The Hostage (Presidential Agent 2)

He put it to his ear. There was the to-be-expected hissing, which suddenly cleared.

"Jorge Newbery, this is United States Air Force Zero-Four-Seven-Seven. I have your runway in sight," a cheerful, confident American voice announced.

Castillo handed the Argentine the radio.

"Thank you," he said, and then to Yung: "Talk about timing!"

He sat down so that he could see out the windshield.

For a moment he could see nothing, and then, a second after he spotted first a Grimes light, and then the navigation lights, a very bright landing light suddenly blazed.

The glistening white Gulfstream-a U.S. Air Force C-37A-came in low and touched down immediately after the threshold. The words UNITED STATES OF AMERICA were lettered boldly down the side of the fuselage. They were illuminated so the legend couldn't be missed, telling Castillo the airplane belonged to the 89th Presidential Airlift Group at Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland. Only their airplanes had the classy paint jobs.

Castillo felt a lump in his throat. It was like seeing the colors flying somewhere very foreign. Which indeed was the case now.

"Jesus, that's a pretty bird!" the Air Force major said, softly.

"My sentiments exactly, Major," Castillo said, smiled, and offered the major his hand. "My name is Castillo."

"Yes, sir, I know. My name is Jossman, sir."

"You're going to take care of the crew?"

"The embassy administrative officer put everyone in the Las Pampas Aparthotel, Mr. Castillo," Yung answered for him. "I presumed he had checked with you. Is that all right?"

You are a clever sonofabitch, aren't you, Yung?

"He obviously did so with the ambassador's blessing," Castillo said. "Are you satisfied with them?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yung, I'm going to need a list of the FBI people," Castillo said. "Put your name and the other FBI agent from Montevideo on it. Just the names, and what they do if they're not special agents. And while you're at it, you might as well list the FBI personnel in Uruguay."

"I'll get it to you first thing in the morning."

"Is there some reason I can't have it right now? I'm going to give one copy to these gentlemen for Colonel Munz." He paused, and then asked, in Spanish, "You do work with El Coronel Munz?"

The man nodded.

"Thank you, Senor Castillo," he said. "I was about to ask. If I have the names, there will be no problem with Immigration."

"There you go, Yung," Castillo said, with a smile he really hoped would burn Yung. "Have at it."

"Yes, sir."

He is not used to being ordered around. Like Howard Kennedy, another, if former, FBI hotshot. What the hell is he doing in Uruguay?

"Here it comes," Air Force Major Jossman said, gesturing out the window.

Castillo looked and saw the Gulfstream coming down the taxiway.

"Do I have the only umbrella?" he asked.

"I've got some," Major Jossman said.

As the Gulfstream rolled onto the tarmac before the Southern Winds hangar, floodlights in the hangar came on, and a stream of Gendarmeria National men, most of them carrying submachine guns, came out of the hangar, formed a line, and came to attention, ignoring the rain. The officer in charge saluted.

Major Jossman took two umbrellas, opened one inside the bus, and then tried and failed to get it through the door. He gave up, collapsed it, stepped into the rain, and then opened it.