The Outlaws (Presidential Agent 6)

“But, in the meantime, you would be held. We can’t, as I’m sure you understand, have people running around Buenos Aires with questionable documents. Now, partly because I am anxious to do everything I can for a prominent North American journalist such as you purport to be, and partly because Señor Darby feels sorry for you, what I’m willing to do is take you to your hotel and let you wait there. With the understanding, of course, that you would not leave the Plaza until your documents are checked and we return them to you. Believe me, Señor, the Plaza is far more comfortable a place to wait than the detention facilities at our headquarters.”

Danton held up both hands at shoulder height.

“I surrender,” he said. “The Plaza it is.”

“Comandante, will you take this gentleman to the Plaza?”

“Sí, mí comandante.”

“What the hell was that all about?” Julia Darby asked.

“If I were still an officer of the Clandestine Service,” Alex Darby replied, “I would hazard a guess that it has something to do with this.”

He held up a copy of the letter Colonel Vladlen Solomatin had given to Eric Kocian in Budapest.

“If I were still an officer of the Clandestine Service,” Edgar Delchamps said, “I would know not only what Roscoe Danton is up to, but also what Comrade Colonel Solomatin is up to.”

“You think I’m wrong?” Liam Duffy asked.

“No. Vladimir Putin may very well have dispatched one of the Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki hit squads—or several of them—to whack us all,” Delchamps said. “But I don’t think Roscoe Danton is a deep-cover SVR asset who came out of his closet to do the deed. He’s a pretty good journalist, actually.”

“What was that about Eleanor pointing him at Alex? At Charley?” Julia asked. “Did he make that up?”

“I don’t think so. Eleanor got fired when Charley stole her defectors. She’s pissed. Understandably,” Alex Darby said. “I think she’d like to watch as Charley was castrated with a dull knife.”

“I don’t think she likes me much either,” Delchamps said.

“And you know why,” Alex said.

“I don’t,” Julia said.

“Quickly changing the subject,” Delchamps said, “I suggest we get the hell out of Dodge as quickly as possible. Just as soon as the movers come.”

“I can leave somebody here to deal with the movers,” Liam said.

“And Sylvia has the car keys—and the power of attorney—to sell the car,” Darby said. “Moving Julia and the boys to the safe house in Pilar until it’s time to go to Ezeiza seems to be the thing to do. Honey, will you go get the boys?”

“No,” Julia said. “I’m a mommy. Mommies don’t like it much when their sons look at them with loathing, disgust, and ice-cold hate. You go get them.”

“It’s not that bad, honey,” Alex argued. “People who—hell, people who sell air conditioners get transferred, with little or no notice, all the time. Their children get jerked out of school. It’s not the end of the world.”

“You tell them that,” she said.

“They’ll like Saint Albans, once they get used to it,” Alex said somewhat lamely.

“Why? Because you went there?” Julia challenged.

“No. Because Al Gore and Jesse Jackson, Jr., did,” Alex said, and after a moment added, “I’ll be right back. With my pitiful abused namesake and his pathetic little brother.”

When the door to the elevator foyer had closed behind her husband, Julia asked, “What are you going to do, Edgar? Eventually, I mean.”

Delchamps considered the question a long moment before replying.

“I don’t know, Julia,” he said. “Like Alex, this business of ... of selling air conditioners ... is all I know. What I won’t be doing is hanging around the gate at Langley with the other dinosaurs telling spy stories.”

“I didn’t know what Alex did for a living until the night he proposed,” Julia said. “And then he told me he was in research for the agency.”

“They call that obfuscation,” Delchamps said.