When there was no response, save for several raised eyebrows, Castillo went on: "Think about it, lady and gentlemen. What we have in here are spooks, cops, soldiers, and, of course, a Marine."
He smiled at Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC, who was sitting at a small desk on which sat an AFC Corporation communications console. Bradley wore a dark gray Brooks Brothers suit-one of two identical garments, the first suits he had ever owned. Dick Miller told Castillo that he had taken Lester to Brooks Brothers in Washington as a morale booster after the Secret Service agents at the house kept treating him like an errand boy. Max, lying at Bradley's feet, had one paw on his highly polished black leather loafers. Due to the peso exchange rate, Bradley had acquired them for next to nothing-"Thirty bucks U.S.," he'd told Castillo, "for what would've run me more than a hundred back home-at one of the luxury leather-goods stores in downtown Buenos Aires.
"None of us are actors," Castillo went on in explanation. "And even if we were, we don't have time before Comandante Duffy shows up to write a script and memorize our lines. And even if we did that, sure as God made little apples we'd either forget them or blow them trying to deliver them. And it would look rehearsed. So…we'll wing it."
There was some nodding of understanding around the room.
"What we should do, I think," Castillo then said, "is make sure we're all on the same page, so herewith a recap: We've got the helicopters as far as Estancia Shangri-La, presuming of course there's no tropical storm off Montevideo to keep them from flying, and the Navy doesn't push them over the side or sail too far from the coast to cover their buttocks.
"One of the reasons Ordonez came through for us on that is because Duffy lied to him. I don't know about what, but he lied to Ordonez and that pissed Ordonez off. Right, Alfredo?"
El Coronel Alfredo Munz, who was sitting in the armchair facing Delchamps with his legs also stretched out, nodded.
Castillo continued: "We should keep Duffy's lying in mind. Then the question of what to do with the choppers-how to get them near Asuncion, how to refuel them en route, etcetera-comes up. We need Duffy to do all those things for us plus, of course, reassure any authorities who might spot the choppers that Argentina is not being invaded by the gringos.
"Then we get to the snatch-and-grab itself. We need Duffy not only to help but to do it our way. I want this op to go down as quietly as possible, which means I'm going to have to dissuade him from leaving bodies all over the place. I'll figure out how to do that later. Right now, getting him under control is the thing." He paused. "I can't think of anything else. Anyone…?"
He looked around the room to see if someone had a better idea. No one did.
"Okay, then," Castillo said. "Edgar, how about you sitting out the confrontation in my bedroom? What I'm thinking is that if we've done something stupid and are about to blow it, you can come in. That would surprise Duffy, take his mind off what we did wrong. And if you pick up on how we screwed up, you'll probably have a fix."
Delchamps nodded his agreement.
"Okay, Eddie and I will go change clothes. While we're gone, Alfredo, will you check on the Aero Commander? We may not need it if we screw this up, but if we don't, the sooner we get to Bariloche the better."
"It'll be waiting for us at Jorge Newbery, Karl," Munz said. "The owner owes me several large favors."
"Susanna, if you realize we're screwing up, you might consider flashing some thigh at him."
Susanna smiled, shook her head, and gave him the finger again.
The door chime bonged discreetly fifteen minutes later.
Castillo, now wearing a business suit and sitting on the couch as he sipped at a cup of coffee, signaled first with his right index finger for Eddie Lorimer to open the door and then, his eyebrows raised, signaled to all by holding up his right hand with the index and middle fingers crossed.
Everyone in the large sitting room took his meaning: Hope like hell we get away with this!
Lorimer pulled the door open. Comandante Liam Duffy of the Gendarmeria Nacional, in civilian clothing, looked somewhat disapprovingly at Lorimer and then at the others in the room.
Tony Santini and Manuel D'Elia were sitting at the dining table, on which a room service waiter was arranging tableware around chrome-dome-covered plates. Alfredo Munz was standing at the plateglass windows, drinking a cup of coffee.
"Well, good morning, Comandante," Castillo called cheerfully. "You're just in time for breakfast."
He pointed at the dining table.
Duffy, who did not look at all pleased with what he saw, ignored Castillo, eyed Max warily, looked curiously at the others, then crossed the room to Munz.
"So, Alfredo," Duffy said stiffly, and went through the hug-and-kiss rite.
Munz did not respond with anything close to warmth.
"Liam," he said simply.
"So what's going on, Alfredo? Who are these people?"
"Right now, Comandante," Castillo replied for him, "you don't have to know that."
"I thought you understood that if we are to work together, I am to know everything," Duffy said.