When he turned back, approximately twenty seconds later, the consular official was studying the documents. The one-hundred-dollar bill was nowhere in sight.

"There are some documents missing, Mr. Gossinger," the consular official said, politely. "Your proof of right of residency in the United States, for example. "

"With all respect, sir," Castillo said, "I thought my White House press credentials might satisfy that requirement. They really wouldn't let me into the White House if I wasn't legally in the United States. And you'll notice, sir, I hope, that my passport bears a multiple-entry visa for the United States."

The consular officer studied the German passport.

"So it does," he agreed. "Perhaps that will satisfy that requirement. But there are some others." He paused. "Will you excuse me a moment, please?"

He walked out of the office. Castillo took another hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and put it in his passport, which concealed all but one edge of the bill. He laid the passport back on the table, mostly-but not completely-under the stack of documents. The numerals "100" were visible.

A minute later, the consular official came back into his office. Castillo felt the need to blow his nose again and did so. When he turned back to the table thirty seconds later, the passport was now on top of the stack of documents but the one-hundred-dollar bill was nowhere in sight.

"Well, you have most of the documents you'll need," the consular official said, "except of course for your return ticket, and the written statement that you understand you will have to abide by the laws of the Republic of Angola, and, of course, the Portuguese translations of your curriculum vitae, the e-mail from your newspaper, and-since I find your White House press credentials satisfactory proof that you reside legally in the United States-the Portuguese translation of those."

"It is here, sir, that I turn to you for understanding and help," Castillo said.

"And how is that?"

"I don't have my airline tickets," Castillo said. "They are electronic tickets and I will pick them up when I get to Heathrow Airport."

"And when will that be?"

"The day after tomorrow, sir."

"So soon?"

"So soon. This is an important story and they want me to get on it now."

"That's so soon."

Castillo took a small wad of currency from his pocket, three one-hundred-dollar bills, and held them in his hand.

"I realize that this is asking a good deal of you, sir, but if you could see your way to having those documents translated into Portuguese-I realize that will be expensive-and perhaps be so kind as to call British Airways yourself to verify that I have a return ticket:"-he laid the three one-hundred-dollar bills on the consul's desk-": This should be enough, I think, for the translations."

After thirty seconds, the consul picked up the German passport, opened it to a blank page, took a rubber stamp from his desk, stamped the passport, and then scrawled his signature on the visa.

"We try to be as cooperative as possible when dealing with the press," he said, handing Castillo the passport. "The visa is for multiple entries into the Republic of Angola. Have a nice flight, Mr. Gossinger."

"I can't thank you enough for your courtesy, sir," Castillo said, offering the consul his hand.

What I have done, in addition to spending five hundred of my own money, which I will never be able to claim as a reimbursable necessary expense, is violate at least three separate provisions of the United States Code having to do with the making of, or offering to make, a bribe to an official of a foreign government.

On the other hand, I'm on my way to Luanda, Angola.

[SIX]

The Mayflower Hotel

1127 Connecticut Avenue NW

Washington, D.C.

1650 31 May 2005

Fernando Lopez was sitting at a table by a window in the bar when Castillo walked in and slipped into the other chair.

"I would offer you a pistachio," Fernando said, pointing at a bowl, "but I seem to have eaten the whole thing."

"Bored? Sorry, I got hung up."

"I am never bored when there are interesting-looking females around. Now I know why you live here."

"There's supposed to be more women in Washington than men," Castillo said. "But I'm not sure if that's true."

A waiter appeared.

"What are you drinking?" Castillo asked.

"Unless you desperately need a jolt," Fernando said, "I'd rather go to your room."

"Sure, I can wait," Castillo said, and then to the waiter added, "Check, please."

"Last of the big spenders?"

"If you pay for it, Maria will get the bill and know that you were boozing it up in the big city."

"No, she won't. My bills go to the company."

"Then Jacqueline will know."

"But she won't tell Maria," Fernando said. "Grandpa trusted her discretion completely, and I've learned I can, too."

"I wouldn't be too sure," Castillo said. "I always thought she was sweet on Grandpa. I'm not too sure how she feels about you."

"You really think Jackie had the hots for Don Fernando?" Fernando asked, smiling.

The question was never answered. The waiter appeared, Castillo scrawled his name on the check, and they walked out of the bar and into the lobby.

"What are we going to do about dinner?" Fernando asked when he came out of the bathroom, pulling up his zipper, in Castillo's suite.

"First, before I have to make an important decision like that, I'm going to have a drink. And I'll even make you one if you promise to stay sober for the next hour or so."

"Why should I do that?"

"Because I need to talk to you."

"About what? You in some kind of trouble?"

"Yeah, I guess I am. I need to talk to you, Fernando."

"You don't really talk to me, you tell me misleading half-truths."

"I thought maybe you'd noticed. What do you want to drink?"

"I've been drinking scotch, but if you're in trouble maybe we better not."

"It's not that kind of trouble. I'm still waiting to hear if a rabbit in New York died, but aside from that:"

"You sonofabitch!" Fernando said, chuckling.

Castillo handed him a drink and then sat down in an armchair facing Fernando's across a coffee table. They raised glasses, locked eyes for a moment, and then took swallows.

"You were telling me about this lady who seduced you in New York," Fernando said. "Or was it rape?"

"I wish it was that simple," Castillo said.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I realized a while back that I was getting to the point where I didn't know who I was. Or am. I don't know how to say it. I told you, this isn't simple."

"Try. I'm not really as dumb as Maria would have you believe."

"That ID card I showed the guard at Baltimore-Washington?"

"What about it? It impressed the guard."

Castillo reached in his pocket and came out with the leather wallet and tossed it to Fernando.

Fernando failed to catch it and had to pick it up. He opened it and looked at it carefully.

"I'm impressed," he said. " 'Department of Homeland Security.' 'United States Secret Service.' 'Supervisory Special Agent.' I thought you were still in the Army."

"I am. And I'm not in the Secret Service," Castillo said. "I got that because it was the easiest way for me to carry a pistol-or anything else-onto an airplane. And that ID calls the least attention to me when I do."

"You often do that? Carry a gun?"

"I don't often carry one, but I usually have one around close. It says 'Supervisory Special Agent' instead of just 'Special Agent' in case I run into a real Secret Service agent and his hair stands up-they're good; they can spot people who aren't what their credentials say they are. There's a double safeguard against that in there. First, they probably wouldn't want to stick their necks out and question a supervisory special agent. But if they do, there's a code on there. If they call a regional office and ask if there really is a supervisory special agent named Castillo and give the code, they're told I'm legitimate and to butt out right now. It's happened twice."