Like Castillo, Davidson could instantly call up on his laptop screen, and the monitor, any of the maps and any other data stored in the database. The difference was that Davidson-and he alone-could change the data.
They were both devout believers in the adage-one that went back to the dark ages, when maps were printed, hung on a wall, covered with a sheet of acetate, and corrections and additions made with a grease pencil-that, "If more than one man can make changes to a map, said map invariably will soon be fucked up beyond all repair."
They had worked together before, and they worked together now with a smoothness born of practice.
The first satellite imagery had arrived in Nuestra Pequena Casa an hour before Castillo and Bradley. It was the first photography of the site, and about all it was good for was to enable Davidson to set up the system he knew Castillo would want to use.
By the time Castillo and Bradley walked into the quincho, the refining data had begun to come in. The first imagery had been much like the imagery provided by Google Earth, but in far greater resolution. It hadn't shown anything but suggestions of human activity.
The "refining data" that began to come in about the time Castillo and Bradley walked in used a number of sensing techniques, at first primarily infrared. It sensed differences in temperature between objects in the target area. Computer analyses of these defined what they were.
The easiest to identify were human beings. Their normal temperature was a given. The ambient temperature of the area was known. A difference of so many degrees determined with a great deal of certainty that that moving blob was a human being. And that one a cow. And that one a dog.
Similarly, the heat generated by such things as open fires, stoves, internal combustion engines-making the distinction between gasoline, diesel, and size-was recognized by the computers at Fort Meade and transferred as "refined data."
The blobs were replaced with a symbol-an outline of a truck, for example, or of a man-in which was a number estimating how confident, on a scale of 1 to 5, the computer was of its interpretation.
There would be more refining data as more satellites passed over the target area and the results of more sensing techniques were fed to the computers at Fort Meade. But after Davidson had "laid" the first refining data on top of the aerial photographs, what they had was enough for Castillo to make a decision.
"Bingo!" he said. "That has to be it."
"What that is, Charley, is some sort of a hidden operation," Davidson said, reasonably. "A fairly large one, to judge by the bodies, and probably a refinery, to judge by the large unknown infrared blobs." He paused. "But none of this data has Timmons's name on it."
"So what do we do, Jack?" Castillo had asked. "Send Bustamante or someone else back to penetrate? Running the risk that they get caught? In which case, the best scenario would be that they would move Timmons and the gendarmes someplace we couldn't find them. Or cut their throats and toss them in the river?"
"Don't forget giving them an overdose," Davidson said. He made a face of frustration. "That's why they pay you the big bucks, Charley, to make decisions like that."
"Or we just go in," Castillo went on, "and if Timmons isn't there, we kidnap a couple of them and arrange a swap."
"I don't think you want to do that," Susanna said. "Do you?"
"No, I don't want to do that."
She raised an eyebrow. "Is that the same as 'No, I won't do that'?"
"No."
"Come on in, gentlemen," Castillo called cheerfully as Comandante Duffy and Captain D'Elia appeared in the quincho door. "And I'll…oops!"
A third man-stocky, nearly bald, dark-skinned, and in his thirties-had followed them in. Castillo had no idea who he was, and was already phrasing how he would tell Duffy he was not to bring any of his gendarmes to the safe house without prior permission when the man saluted very casually and, in English, introduced himself:
"Captain Urquila, Colonel," he said. "I ran into D'Elia at the embassy, and he said-since I hadn't actually reported in to you-that I probably should come out here and do it; that you were either here or would be shortly."
Castillo returned the salute as casually.
"What were you doing at the embassy, Captain Urquila?" Castillo asked, very softly and politely.
Davidson, who knew what it often meant when Castillo spoke very softly and politely, looked concerned.
"I wanted to ask Mrs. Sieno, sir, when I could expect you to be in country."
"And how long have you been in country, Captain?" Castillo asked again, softly and politely.
Urquila did the math in his head before replying.
"A week, sir. I got here the morning of the fifth. My team was up when General McNab laid this on us. I appointed myself and my medic the advance party, and we were on the LAN Chile flight out of Miami that night."
