Robert Howell, the "cultural att
ache" of the U.S. embassy in Montevideo, was in fact the CIA station chief.
"And what did Howell tell him?" Castillo asked carefully.
"The truth-or what he thought was the truth. That both you and I were in the United States, but that he would relay the message."
"And what did Howell do?"
"He got on the next plane to Buenos Aires and came to see me," Darby said. "So I took him out to Nuestra Pequena Casa to see Alfredo to see if he had any idea what this was all about."
"Did you?" Castillo asked.
Munz shook his head.
"I don't think we were in the house thirty minutes," Darby said, "when Duffy showed up at the front door."
"The front door, or at the gate?" Castillo asked.
"The front door," Darby said. "Obviously, he had people on me or Howell-more likely both-and they followed us from the embassy. And no country club security guard is going to tell a comandante of the gendarmeria he can't come in."
"What did he want?" Castillo asked.
"To talk to me," Munz said. "But especially to you."
"What about?"
"I wanted to show you some photographs, Colonel," a voice behind Castillo said. It sounded not only American, but as if the speaker were a native of Brooklyn.
Castillo turned to see a tall, muscular, very fair-skinned man with a full head of curly red hair. He was in the process of taking off his suit jacket, under which he carried in a shoulder holster what looked like a full-frame Model 1911A1 Colt.45 semiautomatic pistol.
Max was now on his feet, his head cocked to one side, looking at the newcomer.
So you're Liam Duffy, Castillo thought.
And how long have you been outside listening to this conversation, Senor Duffy?
Duffy walked around to behind the ornate desk. He hung his jacket on the back of his chair, sat down, and then announced, "I am Comandante Duffy, of the Gendarmeria Nacional."
He really does sound like he's from Brooklyn.
Where the hell did that come from?
"How do you do, Comandante?" Castillo said. "Am I to thank you for the protection we've had since we walked into the terminal at Ezeiza?"
"Alfredo, who I recently learned is a very dear friend of a very dear friend of mine in Uruguay-Jose Ordonez-which makes him a very dear friend of mine, thinks we might work together, Colonel. With that in mind, it was in the interest of the gendarmeria to guard you and your men against a threat I don't think you knew existed."
"What kind of a threat?"
"Possibly being shot, or perhaps being strangled."
"Now, who would want to do something like that to innocent tourists who came to your beautiful country to fly-fish its rivers of trophy trout?"
"The same people who did this, Colonel," Duffy said.
He tossed a large manila envelope-very skillfully, it landed right where Castillo was sitting-across his desk.
Castillo took from the envelope a thick sheath of color prints. They had been printed on ordinary paper, but the quality told him they had been taken with a high-quality digital camera.