The Hostage (Presidential Agent 2)

"I'll get on the horn to Joel Isaacson and see what he can come up with."

"Thank you."

"I'll see you in just a little while, baby. We can talk about it."

"How soon will Roger be here?"

"No more than twenty minutes."

"Okay, I'll be ready." [NINE] Restaurant Kansas Avenida Libertador San Isidro Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1810 24 July 2005 Charley's glass of Senetin cabernet sauvignon was just about empty and he was getting just a little concerned- Jesus, Betty should have been here by now-when his cellular buzzed.

"Castillo."

"Wo bist du, Karl?"

Munz, and using the intimate form of address, as if we're pals.

"Between us, man-to-man, I'm sitting in the bar of the Kansas, waiting for my lady love."

"At the bar? You're sitting at the bar?"

"Yes, I am. And no, I don't want any more comp-"

"Listen to me, Karl, carefully. This instant, get away from the bar and into a booth. Keep your head down."

He's serious. What the hell is going on? Charley thought, then said, "Was ist los?"

"Do what I tell you, for God's sake! I'm trying to keep you alive! I'll have cars there in a couple of minutes."

The line went dead.

Shit!

Castillo got off the bar stool, signaled to the bartender that he was moving to a banquette, and did so.

As surreptitiously as he could, he took the Beretta from the small of his back and worked the action. He didn't think anyone saw what he did.

A minute or so later, he heard the wail of a siren, and then realized it was sirens, plural.

A minute after that, there was the screech of brakes outside, and first two members of the Gendarmeria National burst into the restaurant, their hands on Uzis. And on their heels came two men in civilian clothing, also carrying Uzis.

Smart. If they'd come in first, instead of the uniforms, after Munz's warning, I might have decided to shoot first and sort it out later.

One of the men he was sure were SIDE agents half trotted into the bar, saw him, and walked quickly to the table.

"If you'll come with us, please, Mr. Castillo?"

"What the hell is going on?"

"If you'll come with us, please, Mr. Castillo?" he repeated. "Colonel Munz will explain everything when we get there." It was a short ride, actually. The narrow streets and the high speed made it seem longer.

He saw first the flashing lights of police cars, and then the ambulances, and then the embassy car.

The embassy car-the windows looked as if someone had attacked them with a baseball bat-Jesus Christ, somebody shot the shit out of the car!-was backed into a sidewalk cafe at the traffic circle at the southeast corner of the San Isidro Jockey Club property. Tables and chairs had been scattered, and there were people sitting in chairs and lying on the ground who had either been run over or shot.

Castillo was out of the car before it stopped moving.

Munz was standing by the embassy car.