The Hunters (Presidential Agent 3)

“Me, too,” Mr. Walsh said. “I just love the game.”

“Anytime anyone’s looking for ol’ Carlos, I just tell them to check out the nearest golf club,” Fernando said.

“What business are you in, Mr. Castillo? If you don’t mind my asking?”

“Investments,” Castillo said.

“Buy low and sell high, right, Carlos?” Fernando asked.

“I try.”

“Word of a steal like this gets around quickly,” Mr. Walsh said. “Frankly, I’ve got several people really interested.”

“Well, Mr. Walsh, if you can get somebody to give you eight million for this old airplane I suggest you take the offer. On the other hand, if you’d be willing to shave half a million off your asking price I might be interested. With several other caveats.”

“For example, Mr. Castillo?”

“My golfing buddy, Jake Torine, is a much better pilot than I am. I’d have to have him check it out. He lives in Charleston.”

“We’d be happy to have your friend fly here at our expense and give him a test hop. He’s checked out in the Gulfstream, I presume?”

“Yes, he is.”

“But so far as lowering the price is concerned…”

“What I meant was, you would take the airplane—and Fernando—to Charleston and let my friend fly it there,” Castillo said. “But if you can’t lower the price, I guess that doesn’t matter.”

“Perhaps—one never knows what will happen, does one?—something could be worked out. If you’d be willing to pay the standard hourly charter rate for the G-III, for example, for the hours it took to fly to Charleston…”

“Which is how much?”

“Ballpark figure, about three thousand an hour.”

“Since we’re playing what-if,” Castillo said, “what if you flew this airplane to Charleston, gave my friend a test hop, all at three thousand an hour, and what if he said the old bird was worth the money, and what if I said, ‘Okay, I’ll buy it, ’ you’d take how many hours at three thousand per it came to off your price of seven million five, right?”

“Mr. Castillo, I’m not at all sure I can shave the price even a little, much less half a million dollars.”

“I understand,” Castillo said. “You go ahead and sell to whoever is willing to pay that much money for a twenty-four-year-old airplane. Thanks for letting me have a look.”

“It’s only twenty-three years old, Mr. Castillo.”

“Okay. Twenty-three-year-old airplane.”

“At the risk of repeating myself,” Mr. Walsh said, “one never knows what’s going to

happen. How would I get in touch with you, Mr. Castillo, if—”

“Fernando usually knows where I’m swatting the ol’ ball around at any given time, so just call him. You have his number, right?”

When they were on the highway to Uvalde, Fernando said, “I wonder if he’ll call today or wait until tomorrow.”

“I hope he waits longer than that,” Castillo said. “That looks like such a good deal, I can hear Grandpa say, ‘Anytime you’re offered a really good deal you’d be a fool to turn down, take a cold shower every day for a week and then have another look, a very close look.’”

Fernando chuckled.

“I have something serious to say, Gringo.”

“Uh-oh.”