Castillo picked up on the "Mr. Isaacson." Not Joel. Not Agent. And responded accordingly.
"That was very kind of him. And kind of you. How do you do?"
"Some of the taxi drivers here at the airport tend to take advantage of unwary visitors."
"That happens at a lot of airports," Charley replied. "La Guardia comes immediately to mind."
Santini smiled, and then said: "We have a remise- you know what a remise is?"
Charley nodded.
"… with an honest driver," Santini finished, then gestured toward the doors. "Shall we go?"
When the man with the sign got two steps ahead of him, Santini quickly gestured-his index finger across his lips-for Castillo to say nothing important in the presence of the driver. Castillo quickly nodded his head.
They stood for a couple of minutes on the curb while the driver went for the car. Santini didn't say a word. Castillo, feeling colder by the second in his summer suit, silently hoped the driver hurried.
The car was a large, black Volkswagen with heavily tinted glass. As the driver bent to put Castillo's luggage in the trunk, Castillo saw that he had a pistol-it looked like a Beretta 9mm-in a belt holster.
Santini opened the rear door and motioned for Castillo to get in. When he had, Santini slid in beside him. When the driver got behind the wheel, Santini asked, "You don't speak Spanish, do you?"
Castillo asked with a raised eyebrow how he should reply. Santini, just perceptibly, shook his head.
"I'm afraid not," Castillo said.
"Pity," Santini said. "Mr. Isaacson didn't say where you would be staying."
"The Hyatt."
"It's now the Four Seasons, formerly Hyatt Park. They sold it."
"I guess nobody told my travel agent," Castillo said.
"You heard that, Antonio?" Santini asked. "The Four Seasons?"
"Si, senor."
The Volkswagen started off. It was a thirty-minute drive from the airport to the hotel. First down the crowded but nonetheless high-speed autopista toll road, and then onto Avenida 9 Julio, which Castillo remembered was supposed to be the widest avenue in the world.
As they came close to the Four Seasons, formerly Hyatt Park, Castillo saw that it was next to the French embassy, an enormous turn-of-the-century mansion. He'd forgotten that.
A top-hatted doorman welcomed him to the Four Seasons and blew a whistle, which caused a bellman to appear.
"Find some
where to park," Santini ordered Antonio. "I'll see that Senor Gossinger gets settled." Room 1550 in the Four Seasons was a small suite, a comfortable sitting room and a large bedroom, both facing toward the Main Railroad Station-which Castillo remembered was called "El Retiro"-and the docks and the River Plate beyond. There was something faint on the far horizon.
Castillo wondered aloud if they were high enough so that he was looking at the shore of Uruguay.
"Clear day," Santini replied. "Could be. Why don't we go out on the balcony and have a good look?"
"Why not?"
When they were out on the small balcony, Santini took a small, flat metal box from his pocket and ran it over the walls, then over the tiny table and two chairs, and finally over the floor.
"Clean," he announced. "But it never hurts to check."
Castillo smiled at him.