“Wrong answer, José?” Castillo said, smiling at him.
“Not what I expected,” Ordóñez said. “Is that true, David?”
Yung nodded.
“Then I apologize,” Ordóñez said. “I had decided that you were entirely capable of doing something like that, and probably had. But I couldn’t figure out why.”
“Done something like what?”
“At eleven o’clock this morning, I was summoned—together with the minister of the interior—to the Foreign Ministry. The President was there. They had just been on a conference call with our ambassador to Washington. He reported that your secretary of State had requested a, quote, personal service, unquote, from him, and requested that he receive her at his earliest convenience. Half an hour later, she was at our embassy. She told him that she was very deeply concerned about the welfare of Ambassador Lorimer and his wife, who—against her advice and wishes—were already on their way to Estancia Shangri-La. She said the ambassador has a serious heart condition, which had been almost certainly exacerbated by the loss first of his son and then of his home in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina.
“She asked, as a personal request, not as the secretary of State, that we do whatever we could for Ambassador Lorimer and his wife.” He paused. “The President thought that was amusing.”
“Amusing?”
“He said the lady may have gone to see the ambassador as a private citizen, but that inasmuch as she is the secretary of State, your American eagle was sitting on her shoulder.”
“I’ll tell you what I know, José,” Castillo said. “She likes Ambassador Lorimer. I don’t even know how she knows him, but she likes him. She doesn’t want him down here, she told him that personally, and she sent me to Mississippi—where he and his wife were staying with Masterson’s widow and her father—to talk him out of coming. I couldn’t. My only connection with this was to send my airplane, the Gulfstream, to bring them here. That would at least spare them the hassle of going through airports.
“So, what I’m saying is that your ambassador got what he saw, a very nice lady worried about a nice old man. She had no other agenda.”
“And what are you going to tell this nice old man about your plans for Estancia Shangri-La? Have you considered that?”
“He knows,” Castillo said.
“He knows?” Ordóñez asked, incredulously.
“That was my hole card in trying to talk him out of coming. I played it. And it didn’t work.”
“Well, let me tell you how this very nice lady’s concern for a nice old man is going to complicate things for you, Castillo. The President—not my chief, the interior minister, and not the foreign minister, but my president—pointed a finger at me and told me I was now responsible for the comfort and safety of Ambassador Lorimer and his wife as long as they are in Uruguay. If I don’t believe I can adequately protect them with any of our police agencies, it can be arranged for a company of our infantry to conduct routine maneuvers near Estancia Shangri-La for as long as necessary.
“To spare the ambassador and his wife the long ride by car from here to the estancia—and to preclude any chance of a mishap on the road—I am to suggest to them that they accept the President’s offer of his personal helicopter”—he pointed at the Aerospatiale Dauphin—“to transport them to the estancia.
“By the time the helicopter would have reached Shangri-La—this was the interior minister’s ‘suggestion’—I would have ensured that the estancia had been visited by appropriate police officials under my command to make sure there were no security problems.”
He paused.
Castillo thought, He’s actually out of breath!
“You sound as if there’s some reason you can’t do that,” Castillo said.
“Can’t do what?”
“Take the Lorimers to the estancia in the President’s helicopter.”
“How are you going to take them there in the dark?” Ordóñez said, gesturing.
“Speaking hypothetically, of course, I think that would pose no problem. What you do is fly there, and when people on the estancia, who are expecting you, hear you overhead, they turn on the headlights of their cars, which have been positioned to light the field near the house. And then you land.”
“How are you going to find Shangri-La?”
“GPS.”
“The Aerospatiale doesn’t have it. I asked.”
“I do,” Castillo said. “Lester, show the chief inspector the laptop.”
“You would trust this to get you there?” Ordóñez asked several minutes later, when Bradley had finished his demonstration. “Is it safe?”
