The Hostage

VI

[ONE] Communications Center The United States Embassy Avenida Colombia 4300 Palermo, Buenos Aires, Argentina 1100 23 July 2005 The slender, trim man sitting behind the desk rose when Castillo walked in. The man was wearing a suit and a crisp white shirt, but there was something about him- carriage, short haircut, attitude-that made Charley sure he was a soldier.

"Mr. Castillo?"

"Right. I need a secure line to the White House. It's been cleared."

"Sir, the ambassador left word that if you came in, he wanted to see you right away."

Shit!

This situation wasn't covered in Obeying Orders 101 at The Point. The rule there was simple: you obey your last lawful order. My last order was to get on the horn as quickly as possible. And technically, Ambassador Silvio can't even legally issue me orders.

Or can he? He's the ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary of the President of the United States.

And Major C. G. Castillo is not about to tell Ambassador Silvio, in his embassy, that I don't have time for him right now, but I will try to fit him into my busy schedule just as soon as I can.

"Thank you," Castillo said, and headed for the ambassador's office. "You wanted to see me, sir?" Castillo asked, when Silvio's secretary ushered him into the ambassador's office.

"Yes, I did. Thank you for coming so quickly. I just wanted to tell you that the security staff has been alerted and are holding themselves ready for your instructions."

What the hell is he talking about?

"Sir?"

"You don't have any idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"No, sir. I don't."

"I thought you might not. May I ask what you're doing in the embassy?"

"Sir, I got word to get on a secure line to my boss… to Secretary Hall… as quickly as possible."

"I just had a very interesting conversation with my boss, as a matter of fact. Well, why don't you speak with your boss, and when you're finished, we can compare notes, so to speak."

"Sir, I have the uncomfortable feeling that I've done something to displease you."

"I'm displeased, frankly, but it's nothing you've done, Mr. Castillo," Silvio said. "In a manner of speaking, I would say that you and I are leaves being blown about by the winds of a storm."

Charley couldn't think of anything to say.

"Why don't you speak with Secretary Hall? And then come see me?" Silvio said.

"Yes, sir." "Hall."

"Charley, sir."

"Let me get right to it," Secretary Hall said. "By direction of the President, Major Castillo, you are directed and empowered (a) to take whatever action you deem necessary to protect the family of the late J. Winslow Masterson while they are in Argentina, and (b) to ensure their safe return-"

"Jesus Christ!"

"Let me finish, Charley. By direction of the President, I have written all this down."

"Sorry, sir."

"And (b) to ensure their safe return to the United States; and you are (c) directed and empowered to assume responsibility for the investigation of the kidnapping of Mrs. Elizabeth Masterson and the murder of Mr. Masterson." He paused. "You understand me so far?"

"Yes, sir."

"The U.S. ambassador in Buenos Aires has been advised of this Presidential Directive and directed to provide you with whatever you feel you need to accomplish your duties. The directors of the CIA and the FBI have similarly been notified of this directive and directed to furnish you with whatever support you feel you may need to carry out your duties."

"My God!"

"I told you he went ballistic. It began with him banging his fist on the desk and declaring, 'The assassination of a U.S. embassy official will not stand,' and got more heated from there. I don't think I've seen him so angry since we were under fire in 'Nam."

"Sir, you know I'm not qualified to do anything like this."

"The President apparently feels you are."

"From what I've seen, everybody from the ambassador on down has done everything possible… and is still doing everything possible."

"Apparently, the President doesn't think so. This is not open to debate, Charley. That's another quote."

"Yes, sir."

"To assist you in the accomplishment of your duties, the DCI has notified the CIA station chief that he is to place himself under your orders, and the director of the FBI has been ordered to send a team of FBI experts down there to assist you in your investigation, and the commander in chief CentCom has been ordered to dispatch an aircraft, together with adequate security personnel, to return the remains of Mr. Masterson, and his family, to the United States. I understand from General Naylor that that aircraft will be wheels-up within the hour-which means it's probably already in the air- and the senior officer aboard has been placed under your orders."

"Sir-"

"What part of 'this is not open to debate' did you miss, Charley?"

"I understand, sir."

"The only thing I need to hear from you-in addition to 'timely reports of any and all developments,' of course-is what assistance you think you need."

Castillo exhaled audibly.

"How are the FBI experts going to come down here? On the Air Force transport?"

"They have their own plane."

"Is there any chance you could send Jack Britton and Betty Schneider down here on either airplane?"

"Odd that you should ask, Charley. Just after the fireworks started, Joel told me that since he thought they were both spinning their wheels in the training academy, he had asked the superintendent of the school if he could get them out early to come here and take over your reading of the daily intel reports. I don't suppose you knew anything about this?"

"No, sir, I did not."

"The objections the superintendent had were twofold. It would set a bad precedent, and he had planned to ask for both to serve as instructors."

"Sir, I really-"

"By now both have been sworn in, issued credentials, and are probably already on their way here, if they haven't landed already. Joel can be very persuasive, if you hadn't noticed."

"I've noticed, sir."

"Why do you want them down there?"

"Because they're both cops, and I'm not, and Betty's a woman, and I'm not, and Jack is black, and I'm not."

"'Welcome to the Secret Service. Don't unpack; go back to the airport, where an FBI plane is waiting for you. Castillo will explain everything when you get to Argentina.'"

"Can you do that, sir?"

"The truth is, Charley, that I can't not do it. I don't want to explain to the President why I didn't give you something you asked for."

"Sir, how about getting Dick Miller out of the hospital and having him vet the daily intel reports?"

"Charley, you know as well as I do that he just had yet another operation on his knee."

"Sir, he told me that just as soon as he can get out of bed, he's going on recuperative leave."

"And instead you want him to come over here with his knee in a cast and go through the daily intels?"

