The Hunters (Presidential Agent 3)

“I thought you might think so, Yung. What happened at the estancia was that a drug deal, a big one, a huge one—we’re talking sixteen million dollars here—went wrong. You know, probably better than I do, that murder is a way of life in that business. Those drug people would as soon shoot you as look at you.”

“Yes, sir, that’s certainly true.”

Does he really believe this nonsense?

“Well, I’m not going to let them get away with it, I’ll tell you that. I’m not going to give them the diversion they want. No official complaint to the State Department.”

“I understand, sir.”

“I’m just going to bide my time, leaving them to swing in the breeze as they realize I’m not going to be their patsy.” He paused, then went on: “However, I think that the appropriate people in the State Department should be made aware of the situation. That’s more or less what I was getting into when I said you and I—and even the secretary herself—are in a delicate position. If it wasn’t for Ambassador Lorimer, I’d be perfectly happy to call a spade a spade, but in view of the ambassador’s physical condition…”

“I understand, sir.”

“None of us wish to spoil what I’m sure is his cherished memory of his son, much less give him a heart attack, do we?”

“No, sir, we certainly don’t.”

“On the other hand, I think the secretary should know about this, don’t you? Even if the information comes quietly from someone pretty low on the to tempole.”

“I take your point, sir.”

“I was sure you would,” McGrory said.

He stood up, leaned across his desk, and offered Yung his hand.

They shook, then he sat back down.

“Now, getting to the business you’re here for. Is there anything I can do, anyone on my staff can do, to facilitate the return of Mr. Lorimer’s remains to the United States, and the rest of it?”

“I’m sure there will be something, sir.”

“I’ll pass the word that you are to be given whatever assistance you need, and if you think anyone needs a little jogging, I’m as close as your telephone.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Specifically, what I’m going to do is ask Mr. Howell to ask Mr. Monahan to assign Mr. Artigas to assist you in whatever needs to be done so long as you’re here.”

“Mr. Artigas?”

“He can fill you in on what happened at Estancia Shangri-La,” McGrory explained. “He’s been up there. Chief Inspector José Ordóñez of the Interior Police Division of the Uruguayan Policía Nacional flew him up there in a helicopter the day after it happened.”

Yung thought: I’ve been sandbagged. The last thing I need is Julio Artigas looking over my shoulder and taking notes so that he can report to McGrory.

“I appreciate the thought, sir, but I’m not sure that will be necessary.”

“Nonsense,” McGrory said. “I’m sure he’ll be very helpful to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

McGrory stood up again.

“If you can find time while you’re here, why don’t we have lunch?”

Yung understood the meeting was concluded.

“I’d like that very much, sir,” Yung said and stood up.

McGrory offered his hand again. Yung shook it, then offered his hand to Howell.