The Hunters (Presidential Agent 3)

“Keep slicing, Jack,” Castillo ordered. “Some of us are hungry.”

Davidson made a mock bow. “I humbly beg the colonel’s pardon, sir.”

Castillo’s cellular vibrated.

“¿Hola?”

“Congratulations,” Alex Darby announced, “you are now the proud lessee of a ten-room villa in Mayerling. They finally left, just now.”

“Susanna Sieno and Bradley are in the shopping center in Pilar, buying sheets, blankets, and food.”

“And lightbulbs,” Sieno said. “Don’t forget the lightbulbs.”

“And lightbulbs,” Castillo said.

“I told my maid to bring lightbulbs and food. I didn’t think about sheets and blankets.”

“You’re bringing your maid out there?”

“And her daughter,” Darby said. “This place will not run itself.”

Castillo, remembering who Darby was, stopped himself just in time from asking if that was smart. Instead, he asked, “Can you call her cellular and tell her she can bring the stuff to the house?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it, and I’ll call the gate and tell the guards to let them in. It might be a good idea if she spent the night here, Charley, to get things organized. Or would you rather that I stayed?”

“No. I want you here, to pick your brain. If you hurry, there just may be a little steak from Rio Alba leftover.”

“Remind Paul that a hungry boss is a difficult superior,” Darby said and the connection went dead.

Before he could lay the cellular down by the charger again, it vibrated.

“¿Hola?”

“They’re on their way to the bus terminal,” Yung reported. “I’m sure they didn’t meet anyone they knew here.”

“Good. They’re expected. Let me know when you get there.”

“Got it,” Yung said and broke the connection.

Castillo reported the exchange to Munz, who nodded but didn’t say anything.

“Paul, Susanna will spend the night out there,” Castillo said.

Sieno nodded.

“I was going to recommend that,” he said.

Davidson handed Castillo a plate. It held thick, pink-in-the-middle slices of filet mignon, slices of vine-ripened tomato, and a stack of papas Provençal.

“This isn’t the haute cuisine we got used to in Afghanistan, Charley, but maybe you can wash it down with enough wine to make it edible.”

As a monitor showed Alex Darby parking his car in the basement garage, Yung called to report that everyone was safely at the terminal, had their tickets, and would soon be able to get on the bus.

“Let me know when that happens,” Castillo ordered. “And when the bus leaves the parking lot.”

“Got it,” Yung said and the connection went dead.

“Alex,” Castillo said as Darby helped himself to slices of steak, “what we’re going to do now is I’m going to recap what we’ve been talking about and then you’re going to tell us what you think.”