The Shooters (Presidential Agent 4)

Pevsner shook his head in disbelief.

"I often function on intuition. I knew when I looked into your eyes that you were telling me the truth about your reason for being in Argentina, that not only didn't you want anything from me but you had no idea I was in Argentina."

"Oh, but I did. I wanted to borrow your helicopter."

"That came later," Pevsner said, somewhat impatiently. "What happened at the time was that I decided we were friends. I have very few friends. Howard was a trusted employee-my mistake-but I never thought of him as my friend. I trust my friends completely. So I introduced you to my family. Anna liked you from the moment you met. So I decided to help you find-and possibly assist in getting back-the kidnapped wife of the American diplomat. Alfredo was then working for me; it wouldn't take much effort on my part.

"That night, I asked Anna whether she thought I had made a mistake about you. She thought not. She said, 'He's very much like you.'"

"I thought you said she liked me."

"Why do you always have to mock me?"

"Because it always pisses you off?"

Pevsner, smiling despite himself, shook his head.

"The next morning, you met Alfredo on your way to where Pavel Primakov's people had left Masterson's body."

"Whose people?"

"Colonel-I've heard he's actually a colonel general-Pavel Primakov is the FSB's senior man for South America. You did know they were responsible for the murder of Masterson, didn't you?"

"I had no proof and no names. But there was no question in Billy Kocian's mind that the FSB was responsible, trying to cover Putin's involvement in the Iraqi oil-for-food cesspool."

"The proof of that would seem to be what they tried to do with Kocian on the Szabadsag hid, wouldn't you say?"

An attempt to kidnap-or, failing that, murder-Eric Kocian on the Liberty Bridge in Budapest had been thwarted by his bodyguard, Sandor Tor, and by Max, whose gleaming white teeth had caused severe muscular trauma to one of the triggermen's arms.

"Point taken," Castillo said.

"Where is the old man now?"

"In Washington."

"The FSB wants him dead-to get ahead of myself-about as much as they do you."

"The last time I talked to Billy, he complained that he was being followed around by deaf men wearing large hearing aids who kept talking into their lapels."

It took a moment for Pevsner to form the mental picture. Then he smiled. "Good men, I hope."

"The best. Secret Service. Most of them are on, or were on, the President's protection detail."

"Getting back where we were, friend Charley," Pevsner went on, "I asked Alfredo what he thought of you and his response was unusual. He said that he felt you were a lot more competent than your looks-and your behavior-suggested, and that, strangely, he felt you were one of the very few men he trusted instinctively.

"You proved your competence almost immediately by finding Lorimer on his estancia, getting there with your men before Major Vincenzo and his men did-and they had been looking for him for some time-and then, of course, by effectively dealing with Vincenzo."

"And losing one of my men in the process. And getting Alfredo wounded. Let's not forget that."

Pevsner ignored the comment.

"And then there are two more things."

"Keep it up," Castillo said, raising his glass in a mock toast, then taking a large sip of the single-malt. "Flattery will get you anywhere."

"What motivates you to always be a wise guy, friend Charley?" Pevsner asked, exasperated, but went on before Castillo could reply. "First, when Alfredo told you he thought I was trying to dispose of him, you took care of him and his family, knowing that was-if the situation was what you thought it was-in defiance of me.

"I was annoyed-very disappointed-with you at the time by that, and worse, by the way you threatened me with turning the CIA loose on me again unless I loaned you my helicopter for your Uruguayan operation. I don't like being threatened."