Castillo looked at Delchamps and Davidson. Both shrugged.
Castillo handed the cards to Davidson, then took from the envelope a sheet of paper that had been neatly folded in thirds. He unfolded it.
It was a photocopy of two pages of the data section of a passport. Castillo saw first that it was a Russian passport, and a split second later saw that it was a Russian diplomatic passport.
Across the bottom of the first page was the legend SECOND SECRETARY OF THE EMBASSY OF THE RUSSIAN FEDERATION IN THE FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF GERMANY.
The second page had a photograph of a man of about Castillo's age. His neatly trimmed, light-brown hair was nearly blond. He wore a crisp white shirt with a neatly tied, red-striped necktie.
He looks, Castillo thought, more Teutonic than Slavic.
It gave his name as Dmitri Berezovsky. It said he was born in the USSR on 22 June 1969.
Which makes him four days younger than I am.
What the hell does that mean--if anything?
Castillo looked at Delchamps, who met his eyes and then said, "I think the passport is real, Ace."
Castillo waited for him to go on, and when he didn't, said, "And? Come on, Ed!"
"None of that could be traced back to your friend Dmitri. All you've got is four blank calling cards on which the names of three towns and Tom Barlow have been printed by a cheap computer printer. Berlin is X-ed out. So far as the photocopy of the passport is concerned, that could come from the Germans or whoever else's border Dmitri has crossed and had it stamped. Just about everybody routinely photocopies the passports of interesting people."
"All of which means?"
"First wild-hair scenario," Delchamps said. "What we could have here is a spy who wants to come in from the cold and has decided you have the best key to the door of freedom. And, of course, the CIA's cash box.
"He's proved that he knows who you are, knows where to find you, and suggests either Budapest or Vienna, but not Berlin, is where he would like to meet."
Castillo grunted, and looked at Jack Davidson.
"This guy is good, Charley. If he wanted to take you out, I think he could have," Davidson said.
"And Edgar's scenario?"
"I think he's on the money, Charley."
"No second scenario?"
Davidson shook his head.
"I don't know if this is a second scenario or not," Delchamps said, "but I wouldn't be surprised if this guy knows who whacked the Kuhls. And I'd sure as hell like that information."
"So what do we do now? Go to Vienna or Budapest and wait?"
"Yeah," Delchamps said. "But right now we have to go to the church. It's supposed to start in ten minutes."
"And you don't think anything'll happen at the church?"
"Dmitri told you he ordered the hit. And you responded the way he thought you would. The place is now crawling with cops and private security. I don't think any Stasi guys are going to commit suicide to get you or Billy or Otto. Not when they can do it quietly elsewhere. So you stay alive, which is what Dmitri wants."
Castillo looked at Davidson, who nodded his agreement.
"Okay," Castillo said. "Let's go to church."
Delchamps held out his hand for the envelope, and when Castillo gave it to him, dropped it in his briefcase.
V