The Hunters (Presidential Agent 3)

Castillo turned to Alex Darby.

“The next call is the local one,” he said. “Will you call the embassy switchboard and get the operator to block the caller ID?”

Darby nodded, took out his cellular, and punched an autodial button.

“This is Darby,” he announced. “In the next thirty seconds or so, there will be a secure call from Colonel Castillo from the White House. He will give you a local number to call. Block the embassy’s caller ID.” He paused. “Yes, I understand that from our switchboard the call here will not be secure.”

He broke the connection and looked at Castillo. “Done.”

“Go kick the ball for Max, Alex, and take Susanna with you, ple

ase.” He looked at Kensington. “You stay, Bob, but go deaf.”

“Yes, sir.”

Darby and Susanna walked out of the quincho.

“Okay, Bob,” Castillo ordered, motioning with the handset, “get me the embassy on here.”

“¿Hola?”

The male voice answering Pevsner’s home telephone did so in Spanish, but the thick Russian accent was apparent in the pronunciation of the one word. Castillo thought it was probably the gorilla who had followed Pevsner into the men’s room at the service station.

“Let me speak to Mr. Pevsner, please,” Castillo said, politely, in Russian.

“There is no one here by that name.”

“Tell him Herr Gossinger is calling and get him on the line,” Castillo ordered, nastily.

There was no reply, but twenty seconds later Aleksandr Pevsner came on the line.

“Guten Morgen, Herr Gossinger,” he said.

“Did Alfredo get the pancake flour and maple syrup to you all right, Alek?”

“Yes, he did, and thank you very much. But why do I suspect that isn’t the purpose of this call?”

“Paranoia?” Castillo asked, innocently.

It was a moment before Pevsner replied, a chuckle in his voice. “Do you know how many people dare to mock me, friend Charley?”

“Only your friends. And I don’t suppose there are many of those, are there?”

“Or insult me?” Pevsner asked.

“Probably about the same number,” Castillo said, solemnly.

“When was the last time you saw Alfredo?”

“When I gave him the syrup and flour. Paranoia makes me wonder if that question implies more than idle curiosity?”

“He seems to have disappeared,” Pevsner said. “I’m concerned.”

That sounded sincere.

“Have you asked Howard Kennedy?”

“Kennedy’s the one who told me. He can’t find him. Or his wife and daughters.”