"You've been here a week, Captain-correct me if I'm wrong-and today you went looking for Mrs. Sieno at the embassy?"
"That's right, sir."
"And-curiosity frankly overwhelms me, Captain-how have you passed the time since you arrived in beautiful Argentina?"
"I've been nosing around Asuncion, sir, looking for someplace where these people could be holding this DEA guy."
"You and your medic," Castillo said, his tone making it more a question than a statement.
"Just he and I at first, sir. But now my whole team is up there."
"And why did you do that?"
"General McNab briefed me on the problem, sir, and when I came to see Mrs. Sieno before…"
Is he saying he saw Susanna before?
Castillo looked at Susanna. She nodded.
"…right after I got here, and she said she didn't really know where you were, and to hang loose, I figured the best thing to do was start nosing around looking for this place."
"Tony's found something very interesting, Colonel," D'Elia offered.
"Really?" Castillo said. "And what would that be, Captain?"
"Well, there's a sort of hidden compound on the Paraguayan side of the river-right on the river-protected by some really heavy anti-intrusion stuff. Including Claymores. Now, I've never seen this Timmons guy, but these people have three guys chained together to a pole. Two of them are Latinos, wearing some kind of brown uniform. The third is in a suit; he's got light skin, and I'd say the odds are he's Timmons or whatever his name is."
Jesus Christ!
"You've penetrated this compound?" Castillo asked, suddenly very serious.
"Not me, sir. My intel sergeant. Master Sergeant Ludwicz-"
"Skinhead Ludwicz?" Castillo interrupted. "That Master Sergeant Ludwicz?"
"Yes, sir. He said you two had been around the block a couple times."
Maybe that's who Bustamante saw on his intrusion!
I'll be a sonofabitch!
"Indeed we have," Castillo said.
"Well, he's one hell of a penetrator, as you probably know, so he went in. Alone. I didn't want to take any more chances than I had to, until I knew what was coming down."
"And Skinhead says he saw two brown-uniformed Latinos and a gringo in a suit, all chained to a pole?"
"Yes, sir. Sir, he said they have two bowls. One with water, one with food. And that they…this is what Ludwicz said, sir…and that they looked stoned, sir."
"As if, for example, they had been injected with heroin?"
Captain Urquila shrugged.
"Personally, sir, I don't know that I'd recognize the signs of someone on heroin, what they'd look like. And Ludwicz didn't say anything about seeing a needle, sir. Just that they looked stoned."
"Put the composite on the monitor, Jack," Castillo ordered.
"Why don't you have a look at this, Comandante?" Castillo said.
The composite appeared a second later.
Duffy's eyes widened.
"What is that?" he asked.
"Your compound look anything like this, Captain?" Castillo asked.
Urquila examined the composite very carefully and shook his
head.
"That's not it?" Castillo asked, incredulously.
"Oh, that's it," Urquila said. "I should have known you'd be way ahead of me. Colonel, I hope I haven't fucked anything up by sending Ludwicz in there…"
"Come here, Captain," Castillo said, gesturing with his hands for Urquila to move in very close. When he had, Castillo grabbed both of Urquila's ears and kissed him wetly on the forehead.
"Captain Urquila, I love you. I love Skinhead Ludwicz and I love you!"
Captain Urquila and Comandante Duffy both looked somewhat dazed.
"Corporal Bradley!" Castillo called.
"Sir?"
"There is a bottle of Famous Grouse single-malt in my room. I have been saving it for a special occasion. This is it! Go get it!"
"Aye, aye, sir."
Bradley and the Famous Grouse single-malt appeared three minutes later. But Bradley was not alone. Edgar Delchamps and David Yung followed him into the quincho.
"You really should let people know when you come home, Daddy," Delchamps greeted him. "Otherwise, Two-Gun and me will start to think you don't love us."
"Sorry, Ed. I just wanted to see what the satellite-"
"Is that why you're celebrating?" Delchamps asked, and crossed the room so that he could look at the monitors.
