The Hunters (Presidential Agent 3)

That’s the closed end, Señor Pompous, the one without a hole.

McGrory’s lips tightened and his face paled.

With a little bit of luck he’s going to show everybody his fabled Irish temper. Does hoping that he does make me really unpatriotic?

“What about it?” McGrory asked, holding the plastic bag with his fingers so he could get a good look at the bottom of the cartridge casing.

“The headstamp reads ‘LC 2004 NM,’ Mr. Ambassador,” Ordóñez said. “Can you see that, sir?”

Oh, shit! I didn’t see that.

I didn’t look close at the case because I knew what it was and where it had come from: the sniper’s rifle.

That’s an explanation, not an excuse.

Darby said the kid fired only two shots, so why didn’t they pick up both cases?

Is that one lousy cartridge case going to blow the whole thing up in our faces?

McGrory nodded.

“If I’m wrong,” Ordóñez said, “perhaps you can correct me, but I think the meaning of that stamping is that the cartridge was manufactured at the U.S. Army Lake City ammunition plant—I believe that it’s in Utah—in 2004. The NM stands for ‘National Match,’ which means the ammunition is made with a good deal more care and precision than usual because it’s intended for marksmanship competition at the National Matches.”

McGrory looked at him but didn’t say anything.

“That sort of ammunition isn’t common, Mr. Ambassador,” Ordóñez went on. “It isn’t, I understand, even distributed throughout the U.S. Army. The only people who are issued it are competitive marksmen. And snipers. And, as I understand it, only Special Forces snipers.”

“You seem to know a good deal about this subject, Chief Inspector,” McGrory said.

“Only since yesterday,” Ordóñez said, smiling. “I called our embassy in Washington and t hey called your Pentagon. Whoever they talked to at the Pentagon was very obliging. They said, as I said a moment ago, that the ammunition is not issued to anyone but competitive marksmen. And Special Forces snipers. And has never been sold as military surplus or given to anyone or any foreign government.”

“You are not suggesting, are you, Chief Inspector,” McGrory asked, coldly, “that there was a U.S. Army Special Forces sniper in any way involved in what happened at that estancia?”

“I’m simply suggesting, sir, that it’s very unusual…”

The storm surge of righteous indignation overwhelmed the dikes of diplomacy.

“Because if you are,” McGrory interrupted him, his face now flushed and his eyes blazing, “please let me first say that I find any such suggestion—any hint of such a suggestion—personally and officially insulting.”

“I’m sure, Mr. Ambassador, that Chief Inspector Ordó—” Deputy Foreign Minister Alvarez began.

“Please let me finish, Señor Alvarez,” McGrory said, cutting him off. “The way the diplomatic service of the United States functions is the ambassador is the senior government official in the country to which he is accredited. Nothing is done by any U.S. government officer—and that includes military officers—without the knowledge and permission of the ambassador. I’m surprised that you didn’t know that, Señor Alvarez.

“Further, your going directly to the Pentagon via your ambassador in Washington carries with it the implication that I have or had knowledge of this incident which I was not willing to share with you. That’s tantamount to accusing me, and thus the government of the United States, of not only conducting an illegal operation but lying about it. I am personally and officially insulted and intend to bring this to the immediate attention of the secretary of state.”

“Mr. Ambassador, I—” Alvarez began.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” McGrory said, cutting him off again. “This visit is terminated.”

Alvarez stood up, looking as if he was going to say something else but changing his mind.

“Good morning, Mr. Ambassador,” he said, finally, and walked out of the office with Ordóñez on his heels.

Howell thought: Well, that wasn’t too smart, McGrory. But, on the other hand, I think both Alvarez and Ordóñez walked out of here believing that you know nothing about what happened at Tacuarembó. The best actor in the world couldn’t turn on a fit like you just threw.

That doesn’t mean, however, that Ordóñez thinks I’m as pure as the driven snow.

“I regret that, of course, Howell,” McGrory said. “But there are times when making your position perfectly clear without the subtleties and innuendos of diplomacy is necessary. And this was one of those times.”