The Hostage

XII

[ONE] Aboard Air Force One Keesler Air Force Base Biloxi, Mississippi 2050 25 July 2005 Although he'd seen the presidential aircraft before, and had been closer to both of them than most people ever get, Castillo had never actually been inside one of them.

The first thing he noticed when he stepped through the door was that the interior was unlike any other that he'd ever seen on any Boeing 747 or, for that matter, on any airliner. Instead of row after row of seats, he found himself looking at the seal of the President of the United States mounted on a cream-colored wall running as far as he could see-fifty feet or so-along the left side of the aircraft, down to where there was a bend in the corridor that the wall formed.

The second thing he noticed was a Secret Service agent standing in the short section of corridor to his left. Castillo had heard that the presidential apartment was in the nose of the aircraft, under the flight deck, and had just decided the Secret Service agent was guarding the President when a second Secret Service agent spoke to him. This one he knew.

"Down the corridor to the door," Joel Isaacson said, pointing. And then he added: "Good to see you, Charley."

Castillo shook Isaacson's hand as he walked past him, but didn't speak.

The door Isaacson made reference to was in the bend of the corridor. As Castillo got close to it, a Secret Service agent appeared and pushed the door inward.

Castillo stepped through it and found himself in a decent-sized conference room. There was a large table, with eight leather-upholstered armchairs around it. They all had seat belts.

Seated at the table were the secretary of state, Dr. Natalie Cohen; the secretary of Homeland Security, the Honorable Matthew Hall; the director of national intelligence,Ambassador Charles Montvale; and General Allan Naylor, commander in chief of CentCom. The President of the United States was sprawled on a leather sectional couch against the interior wall, talking on the telephone.

When he saw Castillo, he smiled and signaled for him to come in and to take one of the unoccupied armchairs at the table. Then, when he saw Colonel Torine, he signaled for him to come in and to take another of the armchairs.

Castillo got a smile from the secretary of state and the secretary of Homeland Security. General Naylor nodded at him, and the director of national intelligence looked at him in what Castillo thought was both curiosity and disapproval.

Then the President said into the phone, "Sweetheart, Charley Castillo just walked in the door. I'll have to call you later."

With a little bit of difficulty, the President replaced the handset in a wall rack, then stood up and walked to Castillo. As Castillo started to get up, the President waved his right hand to order him to stay seated, and then offered the hand to him.

"Good to see you, Charley," he said, and then turned to Torine. "And you, too, Colonel. I was a little surprised to hear you'd flown the Globemaster down there, but then I realized I shouldn't have been. You and Charley are sort of a team, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir. I suppose we are."

"Is it still hot outside?" the President asked, as he walked to the head of the conference table and sat down.

"Hot and humid, sir," Torine said.

"Wise people don't come to Mississippi in the middle of the summer," the President lightly proclaimed, "or go to Minnesota in the middle of the winter. Wise people go to South Carolina during any season and never leave."

There was dutiful laughter.

"Two things are going to happen right away," the President quickly said next, his tone now serious. "The first, because I simply can't stay here for the funeral as much as I would like to, is that we're making a photo-op ceremony of taking Mr. Masterson's casket from the airplane. Including a band. They're setting that up now. I understand we'll have about fifteen minutes. Which is time enough to set the second thing that's going to happen in motion."

He reached under the table and came up with a well-worn leather attache case. He opened it and took out two sheets of paper and handed them to General Naylor.

"Would you please read that aloud, General?"

"Yes, sir."

Naylor took the sheets of paper, glanced at them a moment, then began to read.

"Top Secret-Presidential.

"The White House, Washington, D.C. July 25, 2005.

"Presidential Finding.

"It has been found that the assassination of J. Winslow Masterson, chief of mission of the United States embassy in Buenos Aires, Argentina; the abduction of Mr. Masterson's wife, Mrs. Elizabeth Lorimer Masterson; the assassination of Sergeant Roger Markham, USMC; and the attempted assassination of Secret Service Special Agent Elizabeth T. Schneider indicate beyond any reasonable doubt the existence of a continuing plot or plots by terrorists, or terrorist organizations, to cause serious damage to the interests of the United States, its diplomatic officers, and its citizens, and that this situation cannot be tolerated.

"It is further found that the efforts and actions taken and to be taken by the several branches of the United States government to detect and apprehend those individuals who committed the terrorist acts previously described, and to prevent similar such acts in the future, are being and will be hampered and rendered less effective by strict adherence to applicable laws and regulations.

"It is therefore found that clandestine and covert action under the sole supervision of the President is necessary.

"It is directed and ordered that there be immediately established a clandestine and covert organization with the mission of determining the identity of the terrorists involved in the assassinations, abduction, and attempted assassination previously described and to render them harmless. And to perform such other covert and clandestine activities as the President may elect to assign.

"For purposes of concealment, the aforementioned clandestine and covert organization will be known as the Office of Organizational Analysis, within the Department of Homeland Security. Funding will initially be from discretional funds of the office of the President. The manning of the organization will be decided by the President acting on the advice of the chief, Office of Organizational Analysis.

"Major Carlos G. Castillo, Special Forces, U.S. Army, is herewith appointed chief, Office of Organizational Analysis, with immediate effect."

