Finally, Pevsner said, "Well, that's all there is to see. Unless we want to stay here until the sun rises. Shall we go?"

"Fine," Castillo said.

Pevsner started toward the 600. There was just enough light for Castillo to see the East European hurry to open the rear door for them.

Pevsner waved Castillo into the backseat ahead of him. When he was inside, he saw that Howard Kennedy was in the front seat.

I guess Inge doesn't get to ride with the boss.

Kennedy turned and extended his hand over the seat back.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Castillo. In certain circles, you have quite a reputation."

Castillo shook the hand but said nothing.

"I'm sorry about that business in the men's room," Kennedy went on. "But Mr. Pevsner, for obvious reasons, doesn't like his conversations recorded."

Castillo nodded.

Out the window, he saw the East European first move the cognac snifters, the bottle, and the small humidor to the trunk of the smaller Mercedes, and then fold the table and put that in the trunk. Then he got behind the wheel and they started off.

They followed the 220 down Cobenzlgasse into Vienna, and then through the early evening traffic back to the center of the city, finally turning off The Ring onto Kaertnerstrasse.

"Do you know the Drei Hussaren, Major Castillo?"

"Yes, I do."

"What do you prefer to be called? 'Carlos'? Or 'Charley'? Or perhaps 'Karl'?"

" 'Charley' is what my friends call me."

"That's what Howard thought," Pevsner said. "You're really amazing, Howard."

"Thank you," Howard chuckled.

Pevsner touched Castillo's arm.

"In that case, since I really hope we are to become friends may I call you Charley?"

"Of course."

"My Christian name is Aleksandr," Pevsner said. "Howard calls me 'Alex.' Would you be comfortable calling me Alex, Charley?"

At the last split second, Castillo stopped himself from saying, 'Yes, sir.' " Yes, I would. Thank you."

That's a lie. I am not comfortable calling you Alex. I am not comfortable, period. I can't remember the last time I felt so helpless, so much at the mercy of a situation I don't understand and over which I have absolutely no control.

"And the Drei Hussaren is all right with you for dinner? If you have another:?"

"The Drei Hussaren is fine with me," Castillo said, as the Mercedes pulled up in front of the entrance to the restaurant.

And what would have happened if I had said, "Come to think of it, I know a very nice place just off Gumpendorferstrasse"?

The doorman of the Drei Hussaren pulled the doors open. Kennedy and Pevsner got out, and Castillo slid across the seat and joined them.

The headwaiter was standing inside the entrance, greeted them effusively, and led them down the stairs into the dining room, and then across it and into a private dining room. There were three places set at a table that could hold eight.

I guess Inge doesn't get to eat with the boss, either.

Glasses were produced and a waiter poured a white liquor into them.

In German, Pevsner said, "Since you have been here before, Karl, you know about the slivovitz. The management has learned the more slivovitz they can give away, the less likely their customers are to complain about the service, the size of the portions, the quality, and, most important, the size of the bill."

Castillo knew about the plum brandy-the best came from Moldavia-and suspected that what Pevsner said was absolutely true.

He chuckled.

"Herr Barstein," the headwaiter said, "that's a terrible thing to say about us!"

Castillo picked up on the Barstein.

"But it's truth. And the truth is important, isn't it, Karl?"

"Very important," Castillo said, picked up the glass, tipped it toward the headwaiter, said, " Prosit, "and tossed it down.

Pevsner laughed.

"Karl, one of the few things they do half decently around here is the sauerbraten. They make it with deer-venison. May I suggest that?"

"That sounds fine," Castillo said.

"For all of us," Pevsner ordered. "And aware I'm taking an awful chance, a dry red wine of your choice. You can leave the slivovitz."

" Jawohl, Herr Barstein," the headwaiter said.

After he left, Kennedy went to the door and made sure it was closed.

"Howard," Pevsner said. "Charley is curious about how we learned he is not all the time Herr Karl Wilhelm von und zu Gossinger."

Kennedy chuckled, helped himself to some more slivovitz, poured some in Castillo's and Pevsner's glasses, and said, "I know I really shouldn't drink this stuff but I like it."

Pevsner and Charley chuckled.

Kennedy looked at Castillo.

"Well, when the story came out, and Mr. Pevsner decided we should have a talk with you, we sent some people to Fulda:"

To give me an Indian beauty mark on my forehead?

": and when they reported that Gossinger was in Washington, Mr. Pevsner asked me to personally take over. I put a lot of time in D.C. when I was with the bureau."

Did taking over mean that you were going to personally apply the Indian beauty mark?

"Anyway, it wasn't hard to find out that Gossinger was sharing Suite 404 in the Mayflower with a fellow named Carlos Castillo. For a bit, we thought that Castillo might be Gossinger's playmate-a handsome Cuban or Tex-Mex might explain why Gossinger wasn't married. And that might have been useful:"

He took a sip of water, then continued.

": but then we found out, lo and behold, that Gossinger and Castillo were one and the same. And then we started asking about Senor Castillo. The first thing I thought then was that you were probably with the agency, but then I found out first that you're an Army officer-a West Pointer, a Green Beret, an aviator-and then that you are Matt Hall's special assistant. At that point, Mr. Pevsner decided we should have a talk with you:"

A talk-talk, as opposed to a beauty spot chat?

": so we had someone call Herr Gorner and tell him that Mr. Pevsner was willing to give Herr Gossinger an interview and here you are."

"My original purpose in all this, Charley," Pevsner said, "was-for that matter, still is-to keep the U.S. government off my back. And, of course, to keep my name out of the newspapers. I had nothing to do with stealing that old airplane in Angola. Where did you get that, anyway?"

"You had nothing to do with stealing the 727?"

"Absolutely nothing. For one thing, I have airplanes. Just last week, I bought another one-a nearly new 767 from an airline that went under in Argentina-and I don't need an old 727. Particularly, I don't need to steal one, which would attract the sort of attention I really don't want from the U.S. government and a lot of other people."

I'll be damned. I believe him. Or is that because I had two beers in the Sacher, two hefty snifters of cognac on the Cobenzl, and two slivovitz here:

"Where did you get the idea I had anything to do with it?" Pevsner asked.

"Two of your people were seen in Luanda just before the airplane was stolen," Castillo said.

"You don't happen to remember their names, do you?" Kennedy asked, casually.

If I did, I wouldn't give them to you.

"No," Castillo said, simply. "I don't."

"Howard?" Pevsner said.

"I'll look into it," Kennedy said.

Jesus Christ, what did I just do? Cause two people I never met, never saw, to take a bullet in the forehead?

The conversation was interrupted by two waiters, who delivered a rich-looking meat-and-vegetable soup and two bottles of red wine.

"This one, Herr Barstein," the waiter said as he poured a sip into Pevsner's glass, "is Hungarian. The other is from the north of Italy. Definitely not a Chianti. Whichever is your pleasure will be a small gift from Drei Hussaren."

As Pevsner raised the glass to his nose, he signaled with his finger for the waiter to give Castillo and Kennedy a taste. The waiter poured wine into their glasses.