The Hostage (Presidential Agent 2)

"In addition to his knowing too much, Charley, there are those who think he skimmed the payoff money. To the tune of some-depending on who you talk to- twelve to sixteen million dollars."

"Jesus!"

"Yeah, Jesus. And one more little item. This gets uncomfortably close to Alex."

"How Alex?"

"How do you think you move that kind of money around? By wire transfer? By UPS?"

"You tell me."

"One hundred thousand U.S. dollars fresh from the mint comes in a neatly wrapped plastic package about so big," Kennedy said, taking his hands off the wheel to demonstrate the size. He could have been mimicking a stubby shoe box.

The traffic cop blew another burst of his whistle and waved traffic forward.

"And Alex moves freight, right?" Castillo said. "No questions asked?"

"You don't really expect me to answer that, do you?"

"So why are you telling me what you did?"

"Alex thinks you're a lot smarter than I do," Kennedy said. "He thinks it's possible you'll find this sonofabitch before anybody else does, and that you'll share that information with him."

"Tell Alex, sorry, no. I want this sonofabitch alive, not with a beauty mark in the center of his forehead."

"Why? So he can tell you who's after him?"

"Exactly."

"You really are a virgin, aren't you? These people are untouchable. Believe me."

"The answer is no, Howard. Tell Alex that."

"I told him that's what you would probably decide," Kennedy said.

They were now almost to the Arc de Triomphe de L'etoile. Kennedy made an abrupt left turn onto Rue Pierre Charron and stopped.

"Get out, Charley. Conversation over."

Without another word, Castillo got out of the car. Kennedy drove quickly off.

Castillo walked back to the Champs-Elysees, and then down it, toward the Crillon.

XV

[ONE] Suite 301 Hotel de Crillon 10 Place de la Concorde Paris, France 0730 27 July 2005 There was a knock at the door, and Castillo, still chewing on a piece of toast, stood up from the breakfast table and went to open the door.

A nondescript man in his late fifties-maybe a little older-was standing there in a somewhat rumpled suit.

"Mr. Castillo?"

"Right. You're Mr. Delchamps?"

The man nodded.

"Come on in. Would you like some breakfast?"

"No, thanks."