General Naylor stopped reading and looked at the President.

"The finding is witnessed by Miss Cohen as secretary of state, Mr. President."

The only sound in the room was that of cold air flowing through ports in the ceiling.

"That deafening silence we're hearing, Major Castillo," the President said softly, after a moment, "suggests to me that everyone is trying to come up with good and solid reasons why I should tear that finding up, and how these objections can be brought diplomatically to my attention. So let me save everybody the effort. This finding is not open for debate."

The President looked around the table as he let that sink in, then continued:

"I not only want the bastards who murdered Masterson and Sergeant Markham brought down, but I want to send a message to whoever is behind them, and to anyone else who thinks they can get away with murdering an American diplomat, that this President will be as ruthless as necessary to keep this from ever happening again, and this is how I've decided is the best way to do that."

"Mr. President," Ambassador Montvale asked, "may I ask what my relationship to the major will be?"

"I'm glad you asked, Charles," the President said. "Let's make sure everyone understands this. It also applies to Natalie and Tom, of course, and to the other secretariesand the attorney general. You, and they, will provide to him whatever he feels is necessary to carry out the mission I have given to him. But he answers only to me. Everyone clear on that?"

"There are some potential problems that immediately come-"

"Charles, you can discuss those with Major Castillo," the President interrupted. "You did hear me say, didn't you, that this is not open for debate?"

"Yes, I did, Mr. President."

"Okay, this is Ground Zero," the President said. "What I would like now is for Major Castillo to tell us where he believes we are, and where he's going from here." He looked at Castillo. "Okay, Charley, go ahead."

Castillo realized that he was sitting erectly on the edge of the armchair seat, like any other junior determined not to miss a word of what would be said by the President or any of the others so vastly senior to a major.

As a Pavlovian reflex he started to stand up as a mark of respect and subordination to those seniors.

Wait a minute!

If I do that, it will signal that a lowly major is delivering a report to his seniors that they can consider with their greater wisdom and accept or reject.

I don't think the President wants me to do that.

Instead of standing up he slumped back in the chair and crossed his interlocked hands on his chest, as if gathering his thoughts, which happened to be true.

He saw that General Naylor and Colonel Torine were looking at him incredulously.

Well, let's see if I can get away with this.

"Mr. President," he began, sitting up, "when Mrs. Masterson was being interviewed at the German Hospital by Mr. Darby, who is the CIA station chief in Argentina and was a close friend of the Mastersons, she professed to know absolutely nothing about her abductors. I thought she was lying-"

"You decided, Major, that she was lying?" Montvale interrupted incredulously.

"Yes, Ambassador Montvale, I did," Charley said, meeting his eyes. "And later, both Mr. Darby and Ambassador Silvio agreed with that judgment."

"Lying about what, Charley?" the President asked.

"More of an omission, sir, than a mistruth. She said she could recall no details whatever of her abduction. I didn't believe that."

"The woman," Montvale said, "was obviously under the most severe-"

The President held up his hand to silence Montvale.

Castillo looked at the President, then continued: "Just before we took off from Ezeiza-the Buenos Aires airport-I gave Mrs. Masterson the medal, the Grand Cross of the Great Liberator, which had been pinned to the colors on Mr. Masterson's casket by the President of Argentina. She expressed to me her regret for Sergeant Markham's death and the wounds suffered by Special Agent Schneider. I'm afraid I was less than gracious to her. I had just come from the hospital, where Special Agent Schneider was lying in pain with her jaw wired shut, and sixty seconds before, I had walked past Sergeant Markham's casket.

"What I said to her, in effect, was that if she had been truthful, I thought Markham would still be alive and Schneider would not have been wounded."

"You called her a liar to her face, Charley?" Natalie Cohen asked in sad disbelief.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm afraid I did."

"And what was her reaction?" the President asked, softly.

"Not much at the time, sir, but just now, just before we came here, she came to me again, and said that now that she was in the United States, she could talk. She told me that her abductors wanted her to tell them where her brother is-"

"Her brother?" the President asked.

"Jean-Paul Lorimer, sir. He works for the United Nations in Paris. Mrs. Masterson said her abductors threatened to kill her children if she didn't tell them, and to kill the children and her family if she revealed any of this. And they murdered Mr. Masterson to prove they meant what they were saying."

"Sonofabitch!" the President of the United States said.

"Mr. President," Natalie Cohen said, "we've been trying to find Mr. Lorimer for several days without success. All we know is that he's not in his apartment and hasn't been in his office."

"Mrs. Masterson said she had no idea where her brother is," Castillo said.

"And why do you think, Major," Montvale asked, "that Mrs. Masterson chose to confide in you, rather than in, say, Ambassador Silvio or her friend the CIA station chief?"

"Probably because we had just landed in the United States," Castillo said.

"If I may, Mr. President?" Colonel Torine asked.

The President waved his permission.

"I was privy to the conversation between Major Castillo and Mrs. Masterson just now," Torine said. "And the reason she gave for her going to Major Castillo was because she believed what Mr. Darby had told her about Major Castillo."

"And that was?" Montvale asked.

