The Hunters (Presidential Agent 3)

“Is there a chance he will be arrested?” Silvio asked.

Munz shook his head and said, “If he has been as generous as I suspect he has, if the decision to act on one or more of the Interpol warrants is made, he’ll be given sufficient warning before the order to go arrest him is given.” He paused and looked at Castillo. “But to answer your question, Karl, they’re watching me so they won’t be surprised by anything that might happen.”

“Okay. Makes sense,” Castillo said, thought a long moment, then asked, “If somebody tried to grab you or whack you—or your family—and SIDE was watching, what would happen?”

“That’s what worries me, Karl,” Munz said. “I’d like to think that SIDE was told to protect me—us—and that I left enough friends behind in SIDE, many of whom know my family, so they would protect us, orders or not. But that may not be the case. That’s why I’m so grateful for your offer to get them out of here.”

“With that—and SIDE—in mind, Charley,” Santini said, “SIDE runs a computer scan of people passing through immigration.”

“How hard would it be to smuggle them into Uruguay?” Castillo asked. “If that’s possible, we could pick them up at Carrasco with the Gulfstream. I don’t think SIDE is scanning Uruguayan immigration, are they, Alfredo?”

Artigas thought: Gulfstream? Jesus Christ, has he got his own airplane?

“We have…excuse me, SIDE has,” Munz corrected himself, as he no longer was chief of SIDE, “an arrangement where Uruguayan immigration checks a list of names SIDE gives them against people coming in or out and lets SIDE know if anybody shows up. I don’t think my name is on that list.”

“I don’t know if it’s smuggling or not, Colonel,” Artigas said, “but they wouldn’t have to go through immigration to get to Uruguay. All they need is their National Identity Card to get on an airplane or the Buquebus ferry. They don’t take names.”

“He’s right, Charley,” Santini said.

“The Buquebus would be better,” Munz said.

“Okay, we’ll do that,” Castillo said. “First we get their passports stamped, very quietly, with a…”

“…five-year, multivisit visa,” Ambassador Silvio furnished. “You get me the passports, Colonel Munz, and I’ll take care of that.”

“Thank you,” Munz said.

“First we get them visas and then on the Buquebus,” Castillo said. “Then what?”

“I’ve got to go back to Uruguay,” Yung said. “And so, come to think of it, does Artigas, so he can look very surprised when McGrory tells him he’s been transferred over here. One or both of us could go on the Buquebus with them.”

“Why do you have to go back to Uruguay?” Castillo asked.

“I’ve got to get Lorimer and his casket from the undertakers and out to the airport.”

“Jesus, I forgot all about him,” Castillo said, then heard what he had said and smiled and shook his head. “Mr. Ambassador, there’s another example that I’m playing with far fewer than fifty-two cards in my deck.”

Silvio said, “That’s only proof, Colonel, that you forgot the details of the repatriation of Mr. Lorimer’s remains.”

Castillo raised an eyebrow, then turned to Yung. “Tell me about those, Dave,” he said.

“The casket will go on American Airlines flight 6002 at five after nine tomorrow night. It could have gone tonight, but the body wasn’t ready.”

“‘The body wasn’t ready’?” Castillo parroted.

“I was afraid the bastard’s father might insist on opening the casket. When I saw the body in the English hospital, it looked awful. So I took some clothes from the estancia and told the undertaker to dress him, and to do a better job of sewing him up than the hospital did after the autopsy.”

“That was a very nice thing for you to do, Mr. Yung,” Ambassador Silvio said.

“And it would have been even nicer if you hadn’t called the deceased ‘the bastard,’” Castillo said.

Yung looked at him, ignored the comment, and continued: “The airplane stops at Ezeiza, then goes to Miami. Then the casket’ll be transferred to an American Airlines flight…I’ve got the number somewhere if that detail’s important…to New Orleans.”

“And you have to go with it,” Castillo said.

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Yung said. “I’d much rather stay here.”

Jesus Christ, Castillo thought, he’s really done a one-eighty!