“Absolutely and absolutely,” Castillo said, “and what small risk it might involve is far less, I submit, than the alternatives, which are either to drive the Lorimers and everybody else all the way up there, or—even worse—to put them in a hotel overnight, which carries with it the risk that the secretary of state, not having heard from me that the Lorimers are safely at the estancia, might telephone Ambassador McGrory and enlist him in her cause, whereupon he can be counted upon to start making a lot of noise we don’t need.”
“I was worried about that,” Ordóñez said. “If perhaps she hasn’t already called the ambassador. If she had, I think we’d know.”
“I think so. Let’s keep him out of this, if possible.”
Ordóñez nodded, then said, “We’d have to make two trips, right? We can’t get everybody in the Aerospatiale.”
“Is the pilot of the Aerospatiale any good?”
“Of course they’re good. They’re the presidential pilots.”
“Okay. Then I go in the Huey and they follow me in their Aerospatiale.”
“You mean with my pilots, of course.”
“It would be better if I went as copilot.”
“Can you fly a Huey?”
“No, but I’m a quick learner.” When that got the dubious look that Castillo anticipated, he added, his tone bordering on annoyance, “Yeah, I can fly one, José.”
Fifteen minutes later, as Castillo was talking to the Uruguayan pilots beside the Aerospatiale, he heard Miller’s voice on the Aerospatiale’s radio.
“Carrasco approach control, Gulfstream Three Seven Nine.”
Castillo walked toward the runway to watch the Gulfstream land. Bradley walked up to him.
“I’m sure that’s our airplane, sir,” Bradley said, pointing.
Castillo looked at Bradley, then at the Gulfstream touching down.
“Our airplane,” huh, Lester?
Another reason I can’t send you back to the Marine Corps.
You not only consider yourself a member of this ragtag outfit of ours, but you have earned the right to think just that.
Three minutes later, the Gulfstream rolled to a stop on the tarmac in front of the civil aviation terminal and next to the helicopters.
Miller was the first to come down the stair door. When he saw Castillo, he tried—and failed—to make it appear he was able to reach the tarmac without difficulty.
Castillo walked to meet Miller.
“Who told you that you could fly that down here?” Castillo greeted him.
“I got tired of riding a desk, Charley,” Miller replied, unrepentant.
“And if the Air Force couldn’t operate the rudder pedals—for any number of reasons that come quickly to mind—then what?”
“If I had had to push on the pedals, I would have pushed on the pedals, and you know it.”
Next off the airplane was a burly man whose loose raincoat only partially concealed the Uzi he held against his leg.
Christ, if Ordóñez sees the Uzi, will he make waves?
The burly man recognized Castillo—who did not recognize him—and saluted. Sort of. He touched two fingers of his left hand to his left temple. Castillo returned the salute with the same subtle gesture. Then the burly man, satisfied there was no threat on the tarmac, turned to the stair door. When Ambassador Lorimer started down the stairs, th
e burly man started to help him.
Lorimer curtly waved him away.
“Ah,” Lorimer said. “Colonel Castillo. How nice of you to meet me. Entirely unnecessary, of course.”
“How was the flight, Mr. Ambassador?”
“It made me feel like a rock-and-roll star,” Lorimer said. “Where’s your dog?” He looked around and finally located Max. Edgar Delchamps had him at the end of a tightly held leash.
“Ah, there you are, Max!” the ambassador said, put his fingers to his lips, and whistled shrilly.
Max towed Delchamps to the ambassador without apparent effort. The ambassador squatted and scratched Max’s ears.
“Mr. Ambassador, there’s a couple of small problems,” Castillo said. “Would you and Mrs. Lorimer feel up to a helicopter flight of about an hour and a half, perhaps a little less?”
“To the estancia, you mean?”
“Yes, sir. Sir, the President of Uruguay welcomes you—this is Mr. José Ordóñez of the Interior Department…”
“On behalf of the President of the republic, Mr. Ambassador, welcome to Uruguay. The President hopes you will be willing to use his helicopter for the final leg of your journey.”
“That’s very kind of him,” Lorimer said. “May I ask a personal question?”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
“Do all officials of your interior department go about with a Glock on their hips?”