"Apparently, sir," Torine replied, "Mr. Darby told Mrs. Masterson that he believes that Major Castillo is- this is just about verbatim from Mrs. Masterson-'one really tough sonofabitch, and just the guy you need in your corner when you're really in trouble.'"

The President cocked his head and smiled. "Well, for once I find myself in complete agreement with the opinion of a CIA station chief. That pretty much answer your question, Charles?"

"Yes, it does, Mr. President."

Castillo saw that General Naylor was quietly coughing behind his hand. From long experience, Castillo knew he did this when he wanted to conceal a smile.

When Castillo glanced at Secretary Hall, Hall winked at him and didn't bother to try to conceal his smile.

Up yours, Ambassador Montvale, you pompous sonofabitch! Charley thought, then caught himself.

There you go again, stupid!

If there's anybody you should try to get along with, it's Charles Montvale, the director of national intelligence.

You haven't been in his presence ten minutes and he's already decided-probably with justification-that C. G. Castillo is one arrogant little sonofabitch who needs to be cut down to size as quickly as possible.

The worst thing you can do to a guy like Montvale is humiliate him in the presence of his peers and the President of the United States. He's not going to forget or forgive that.

"Why do you think these people want the brother, Charley?" the President asked. "And who do you think they are?"

"I have no idea, Mr. President," Castillo confessed. "But I think talking to him-presuming I can find him- is the next thing I should do."

"And the UN says they don't know where he is, Natalie?" the President asked.

"We wanted to contact him when Mrs. Masterson was abducted, so that he could deal with the family, as their father, Ambassador Lorimer, has serious heart problems. Nothing. And all our embassy in Paris has been able to come up with is that his car is in his garage, his clothing is in his apartment, and it looks like he's just taken a trip or something. Apparently, he's pretty much his own boss, going wherever he wants, whenever he wants."

"These people have killed to show how much they want this fellow," the President said. "So his life is in danger. Are you going to tell the UN that? Would that get them off the dime?"

"Sir, I presume that the UN, in New York and Paris, knows of the Masterson murder."

"But not what Mrs. Masterson told Charley, right?"

"No, sir. I'll get on the horn right now to our UN ambassador and have him pass that on if you think I should."

"I wish you wouldn't," Castillo blurted.

"Why not?" Natalie Cohen asked curiously, not offended.

"I have a gut feeling it's the wrong thing to do."

The secretary of state looked at the President. His face was thoughtful.

"I'm about to make a point here, so pay attention," the President said. "We're going along with Castillo's gut feeling, not because I necessarily agree with it, but because I don't feel strongly enough about it to override him. And I am the only person who can-and from time to time will-override him. Okay?"

"Yes, sir," Dr. Cohen said.

"What are you going to do about the missing brother, Charley?"

"I'm going to go to Europe and see if I can find him."

"When?"

"As soon as I'm sure Mrs. Masterson and the children are safe, sir. I gave her my word she will be protected."

"And she will be," the President said. "Did you notice some of your Delta Force buddies out there, Charley?"

"Yes, sir, I did."

"The attorney general agreed with me that in this situation the use of troops to protect the Mastersons was justified. Obviously, there's a time limit. But for now, I'd say they're safe."

"Mrs. Masterson asked Special Agent Schneider to find out about private security, sir. I'm going to see what I can do."

"That out of the way, you want to go to Europe as soon as possible?"

"Yes, sir."

"You want to ride to Washington with us? I suspect that you can get to Europe quicker from Washington than you can from Biloxi."

"Sir, I asked my cousin to bring the family's airplane here. I want to use that."

"Not an Air Force plane? A Gulfstream, maybe?"

"I think a civilian airplane would be better, sir. Less conspicuous."

"And very expensive to operate. What about that? Who's going to pay for that?"

"Sir, the last time we used it-in the 727 operation, flying it to Mexico and Costa Rica-it was leased to the Secret Service. I was hoping that could be done again."

The President looked at Secretary Hall. The Secret Service had become part of the Department of Homeland Security.

"Any problem there, Matt?"

"No, sir," Hall replied, and then added, "It's here, Charley. Fernando is in the hangar where we'll… hold the ceremony."

"Okay, then," the President said. "Anything else you need right now? Equipment, people?"

"It's a long list, sir."

The President signaled him to continue.

"I'd like to stop at Fort Bragg and pick up a Gray Fox satellite radio, and an operator, and take that with us. And I'd like another installed at the Nebraska Avenue complex, and a third to be sent to the embassy in Argentina with an operator."

"That will pose no problem, will it, General Naylor?" the President asked.

"None, sir. I'll get right on the horn to General McNab."

"Anything else, Charley?"

"Yes, sir. I'd like to borrow one of Colonel Torine's pilots, one with over-the-ocean experience. I've never flown across an ocean by myself."

"Shouldn't be a problem, should it, Colonel?"

"Unfortunately it is, sir," Torine said. "Until this moment, Mr. President, I had no idea Major Castillo was not entirely satisfied with my flying skills. I am crushed and humiliated beyond words."

"You mean you want to fly his airplane?" the President asked, smiling.

"Very much, sir."

"So ordered," the President said.

