Yung took Doherty’s and Delchamps’s pistols from his briefcase and gave them back, which caused Darby to suggest that carrying them might become a problem but one that could probably be dealt with by making an effort to travel in an embassy car, the diplomatic plates of which would guarantee immunity from spot roadside searches by the Policía Federal.
Castillo—trailed by Max—took two bottles of beer from the refrigerator and went to the quincho; Susanna Sieno had told him Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC, was out there on radio duty.
As Castillo entered the quincho, Bradley leaped to his feet, popped to attention, and said, “Good evening, Colonel. I have the duty, sir.”
“Stand at ease,” Castillo replied, trying to stifle a strong urge to smile. It didn’t work. He smiled, then handed Bradley a bottle of beer. “Have a beer, Les.”
When he saw that Bradley was more than a little discomfited, Castillo went on: “You may wish to write this down, Corporal. When the senior officer in the area hands you a beer and orders you to consume same, you are then immunized against prosecution under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, 1948, for drinking on duty.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“What do we hear from the States, Les?” Castillo asked.
“About an hour ago, sir, there was a message from Major Miller to be delivered to you on your arrival. I passed it to Sergeant Major Davidson, sir.”
“Well, now that I’m here and Davidson isn’t, do you think you could give it to me?”
“Yes, sir. Quote, the canary is really singing, end quote. Major Miller said you would understand what it meant, sir,” Bradley said.
“Yeah, I do,” Castillo said. “Les, go get—discreetly—Mr. Sieno, Mr. Darby, Sergeant Major Davidson, Sergeant Kensington, and Mr. Solez. I’ll watch the radio.”
“Yes, sir,” Bradley said and headed for the door. Then he stopped and carefully set his beer bottle on the floor. “I think it would be best if I left this here, sir. Sergeant Major Davidson might not understand that I have your permission to drink on duty.”
“Good thinking, Corporal,” Lieutenant Colonel Castillo said.
When they had all assembled, Castillo asked if anyone had seen anything that suggested an attack on the house or the waylaying of a car going to or from it.
“Nothing, Colonel,” Davidson replied. “And we’ve looked. The only thing r
emotely suspicious was the driver of a laundry truck—a van, white, with ‘ECO’ on the panels—who seemed pretty interested in the house. The second time he drove by, Bradley and I followed him.”
“The both of you?”
“Lester chased him around the country club on a bicycle and I went just outside the gate and followed him in a Beamer. Lester said all he did inside here was deliver and pick up laundry and dry cleaning. And then I followed him when he came out. He went to the ECO place—near the Sheraton Hotel—and unloaded dirty clothes. And that’s it.”
He looked around at the others and there was general agreement.
“Well, I’ve got a gut feeling that they’re going to try to whack Billy Kocian,” Castillo said. “And the chances of that happening will multiply exponentially after I go see a man I have to go see.”
They looked at him for clarification but he offered none.
“I’ll need a weapon, Susanna,” he said. “Is that Micro Uzi I borrowed in Budapest still here?”
She nodded.
Davidson asked, “Where we going, Charley?”
“We’re not going anywhere. I’m going to see a guy—Delchamps and I are.”
Susanna Sieno said, “Colonel, you heard what Alex said. If you’re going to take that Micro Uzi, you better take one of the embassy cars with CD plates. And somebody to drive it.”
“I happen to be a very good Beamer driver, in case anyone cares,” Sergeant Major Davidson said.
Castillo’s eyebrow went up.
“For everyone’s edification,” he said, “it’s Bimmer.”
Davidson looked at him in a rare moment of confusion. “It’s what?”