Castillo laughed. Ordóñez glowered at him.
“Try not to let my wife see it, please,” Lorimer said. “And—partially because I think Colonel Castillo thinks this is necessary—I accept the kind offer of the President. There will be time when we get to the estancia for you to explain the nature of the ‘small problems’ Colonel Castillo has mentioned.”
“Right this way, Mr. Ambassador,” Ordóñez said, “if you please.”
“Before we do that, I’m sure my wife will wish to powder her nose, as the expression goes, and I will need a little sustenance.”
“You’re hungry, Mr. Ambassador?” Ordóñez asked.
“Thirsty, actually,” Lorimer said. “I’ve been told, Señor Ordóñez, that Uruguay’s male population consumes more scotch whiskey per capita than any other such population. Is that true?”
“I believe it is, Mr. Ambassador,” Ordóñez said.
“Then it wouldn’t be too much trouble for you, would it, to come up with a little taste”—he held his thumb and index fingers about as widely separated as the joints would allow—“of, say, some of Macallan’s finest? While my wife is powdering her nose, of course.”
“I think that can be arranged, Mr. Ambassador,” Ordóñez said, smiling appreciatively.
“You know, Señor Ordóñez, that according to Saint Timothy, our Lord said, ‘Take a little wine for thy stomach’s sake and thine other infirmities.’”
“I’ve heard that, Mr. Ambassador,” Ordóñez said.
“If they had had Macallan in those days—even the eighteen-year-old, never mind the thirty—I’m sure He would have said, ‘Take a little Macallan.’ Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I think you’re right, Mr. Ambassador,” Ordóñez said, nodding and smiling even more broadly.
Lorimer turned to Castillo.
“And while Señor Ordóñez is arranging a little out-of-the-sight-of-mine-wife sustenance for me, Colonel, why don’t you get on that marvelous radio of yours and inform my daughter that her mother and I have not only survived this perilous journey but are now in your capable protective hands?”
“Yes, sir.”
[THREE]
Estancia Shangri-La
Tacuarembó Province
República Oriental del Uruguay
2115 12 September 2005
After a quick—but, Castillo noticed, quite thorough—inspection of the big house of Estancia Shangri-La, Ambassador Lorimer said that he thought it would be a good idea if everyone “had a little taste—perhaps a Sazerac—to wet down our new home.”
“One, Philippe,” Mrs. Lorimer said. “One small one.” She looked at Colin-the-butler. “You understand, Colin?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Lorimer then said, “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I’m going to have another look around the kitchen.”
“And may I suggest the sitting room, gentlemen?” Colin said, gesturing grandly in that direction.
Everyone filed into the sitting room and watched as Colin prepared the drinks. When he was finished, he gave the first one to the ambassador and then passed the others.
“What is this?” Ordóñez asked, suspiciously.
“If we tell you, you probably won’t drink it,” Castillo said.
“This is a Sazerac, el Señor Ordóñez,” Ambassador Lorimer said, holding up his glass. “A near-sacred New Orleans tradition, and certainly the appropriate libation with which to wet down my new home, but, frankly, I’m reluctant to have Colin offer you one.”
“Why is that, Mr. Ambassador?” Ordóñez asked, politely and more than a little uncomfortably.
“Now that I am a retired diplomat, I don’t have to drink with people I know are lying to me.”
Ordóñez flushed.
“Who are you, really?” Lorimer asked.
Ordóñez was silent a long moment.
“I’ll make a deal with you, Mr. Ambassador,” Ordóñez then said. “You tell me who he really is”—he pointed at Colin—“and I will…clarify…my identity.”
The butler looked at Castillo, who was smiling and shaking his head.
Castillo nodded.
The butler said, “Chief Warrant Officer Five Colin Leverette, el Señor Ordóñez.”
“You’re a soldier?” Ordóñez asked.
Leverette nodded.
“And you are?” Ambassador Lorimer pursued.