"Thanks," Castillo said to Torine.

The President looked at his watch.

"Well, we're out of time. I've got to change my shirt. While I'm doing that, you can finish your shopping list."

He walked out of the conference room.

Castillo felt Montvale's cold eyes on him.

"So what else can we do for you, Major?" he asked, with emphasis on the "Major."

Castillo looked at the secretary of state.

"I'm going to need some help with my passports, ma'am."

"Passports, plural?" Montvale asked.

"I went to Argentina on my German passport-"

"I beg your pardon?" Montvale interrupted.

"Major Castillo has dual citizenship, Mr. Ambassador," General Naylor said, suddenly and pointedly. "Sometimes, he uses his German nationality-very effectively-when he's on a covert assignment."

Did he come to my aid as loving Uncle Allan?

Or because Montvale's attitude toward me got under his skin?

Maybe, probably both. In one of his many lectures before I went to West Point, he told me to never forget that being given rank does not carry with it the right to jump on those of junior rank, especially in the presence of others.

Which of course I did when I gave that Old Guard lieutenant hell with Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC, standing there with both ears open.

Which proves of course that I am not nearly as good an officer as I like to pretend I am.

"Go on, please, Major," Naylor said.

"General, Gossinger is on Argentine immigration records-"

"Gossinger?" Montvale interrupted. "Who's Gossinger?"

This time the secretary of state came to Castillo's aid.

"Charles," she said, "perhaps we could let Major Castillo finish at least one sentence before we start asking questions?"

Montvale, for a second, glared at her. But then he apparently considered that Natalie Cohen, as secretary of state, was not only the most senior officer of the Presidential Cabinet-and thus the presiding officer of this ad hoc meeting of members of the cabinet-but a close personal friend of the President, and therefore was not to be crossed.

"Pardon me, Major," Montvale said. "Please continue."

"The Argentines have a record of Gossinger entering the country, Dr. Cohen," Castillo said. "There was no immigration check as we left. Which was lucky for me, since I didn't have to produce an American passport, which didn't have an entry stamp, or the German passport, which would have blown that cover. So, according to the books, Gossinger is still in Argentina, and I'd like to get him out."

"I get the picture," she said. "I suggest we issue you a new American passport, which will obviously have no immigration stamps in it at all, and then have the CIA put an exit stamp on your German passport. Their documents section is very good at that sort of thing." She looked at Montvale. "Wouldn't you agree, Charles?"

"That would seem to be the solution," Montvale said.

"We'll need a passport photo," Dr. Cohen said.

"There's some in my desk in the Nebraska complex," Castillo said.

"Charley, if you'll give me both passports before we leave here," Secretary Hall said, "I'll have Joel Isaacson pick up the passport photo, and then run everything through Foggy Bottom and Langley. He knows all the right people in both places." He turned to Montvale. "That sound all right to you, Charles?"

"Whatever is the most efficient means of accomplishing what has to be done, of course."

"Would you like me to call DCI Powell, Charles, and tell him what we need, or would you prefer to do that yourself?" Natalie Cohen asked.

"I'll call him," Montvale said.

"Anything else, Charley?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am, one more thing. There's an FBI agent attached to the embassy in Montevideo. David William Yung, Jr. He was sent to Buenos Aires when Mrs. Masterson was abducted as someone with kidnapping experience."

"What about him?" Montvale asked.

"He seemed to be unusually interested in me, for one thing," Castillo said.

"I would be, too, if I were an FBI agent and a young Army major was placed in overall charge of a situation like that," Montvale said.

Castillo looked at both Cohen and Hall and saw in their eyes that they had taken his meaning.

"And second," Castillo went on, "a usually reliable source, a former senior FBI official, who knows Special Agent Yung, told me he doesn't believe Yung is really doing what he says he's doing, looking into money laundering."

"In my experience, the FBI does not confide in outsiders," Montvale said. "Just who told you-"

The door opened.

Joel Isaacson put his head in.

"Excuse me," he said. "The President would like Mr. Castillo to join him."

"And I would like to know what Yung is really doing," Charley said, very quickly.

The secretary of state nodded at him. The secretary of Homeland Security gave him a thumbs-up.

Castillo got up quickly and started for the door.

"Charley," Hall called. "Your source is your friend from Vienna, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, he has proven reliable in the past, hasn't he?" Hall said.

"Yes, sir, he has," Castillo said, and went through the door.

Isaacson pulled the door closed.

"He didn't answer my question, did he?" Montvale said.

"The President sent for him, Charles," Hall said.

"I'm not accustomed to having junior officers not answering questions I put to them, and, frankly, I don't like it," Montvale said.

"Charles," the secretary of state said. "May I say something?"

"Of course."

"The impression this meeting left on me is that the President made it clear that he places in Major Castillo a trust that you and I might not share-"

"I picked up on that," Montvale said, just a bit righteously sarcastic.

"The impression this meeting left on me, Charles," Secretary Hall said, "is that the President made it absolutelyclear that Charley Castillo is answerable only to him. Or did I get that wrong?"

Montvale looked at the secretary of state for help. When it was not forthcoming, he stood up.

