By Order of the President (Presidential Agent 1)

“Please don’t act as if you have no idea what I mean,” Pevsner said.

“How the hell did you find out?” Castillo asked after a long moment.

“It doesn’t really matter, does it? But I understand your curiosity.” Pevsner inclined his head toward the smaller Mercedes. “Before he became associated with me, Howard spent twenty years with the FBI.”

“Is that his first name or his last?”

“Howard Kennedy,” Pevsner said. “Over the years, our relationship has changed from employer-employee to being friends. I call him by his Christian name.”

It took a surprisingly short time for darkness to rise, until all that could be seen of Vienna was a sea of lights.

Pevsner had said nothing more. He had sipped his cognac and puffed on his cigar. It went out once and he relit it with the gold Dunhill and then politely offered the lighter to Castillo.

“Mine’s still going, thank you,” Castillo had said.

Finally, Pevsner said, “Well, that’s all there is to see. Unless we want to stay here until the sun rises. Shall we go?”

“Fine,” Castillo said.

Pevsner started toward the 600. There was just enough light for Castillo to see the East European hurry to open the rear door for them.

Pevsner waved Castillo into the backseat ahead of him. When he was inside, he saw that Howard Kennedy was in the front seat.

I guess Inge doesn’t get to ride with the boss.

Kennedy turned and extended his hand over the seat back.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Castillo. In certain circles, you have quite a reputation.”

Castillo shook the hand but said nothing.

“I’m sorry about that business in the men’s room,” Kennedy went on. “But Mr. Pevsner, for obvious reasons, doesn’t like his conversations recorded.”

Castillo nodded.

Out the window, he saw the East European first move the cognac snifters, the bottle, and the small humidor to the trunk of the smaller Mercedes, and then fold the table and put that in the trunk. Then he got behind the wheel and they started off.

They followed the 220 down Cobenzlgasse into Vienna, and then through the early evening traffic back to the center of the city, finally turning off The Ring onto Kaertnerstrasse.

“Do you know the Drei Hussaren, Major Castillo?”

“Yes, I do.”

“What do you prefer to be called? ‘Carlos’? Or ‘Charley’? Or perhaps ‘Karl’?”

“ ‘Charley’ is what my friends call me.”

“That’s what Howard thought,” Pevsner said. “You’re really amazing, Howard.”

“Thank you,” Howard chuckled.

Pevsner touched Castillo’s arm.

“In that case, since I really hope we are to become friends may I call you Charley?”

“Of course.”

“My Christian name is Aleksandr,” Pevsner said. “Howard calls me ‘Alex.’ Would you be comfortable calling me Alex, Charley?”