“I’m Chief Inspector Ordóñez of the Interior Police Division of the Uruguayan Policía Nacional, Mr. Ambassador.”
“Thank you,” Lorimer said. “You may give him the Sazerac, please, Colin…or should I address you as ‘Chief’?”
“‘Colin’ is fine, sir,” Castillo answered for him.
Leverette delivered the drink to Ordóñez, then said, “To clarify my identity, Chief Inspector: I am what is known in the profession as a shooter from the stockade. And now that I’ve told you that, I’ll have to kill you.”
Ordóñez shook his head in disbelief.
“To the ambassador’s new home,” Castillo said, raising his glass.
There was a chorus of “Hear, hear” and the drinks were sipped.
After a moment, the ambassador held out his empty glass to Colin Leverette.
“If you’ll be so kind as to freshen that up, Colin, before my wife returns from her inspection of the culinary facilities, we can turn to the discussion of the few little problems Colonel Castillo mentioned.”
Ten minutes later, Castillo looked around the room.
“Did I leave anything out?”
“That pretty well covered it, Ace,” Edgar Delchamps said. “And actually, now that I’ve had a chance to think it over, it’s not all gloom and despair, despite what the secretary of State has done to us with her decision to become Mother Teresa in addition to her other duties.” He looked at the ambassador. “No offense, sir.”
“None taken.”
“Please tell me how that’s not all gloom and despair, Ed,” Castillo said. “My definition of total gloom and despair is when I have to admit I don’t have a fucking clue how the hell I can stage a helicopter assault without helicopters. And the floodlight Secretary Cohen’s shined on the estancia is so brilliant that there’s no way that I can bring them in here black…”
“Doing it without them comes to mind,” Delchamps said.
Is he saying that because he’s stupid?
Or trying to bring me back from the depths of despair and gloom?
There’s absolutely no fucking way I can do this without the choppers!
Without the choppers I won’t even have
any weapons!
“May I offer an observation?” Ambassador Lorimer said. “I hesitate to…”
That’s all I fucking need. A diplomatic solution.
“Certainly, Mr. Ambassador,” Castillo said.
“Perhaps I don’t understand,” Lorimer said. “The problem, as you see it, is that because of the secretary of State’s concern for my welfare, and the kind response of the government of Uruguay, is that there will be so much activity here at the estancia that it would be impossible to bring the helicopters secretly here from the Ronald Reagan. Is that it?”
I thought I just said that…
“Yes, sir, Mr. Ambassador. That sums it up succinctly,” Castillo said.
“Well, as I am speaking from a position of total ignorance, and you are the recognized experts in this sort of thing, I rather suppose you will think this question reflects my ignorance.”
“Mr. Ambassador, I would love to hear whatever you have to say,” Castillo said.
“What I was thinking when you first outlined the plan, Colonel Castillo, was that Mother Teresa had—certainly unintentionally, but I would submit, inarguably…”
He called the secretary of State “Mother Teresa”?
I really like the old guy.
I don’t give a damn what he suggests, I’m going to let him down as gently as I can.
“…provided you an opportunity to hide your helicopter-refueling operation in plain sight.”
“Excuse me?”
“Listening to your original plan, I thought the one weakness was your belief that flying four helicopters in here at night would go unnoticed.”
“Is that so?”
“They are not silent, and the noise they make is alien to the rural areas. Am I right so far? Please stop me…”
“Please go on,” Ordóñez said. “That was one of my concerns, sir. But it was a risk I decided had to be taken.”
“But now the first helicopters to come here…”
The first helicopter to come here was the one I flew during my failed attempt to repatriate his worthless son.
Doesn’t he know that?
Of course he does.
What he’s doing is being diplomatic and not bringing it up.
“…attracting, I am sure, a great deal of curiosity, are government helicopters. Questions will be asked, I submit, and these will be answered by announcing that the government is doing something on the estancia. Thus, setting the precedent that helicopters here are legitimate.”
The Shooters Page 51