"I'd like to freshen up before we go to the ceremony. God alone knows how long we'll be standing out there in the heat and humidity for that." [TWO] The Presidential Suite Aboard Air Force One Keesler Air Force Base Biloxi, Mississippi 2105 25 July 2005 "Charley," Supervisory Special Agent Isaacson said, as he put his hand on the door to the presidential suite, "Tom McGuire brought a bag for you."

"Containing, I desperately hope, some summer clothes."

"It does. And a.45. I had to clear the bag aboard, which meant I had to see what was in it."

"Where is it?"

"In there," Isaacson said, pointing to a door next to the entrance to the presidential suite. "It's the medical office. If the president lets you go in time, you could probably get out of those winter clothes. It's going to be hot as hell in that hangar."

"You will get your reward in heaven, Joel Isaacson."

Isaacson smiled, then opened the door to the presidential suite.

Castillo could see what was obviously the President's private office. It contained an angled desk with a high-backed red leather chair bearing the presidential seal in gold facing aft, two armchairs facing the desk, and a credenza behind the desk.

"Mr. President," Isaacson called. "Major Castillo is here."

"Come on in, Charley," the President called. "I'm in the bedroom. Straight through to the front."

When Charley made his way all the way forward, he found the President of the United States supporting himself with one hand on a chest of drawers as he fed his right leg through his trousers. There were two single beds in the small area, on one of which lay the suit the President had just taken off, and on the other, the jacket to the suit he was now putting on.

"God, you're going to be hot in that," the President said, as he stuffed his shirt in his trousers.

"Tom McGuire brought a summer suit for me, sir."

"Well, as soon as we're finished here, you better put it on. Quickly. God and the presidential protection detail wait for no man, including the President."

"Yes, sir."

"This won't take long. First, a quick question. What's Mrs. Masterson like?"

"Very tall and elegant. Very intelligent."

"Is she going to weep, maybe get hysterical?"

"I doubt that very much, Mr. President."

"Thank God for that. Okay. What I didn't say in the conference room was that in order to keep you out of the sight of the eyes in the White House, I want you to avoid going there as much as possible."

"Yes, sir."

"I also told Matt Hall privately that he'll be your conduit to me. A three-man loop, in other words. If he's for some reason not available, the switchboard has been told to put you through to me, and there will be an any time, any area White House pass for you in the guard shack closest to the OEOB at all times. Just identify yourself, and they'll pass you."

"Yes, sir."

"Natalie Cohen isn't happy with the finding, but she'll go along with it. The director of the FBI and the DCI are going to like it less than Natalie does, but I don't think they'll fight it. Charles Montvale loathes the finding. I understand why. I suspect that he will be searching for your failures, so that he can bring them to my attention. I'm going to speak privately to him. If he poses problems, tell Matt Hall. Or me."

"Yes, sir."

"And how do you think General Naylor regards the finding?" the President asked.

"Sir, I think his reaction is much like mine."

"Which is?"

"That you have given a lot of responsibility and a lot of authority to a very junior officer."

"Not without a good deal of thought, Charley. Not without a good deal of thought. Now go change your clothes." [THREE] Keesler Air Force Base Biloxi, Mississippi 2120 25 July 2005 Jake Torine was waiting at the foot of the stairs to Air Force One when Charley Castillo came down them. They could see the Globemaster III was now backed up against the open doors of a huge hangar and that the hangar was really crowded.

Outside the hangar, and just inside it, held back by rope barriers and lines of airmen facing them, was a huge crowd of spectators.

Farther inside the hangar, what looked like a company of Air Force airmen was formed on one side of the cavernous space. Across from them was a U.S. Marine Corps band. A reviewing stand, with a lectern bearing the presidential seal, was in the rear of the hangar facing outward. The rear of the stand held maybe fifty American flags-of course there're fifty; one for each state-on either side of the presidential flag.

Next to the presidential flag were those of the secretary of state, the secretary of Homeland Security, and one that had to be the brand-new flag of the director of national intelligence. Flanking that were the flags of the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard, and maybe a dozen personal flags of the general and flag officers of the armed forces-the red one with four stars is Naylor's-present for the ceremony, most of whom were already on the platform.

Standing at Parade Rest in front of the reviewing stand was a ten-man squad of Marines in dress uniforms and a second squad composed of two men from each of the armed services, each under the command of a crisply uniformed lieutenant.

And in front of the reviewing stand were two black-draped catafalques ready to receive the caskets.

Well, that's a nice touch. They're going to put Markham beside Masterson.

"Very impressive," Torine said, as the Secret Service Yukon stopped beside the Globemaster.

"The White House billed this as a major foreign policy speech," the Secret Service agent driving the Yukon said.

The proof of that was the unruly sea of television cameramen, still photographers, and what had become known as "print journalists" held back by barriers and more airmen on both sides of the reviewing stand.

Castillo and Torine got out of the Yukon and found themselves facing four soldiers wearing green berets and armed with Car 4s.

"I'm Colonel Torine, the aircraft commander-" Torine began.

"You are armed, sir," one of the Special Forces soldiers said to Castillo. It was an accusation.

Well, so much for trying to conceal a.45 under a seersucker jacket.

"Yes, I am."

