was found."

  "How could that happen?" McGrory asked. "How does a dead man empty his bank account?"

  "By signing the necessary withdrawal documents over to someone several days before his death and then having that someone negotiate the documents. It's very much as if you paid your Visa bill with a check and then, God forbid, were run over by a truck. The check would still be paid."

  "Out of school, was there much money involved?" McGrory asked.

  "Almost sixteen million U.S. dollars," Ordonez said. "In three different banks." This was the first Howell had heard anything about money.

  When Alex Darby, the Buenos Aires CIA station chief who had driven Howell's "black" Peugeot to Tacuarembo so that it could be used to drive Castillo and Munz to the estancia, returned the car to Howell in Montevideo, he had reported the operation had gone bad.

  Really bad, but not as bad as it could have been.

  Darby's report of what had happened at Hacienda Shangri-La had been concise but complete-not surprisingly, he had been a CIA agent, a good one, for a longtime.

  But no mention at all of any money.

  Hadn't Darby known?

  Hadn't he been told?

  Or had he been told, and decided I didn't have the Need to Know?

  Jesus Christ, sixteen million dollars!

  Did Castillo get it?

  Or the parties unknown-parties, hell, with that kind of money involved, it was probably a government-who had sent the Ninjas after Lorimer? "My God!" McGrory said. "Out of school, who was the someone to whom Mr. Lorimer wrote the checks?"

  "We don't know," Alvarez said. "They were presented to the Riggs National Bank in Washington. All three of the banks here use Riggs as what they call a 'correspondent bank.'"

  "Let me see if I have this right," McGrory said. "Somebody walked into the Riggs National Bank in Washington, handed over whatever these documents were, and they handed him sixteen million dollars?"

  Ordonez said, "What the Riggs Bank did was send-they have a satellite link-photocopies of the promissory notes to the banks here to verify Senor Bertrand's signature. When the banks had done that, they notified the Riggs Bank that the signature was valid and the transaction had been processed."

  "So then they handed the man in Washington sixteen million dollars?"

  "No. What the man in Washington wanted was for the money to be wired to his account in the Liechtensteinische Landesbank in the Cayman Islands. That was done. It takes just a minute or two."

  "And what was this fellow's name?"

  "We don't know. For that matter it could just as easily have been a woman. The mone
y went into a numbered account."

  "But it was Lorimer's signature on the promissory notes? You're sure of that?"

  "There was no question at any of the banks-and, with that kind of money involved, you can imagine they were very careful-that Senor Bertrand had indeed signed the promissory notes."

  "I'm baffled," McGrory said.

  "So are we," Alvarez said.

  "Can we find out from the bank in the Cayman Islands…what did you say It was?"

  "The Liechtensteinische Landesbank," Ordonez furnished.

  "Can we find out from them who owns the numbered account?" McGrory pursued.

  "I don't think that will be easy," Ordonez said. "They have stricter banking secrecy laws in the Cayman Islands than in Switzerland."

  "Well, perhaps I can do something," McGrory said, looking at Howell. "I'll ask Washington."

  "We would of course appreciate anything you can do, Mr. Ambassador. Officially or otherwise," Alvarez said.

  "I suppose if you had any idea who murdered Mr. Lorimer, you would tell me?"

  "Of course," Alvarez said. "Who murdered Mr. Lorimer or who was responsible for the deaths of the other men we found at Estancia Shangri-La."

  "We're working very hard on it," Ordonez said. "I think in time we'll be able to put it all together. But it will take time and we would appreciate anything you could do to help us."

  "But so far, nothing, right?" McGrory asked.

  "There are some things we're looking into that will probably be valuable," Ordonez said. "For one thing, we are now pretty sure that a helicopter was involved."

  "A helicopter?" Howell asked.

  "A helicopter," Ordonez said. "Not far from the farm, we found barrels of jet fuel. And, beside it, the marks of…what's the term for those pipes a helicopter sits on?"

  "I don't know," McGrory confessed after a moment.

  "Skids," Howell furnished, earning him a dirty look from McGrory.

  "Right," Ordonez said. "There were marks in the mud which almost certainly came from a helicopter's skids. Strongly suggesting that the helicopter came some distance to the estancia and that the fuel was placed there before the helicopter arrived."