He moved quickly, but not as quickly as Sergeant Major Davidson's fingers on his laptop keyboard.
All four monitors now displayed images of provocatively posed naked young females.
Delchamps gave Davidson the finger.
"Me, too, Jack," Susanna Sieno said, disgustedly. "Really!"
Davidson hit more keys and the composite came back up on the center screen.
"What are we looking at?" Delchamps asked.
"That's where these people have Timmons and two gendarmes chained to a pole," Castillo said. "It's a couple of miles south of Asuncion. In Paraguay."
"Believed to be the location," Delchamps asked, "or confirmed to be?"
"We have a visual from a very good man," Castillo said. "Master Sergeant Ludwicz, who is Captain Urquila's intel sergeant." He pointed to Urquila. "First name Tony, right?"
Urquila nodded. "Yes, sir."
"This is Ed Delchamps, known as The Dinosaur, and Two-Gun Yung of the Federal Bureau of Ignorance."
The men nodded at each other.
"For real, Urquila?" Delchamps asked. "You got a man into this place and got an eyes-on?"
Castillo said, "What Ludwicz saw was two guys in brown uniforms and a gringo in a suit. Chained to a pole, and probably doped up. That's what we're going on."
"I asked him, Ace, but okay. That's enough really good news to start pouring the sauce, Lester, my boy, but the colonel don't get none."
"Might I dare to inquire why not?" Castillo responded.
"There are several obvious reasons," Delchamps said. "But primarily because you're about to fly Two-Gun and me to Montevideo. And I have this perhaps foolish aversion to being flown about by a sauced-up pilot."
"Curiosity overwhelms me. Why am I flying you and Two-Gun to Montevideo? Why can't you go commercial? And what are the other obvious reasons to which you allude?"
"Well, Ace, if you insist-about three inches, please, Lester, two ice cubes and no water-for one thing, Ordonez wants to see you before Ambassador Lorimer arrives, which will be about seven P.M. if Miller is to be believed. And what is The Gimp doing flying that airplane? I am wondering. For another, before you slip into your armor and gallop off on your white horse to do battle with the forces of evil, we have to have a long chat about what the CIA is up to in Asuncion, and I want you to be sober for that."
"And what evil is the CIA up to in Asuncion?"
Castillo was having trouble restraining a smile. Captain Urquila had absolutely no idea what was going on, and it showed on his face.
"When I explain that to you, Ace, I'm sure you will have cause to shamefully remember what you said about Two-Gun being a member of the Federal Bureau of Ignorance."
"Oh, I doubt that!"
"That's because I haven't told you what splendid service Inspector John J. Doherty has rendered to our noble cause."
"Which is?"
"I will tell you on the way to Montevideo, on which journey will we embark immediately after Brother Davidson has explained to me the computer game he is playing. And, of course, after I finish this drink and probably another. I always need a little liquid courage in order to fly with you at the wheel."
He turned a chair around and sat in it backward, facing the monitor.
"You may proceed, Brother Davidson," Delchamps said. "And speak slowly and use itsy-bitsy words, as Two-Gun will also be watching, and I don't want to have to explain everything all over again to him."
XIV
[ONE]
Jet-Stream Aviation
Jorge Newbery International Airport
Buenos Aires, Argentina 1735 12 September 2005 Corporal Lester Bradley was in the copilot seat of the Aero Commander, holding Castillo's laptop, with which Castillo was going to navigate their route to Montevideo. Edgar Delchamps and David Yung sat behind them, trying with little success to get Max to move to the area behind their seats.
"We're up, sir," Bradley announced.
Castillo looked at the laptop screen. There was a representation of an automobile-Casey's programmers had yet to add the option of an aircraft icon-sitting just off the single main runway of the downtown airport.
"You guys ready?" Castillo asked over his shoulder as he reached for the main buss switch.
"Don't wind it up just yet, Ace," Delchamps said. "Daddy has a confession to make."
Castillo turned to look at him.
"Oh, really?"