"You can pass him, Sergeant," a voice behind them said. "Not only is he the man, he's one of us."

Castillo turned to see a very short, totally bald man wearing a tweed jacket that didn't come close to fitting around his barrel chest. He was cradling a Madsen submachine gun in his arm.

"Hello, Vic," Castillo said, offering his hand to CWO- 5 Victor D'Allessando, Special Forces, USA, Retired.

"Just like old times, Charley," D'Allessando said. "You get yourself in the deep doo-doo, and McNab sends me to haul you out."

"You're running this?"

D'Allessando motioned for Torine and Charley to step over to a spot in the shadow of the Globemaster's wing where he could speak without being overheard. "Yeah, I am," he said.

"Boy, am I glad to hear that!" Castillo exclaimed. "What have you got?"

"Twenty-four shooters, mostly Delta, and a few guys from Gray Fox."

"I saw Sergeant Orson," Castillo said. "Actually, Colonel Torine saw him. Oh, hell, excuse me. Colonel, this is an old buddy of mine, Vic D'Allessando. I thought you'd know each other."

"Why do I think you're not wearing your green beret, Vic?" Torine said with a smile.

"I hung the fucker up, Colonel, after twenty-seven years. They medically retired me as a CWO-5. Now I'm a goddamn double-dipping civilian. GS-15, assimilated full fucking bird colonel."

"Who runs the stockade at Fort Bragg," Castillo said.

"I know it well," Torine said, smiling.

"Now I know who you are, Colonel," D'Allessando said. "You're the Air Commando who we used to fly our 727-"

"Almost correct," Torine replied. "Former Air Commando. When they made me a full fucking colonel, they paroled me from the stockade and put me behind a desk."

"… from which McNab rescued you when Charley was looking for that stolen 727. You went with Charley to Costa Rica and flew it back to the States after Charley and some of my guys stole it back from the bad guys."

"Guilty," Torine said.

"And he's in on this operation, Vic," Castillo said.

"Welcome aboard," D'Allessando said, smiling and offering his hand.

"What have you got going, Vic?"

"In detail? Or just the highlights?"

"In detail."

"Okay. Naylor called McNab and told him that your boss, Hall, had called him and said the President wanted either Delta or Gray Fox or both to make sure nothing else happened to the Mastersons when they got here. I almost had to tie McNab down to keep him from coming here himself."

Castillo and Torine chuckled.

"So we saddled up. Like I said, twenty-four shooters, mostly Delta but with four guys from Gray Fox. We got two Black Hawks and two Little Birds from the 160th. Both Little Birds are gunships-we can move everybody on the Black Hawks, but you never know when you're going to have to pop somebody. Then we came here.

"The guy running things is Masterson's father. Big tall drink of water. The widow's father-they call him 'the ambassador,' which I guess he was-is a little guy who almost went out with a heart attack. So they're trying to keep him in the dark as much as possible.

"Masterson's father has a great big farm not far from here. No airstrip, but no problem with the choppers. They're going to bury Masterson in a cemetery on the farm, after a mass in a little Catholic church in a little dorf called De Lisle, right outside the farm property. They wanted to have a big deal with the funeral, but the old man-Masterson's father-told them no way.

"What's going to happen here, after the President does his thing, is take the body out to the farm in a hearse. Funeral's by invitation only, but they expect maybe three hundred people at the cemetery."

"Can you handle that many people?"

"I'm not going to have to. The old man mobilized the Mississippi State Police. There's about fifty of them, under a lieutenant colonel. And the head man, a colonel-tough bastard-is here as a friend of the family. So's the governor. Plus of course the sheriff and all his deputies."

"You don't see any problems in protecting the family?"

"No," D'Allessando said flatly. "But it would help, Charley, if I knew who popped Masterson and why, and why they may try to pop the widow and the family."

"I'll tell you what I know, Vic. It's not much. I have no idea who these people are. None. All I know is that it has something to do with Mrs. Masterson's brother. She-just now, after we landed here-told me that the people who grabbed her in Buenos Aires want her to tell them where her brother is, and promised to kill her children and family."

"And she didn't tell them?"

"She doesn't know where he is. He works for the UN in Paris, but we can't find him."

"Interesting."

"She said they killed Masterson to make the point that they meant what they said."

"And you have no idea why they want the brother?"

"No. All I know is they shot Masterson with Israeli-made nine-millimeter cartridges, and killed the Marine sergeant driving my car-and wounded a female Secret Service agent in the car-by sticking one of those through the window and emptying the magazine, also loaded with Israeli-made nine-millimeters."

"With a Madsen?"

Castillo nodded.

"How do you know that?"

"I think Sergeant Markham saw it coming, and as he tried to move out of the way, pushed the window-up button. It was automatic, and caught the Madsen. It was still in the window when I got there."

"That's interesting, too. There's not too many Madsens around. And that's all you know?"

"And I just now learned, in a sixty-second conversation with Mrs. Masterson, about Masterson getting whacked to make the point that they want the brother at any cost."

"Somebody's going to have to talk to her some more," D'Allessando said.

"I know. I don't know how much time there will be now, but that's why I'm here."

"Who's in charge?"

"I am."

"I mean, now that they're in the States. And after the funeral?"

"I am, Vic."

"No shit?"

"The President just told me."

"That's stretching your envelope some, isn't it, Charley?"

"Understatement of the year," Castillo replied. "I'd like to introduce you to Mrs. Masterson, Vic. See if you can reassure her that she's safe now."

"I want to meet her, too," D'Allessando said. "Now?"

Castillo nodded.

D'Allessando spoke to a lapel microphone Castillo had not noticed.

"Three coming through the side door," he announced. [FOUR] Lieutenant Colonel McElroy, the aide to the commander in chief, was standing at the foot of the steps to the passenger compartment of the Globemaster.

"Sir," he said, when he saw Castillo and the others coming, "the Masterson family is alone up there."

"My name is Castillo. Would you please go up and tell Mrs. Masterson I'd like a brief word with her?"

"Sir, Mrs. Masterson asked that the family not be disturbed."

"Do it, Colonel," Colonel Torine ordered.

"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Colonel McElroy said, and started up the stairs.

Castillo looked down the cargo compartment of the Globemaster. Corporal Lester Bradley, now wearing his dress blue uniform, was standing almost at attention while talking to a Marine captain.

Castillo walked to them.

"You look very spiffy, Corporal," Castillo said.

"Thank you, sir."

"Captain, what's Corporal Bradley's role in the ceremony?"

"May I ask who you are, sir?"

"My name is Castillo."

"Phrased another way, Captain," Colonel Torine added, "he's the man."

The captain looked at them curiously, and then replied to Torine: "Sir, immediately after the ceremony, when the sergeant's remains are taken from the hangar, the corporal will meet up with the cask-"

"Captain," Castillo interrupted. "I told the gunny in Buenos Aires that Corporal Bradley will accompany Sergeant Markham's remains all the way home. I'm sure he passed that on to Sergeant Markham's buddies. I want that to happen. Make room for him in the ceremony."

"Sir, I'm not sure that will be poss-"

"Do it, Captain," Colonel Torine ordered flatly.

The captain considered that just long enough for it to be perceptible, then said, "Aye, aye, sir."

"Thank you," Castillo said. "I'll see you later, Bradley."

"Yes, sir."

Castillo saw Mrs. Masterson coming down the stairway and hurried forward.

"I'm glad you're here, Mr. Castillo. My father is here, and the less he knows about the threats made, the better. He has a heart condition."

"I understand," Castillo said. "Mrs. Masterson, this is Mr. D'Allessando. Have you ever heard of Delta Force?"

"There was a terrible movie," she said. "You mean there's really something like that?"

"Yes, ma'am, there is. The real Delta Force is made up of the best of Special Forces. They're not much like what you see in the movies, but they are really professional. Mr. D'Allessando has been associated with Delta for a long time, and he's brought twenty-four men here with him to make sure you and your family are all right."

"That's very reassuring," she said. "I'm really pleased to meet you, Mr. D'Allessando."

"I'm really sorry about your husband, ma'am," he said. "That shouldn't have happened."

"Thank you," she said.

Castillo saw a very tall, very slim man in an elegant double-breasted dark suit coming down the stairs.

My God, he looks just like Masterson! The only difference is the white hair and that absolutely immaculate pencil-line mustache.

The man walked up to them and smiled.

"Dad," Betsy Masterson said, "this is Mr. Castillo and Mr. D'Allessando. Gentlemen, my father-in-law, Winslow Masterson."

"How do you do?" Masterson asked, offering his hand. "May I ask which of you is Mr. Castillo?"

"I am, sir."

"I was actually about to go looking for you, sir, when it somewhat belatedly occurred to me that it was likely you were asking for a word with my daughter-in-law."

That accent is not what you expect to hear from a Mississippian, a farmer, or a black Mississippi farmer, or any combination thereof. What the hell is it?

"May I be of some service, sir?" Castillo asked.

"First, let me express my appreciation for everything you have done for my daughter-in-law-"

"Sir, that's absolutely unneces-"

"Pray let me continue, sir."

"Pardon me, sir."

"And then let me inquire of you as a government official-I spoke with Colonel McElroy, who had absolutely no idea what I was talking about-why, in a situation like this, with all the resources of the government presumably at your disposal, you have been unable to make contact with Jean-Paul Lorimer?"

Betsy Masterson and Castillo exchanged glances.

"Sir…" Castillo began.

"Mrs. Masterson's father, Ambassador Lorimer, is quite upset, Mr. Castillo. And if I may say so, understandably so. He has a certain physical condition and should not be under stress."

"Dad-" Betsy Masterson said.

"Please permit Mr. Castillo to answer the question, if he desires to do so."

"Sir, there are problems locating Mr. Lorimer. Mrs. Masterson is aware of them…"

"Indeed?" Masterson asked, and looked at his daughter-in-law.

"I didn't want to get into it with my father listening."

Masterson nodded.

"I'd really like to explain much of this to you, sir," Castillo said, "but this, I suggest, is neither the time nor the place to do so."

"He's right, Dad," Betsy Masterson offered.