"Oh, really. And my shame and humiliation is tempered only by the fact that you-once you hear it-are going to have to abjectly apologize for all the unkind things you have been saying about the FBI."
"Time will tell, Edgar," Castillo said.
"You can listen to this, Lester," Delchamps went on, "even though it will probably shatter the childlike faith you have in me. And with the caveat, of course, that once you hear this, I shall probably have to kill you to keep you from spreading this among your friends."
"And you are going to make this confession in the next fifteen minutes or so, right?" Castillo said.
"This is very difficult for me, Ace. I seldom make errors of this magnitude. The last time was in 1986, when I erroneously concluded I had made an error."
Bradley giggled.
"Don't encourage him, for God's sake, Lester," Castillo said. "We'll never get to Montevideo."
"My mistake this time was in thinking I had conned Milton Weiss, when the opposite is true," Delchamps said.
He's serious now. This is no joke.
"That whole scenario about how he and Crawford plan to seize cruise ships is pure bullshit," Delchamps said. "And I not only swallowed it hook, line, and sinker, but encouraged you to do the same. Mea culpa, Ace."
"How do you know?" Castillo asked.
"Inspector John J. Doherty of the blessed Federal Bureau of Investigation, those wonderful checkers of fact, told Two-Gun," Delchamps said. "Before Two-Gun could come from Shangri-La to tell me, Doherty-damn his black Irish heart-got on the Gee-Whiz radio himself to break the news to me as gently as a mother telling her child, 'Sorry, there really is no Santa Claus.' He actually was embarrassed to have to tell me what a spectacular ass I'd made of myself."
"You are going to give us the details, right?" Castillo said, softly.
"Not yet. Not until you say something really nice to Two-Gun, who turned over the rock, so to speak."
"Okay," Castillo said, and turned to Yung. "'Something nice,' Two-Gun. Now, what damn rock did you turn over?"
Yung shrugged. "There was something about that ship-seizure plot that smelled, Colonel," he said. "So I got on the radio to Inspector Doherty, went over all the details we knew of it, then asked him what he thought. It smelled to him, too, so he checked it out. He
called me back and said it doesn't work that way. There are fines for companies whose ships do something illegal like moving drugs. But it's not like what the cops can do-seize a car, then have the bad guys go to court and try to get their car back."
Delchamps picked up the story: "According to Doherty, the only way these people could lose their ship is if after a trial-actually, a hearing-there is a fine and they don't pay it. Then the ship could theoretically be sold at auction to pay the fine. According to Doherty, that doesn't often happen-almost never happens-because the fines are never more than a hundred thousand, or two hundred thousand, never anything approaching the value of the ship-"
"And according to Doherty," Yung interrupted, "the only ships that tend to get sold to pay the fine are old battered small coastal freighters, the like of which aren't worth the cost of the fine. The drug people just let them go as a cost of doing business."
"So we was had, Ace," Delchamps said. "Not only was I led down the primrose path, but I held your hand as you skipped innocently along beside me."
"What's their angle?" Castillo asked, almost as if to himself.
"After my admission, I'm surprised you're asking me," Delchamps said.
"Come on, Ed. You made a mistake, that's all."
"I was conned by a guy I knew was a con artist."
"So what's his angle?"
"I have a theory, which of course I can't prove…"
"Let's have it."
"Weiss and Crawford are almost as old as I am. They're close to retirement, and I really don't think they've salted much away for their golden years. Can your imagination soar from that point, Charley?"
"They sold out," Castillo said.
"And justifying their actions-which wouldn't be hard, I admit-by telling themselves the company never appreciated all they'd done for it for all their long years of faithful service, the proof of that being Weiss riding a desk in Langley and Crawford being station chief in godforsaken Asuncion, Paraguay. So why not take a few bucks for slipping the drug guys a little information from time to time? Everybody knows the damn drugs are going to go through anyway."
"I'll be a sonofabitch," Castillo said, softly. "That explains why nobody in Langley knew about their seize-the-cruise-ships operation; there was no seize-the-cruise-ships operation."
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