"Well, I need to know what's going on as soon as possible," Masterson said. "And at the plantation, your parents will be there, and it would be impossible to exclude them without…" He paused, visibly in thought, then nodded in obvious agreement with what he had thought of.

"Mr. Castillo, it was of course my intention to ask you to stay with us at the plantation."

"I wouldn't want to intrude, sir," Castillo protested.

Masterson dismissed that with a wave of his hand.

"But is there some reason you have to go there immediately after this?" Masterson inquired, gesturing toward the activities in the hangar. "Would my daughter-in-law and the children and of course the Lorimers be safe, in your judgment, if you weren't personally there for an hour or so?"

"Yes, sir, I'm sure they would be. In addition to the state police you already have, Mr. D'Allessando and his men-"

"You're thinking of the Belle Visage," Betsy Masterson said.

"And what do you think of me thinking of the Belle Visage?" Masterson asked.

"That'd do it, Dad," she said. "No one would disturb you there."

"Then it's settled. What we'll do as the cortege heads for the plantation, Mr. Castillo, is go to the Belle Visage. We can have our little talk in private and then go out to the plantation. You can ride with me. How does that sound?"

"Sir, I don't know what the Belle Visage is."

"It's a gambling hell on the coast. There's a place there where we will not be disturbed."

"Whatever you say, sir. But there is one other problem. I have to establish contact with my cousin."

"Your cousin? May I inquire what that's all about?"

"Excuse me," Torine said, "but I just heard the band play 'Hail to the Chief.'"

"Charley, I can handle things until you get to the… plantation," Vic D'Allessando said, as they saw Lieutenant Colonel McElroy walking up to them. "Colonel, you want to come with me or go with Charley?"

"Charley?" Torine asked, seeking guidance.

"I'll see you at the plantation," Castillo said.

"You stay here, my dear," Winslow Masterson said. "I'll go get the children and your parents." He started for the stairs, then stopped and turned. "If you are seen with me, Mr. Castillo, there might be interest that at the moment neither of us wants. Can you get to the Belle Visage by yourself?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, then, I'll see you there," Winslow Masterson said, and started again for the stairs.

Castillo looked at D'Allessando. "You have wheels, Vic?"

"Not to spare, Charley."

"You have the Secret Service guy on your radio?"

D'Allessando nodded.

"Tell him that I need a Yukon here, right now, for I don't know how long."

"You can do that?"

"You can do that and we'll see what happens."

D'Allessando tilted his head slightly.

"You on, Ogilvie?" he said.

Mrs. Masterson looked at him with great curiosity.

"He's got a radio under there," Castillo explained.

"Mr. Castillo wants a Yukon at the Globemaster right now," D'Allessando said. There was a pause. "All he told me was to tell you he wants a Yukon here, now."

D'Allessando straightened up and announced, "On the way, Charley."

"Now tell them to find Fernando Lopez-he's my cousin, he's in the VIP section, and they know it-and bring him here."

D'Allessando bent his head again and repeated the order, and then said, "They'll do it."

Betsy Masterson's eyes met Castillo's.

"My father-in-law is just like Jack, isn't he?"

"Yes, ma'am, I was thinking the same thing."

"I guess it's the genes," she said. [FIVE] Estancia Shangri-La Tacuarembo Province Republica Oriental del Uruguay 2355 25 July 2005 Jean-Paul Bertrand watched the ceremonies taking place at Keesler Air Force Base on CNN.

They are really making a show of it, he thought, with somewhat grudging admiration. And then he thought, That's precisely what it is, a show. Jack gets himself shot, and they're acting as if he were the secretary of state, and all he was was chief of mission in a third-rate embassy.

The President arranged the show for his own agenda.

Jean-Paul got to watch not only Betsy and the kids this time but his father and mother as well. There was a camera long shot of the family walking behind the casket as it was slowly marched off the airplane.

Daddy looks fine, old but fine; not as one would expect of someone who nearly died of a heart attack. Mom must have her hands full with him. Jack's father looks just like Jack. And so does the older boy. What the hell is his name? Do they call him "Junior" or "the Third"?

The cameras were trained, too, on the reviewing stand as the family took their places beside the President. The President not only kissed Betsy but put his arms around her in a compassionate hug.

If that's not for the purpose of putting the ignorant masses who voted for him in a receptive state of mind for what he's going to say, then what is it for?

The secretary of state also embraced Betsy and kissed her, then did the same to Ambassador and Mrs. Lorimer and then the kids.

Daddy at least had the dignity to look a little offended. God, how I loathe that arrogant little bitch! She's nearly as bad as the President!

"My fellow Americans," the President began, and Jean-Paul Bertrand almost switched the television off then, but curiosity stayed his hand.

"I come here tonight bearing two messages.

"One is from you.

"The American people offer their profound condolences to the families of J. Winslow Masterson and Sergeant Roger Markham, USMC, who gave their lives in the service of the United States.

"The second message is from me," the President went on. "It is to those who committed the cowardly murders of these two good men.

"I say to you that this outrage will not go unpunished. I have ordered…"

Jean-Paul Bertrand switched off the television.

It would have been nice to see more of the family, but if the price to do that is looking at that man while he mouths such nonsense, it is simply too high.