"I think he'd rather do that than lie in a bed at Walter Reed or go home."

"I'll see what I can find out, but refusing you that would be something I might be able to justify to the President. Even in his present state of mind, I think he might be sympathetic to my explanation, 'Sir, Major Miller is in Walter Reed, recovering from an operation on his knee.'"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll call you when I have ETAs on both planes."

"Thank you, sir."

"Charley, did you ever hear that 'no good deed goes unpunished'?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm almost sorry-operative word almost-that you found the goddamn 727."

"Yes, sir." [TWO] "Doctor," the secretary of Homeland Security said into the phone to the chief, orthopedic surgery division, the Walter Reed Army Medical Center, at the other end of the line, "let me be sure I understand you. Presuming he keeps his leg as immobile as reasonably possible, there is no reason Major Miller has to stay in Walter Reed while waiting for his cast to be removed, and that will not be for fifteen days?

"And you have advised him of this and that he's free to go on recuperative leave?"

Hall looked at Joel Isaacson sitting in an office chair on the other side of the desk as Hall parroted the doctor:

"You have strongly recommended personally that he go home and get TLC from his mother, whom you have known all of Major Miller's life.

"And you think I should know that Major Miller is at least as stubborn and hardheaded as his father, whom you have known even longer than you have his mother, as he has declined to take the recuperative leave despite your strong personal recommendation."

Isaacson smiled and shook his head.

"With your permission, Doctor, I'm going to ask Major Miller if he would like to perform some limited duty-administrative-in my office. If he agrees, I have a place-with room service-for him to stay, and can get a Yukon to haul him back and forth-

"Just keep him off his leg? I can do that, sir." "Joel, you call him," Secretary Hall directed. "If I call, he'll consider it an order."

Isaacson nodded and reached for Hall's telephone. Hall slid a yellow stick-'em note with the Walter Reed telephone number on it, and Isaacson punched it in.

"Put it on the speakerphone," Hall ordered. "Dick, Joel Isaacson. Am I calling at a good time?"

"A good time for what?"

"For you to tell me how you're doing, for example?"

"I'm up to my ass, literally, in about thirty pounds of plaster of paris."

"How do you feel?"

"How would you feel, Joel, if you were up to your ass, literally, in thirty pounds of plaster of paris?"

"I thought they might let you go home on recuperative leave."

"They are trying to make me go home on recuperative leave."

"You don't want to go?"

"Tell me, Joel, if you were up to your ass in thirty pounds of plaster of paris, would you want to spend your days taking the correspondence courses offered by the Command and General Staff College?"

"I don't follow you."

"That is what Major General Miller has in mind for his beloved son to do. He has this thing about using one's time profitably, and never wasting a second."

"So what are you doing with your time?"

"Watching reruns of Hollywood Squares and M*A*S*H on the tube. I haven't been too successful in enticing any of the nurses to hop in bed with me."

"We need some help in the office. Couple of hours a day. Interested?"

"Joel, when was the last time you were kissed by a six-foot-two black man? When do you want me?"

"You didn't even ask what we need you to do."

"Quoting Clark Gable in Gone With the Wind, which I have seen two more times since I have been in here, 'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!'"

"What if I came over in the morning and picked you up? You're still welcome in Charley's apartment, I guess?"

"What if you come over right now and pick me up? And where is that sonofabitch? He was supposed to bring me a bottle the day before yesterday and never showed up."

"He's in Argentina."

"I just saw that on Fox News. The bad guys blew Jack the Stack away. What's Charley got to do with that?"

"I'll tell you when you get here."

"And, back to that question, when will that be?"

"Hold one, Dick," Isaacson said, punched off the speakerphone, covered the microphone with his hand, and looked at Secretary Hall.

"Go get him," Hall ordered.

"Dick, I'll be over there in, say, half an hour," Isaacson said.

"Well, if that's the best you can do," Miller said, and hung up. [THREE] Castillo came out of the phone booth and smiled at the guy in charge of the communications room.

"Thank you," he said, and then, pointing at a coffeemaker, "What are my chances of getting a cup of that?"

"Couldn't be better, sir," the man said, and handed Castillo a china mug.

"Soldier or Marine?" Castillo asked.

"Soldier, sir. Sergeant First Class."

"Do you ever yearn for simple soldiering?" Castillo asked. "Nothing to worry about except maybe an IG inspection?"

"Sometimes, sir. But this is pretty interesting, and the life here is good."

"Did you know Mr. Masterson?"

"Yes, sir. One of the good guys. What the hell is going on?"

"Right now, nobody knows," Castillo said.

Including, or maybe especially, the guy who by direction of the President is now in charge of the investigation.

And who is about to become the most unpopular sonofabitch in the embassy, with everybody from the ambassador on down pissed at him.

And with cause.

They have done their very best, from a sense of duty plus their feelings of admiration for Masterson and his wife, and it hasn't been good enough.

They're probably thinking, Some hotshot who's been in Buenos Aires for two days is now in charge. God only knows what that sonofabitch said about us when he got on a secure line to Washington.

He took a sip of the coffee, burned his lip, and said, "Shit!"

"I should have warned you it was hot," the commo sergeant said.

"My fault," Castillo said.

Well, at least I learned how to handle a situation like this at The Point.

It's essentially a matter of what not to do.

You don't line the troops up and say, "Jesus, guys, wait until you hear what a dumb order we just got."

When you get a lawful order, no matter how dumb- and with all due respect, Mr. President, this decision of yours is about as dumb as orders get-you either refuse to obey it or you obey it.

And since this order cannot be refused-it's "not open for debate" and I have sworn a solemn oath, without any mental reservations whatsoever to cheerfully obey the orders of officers appointed over me, which would certainly include the President-that means I will have to go before the troops bubbling over with enthusiasm to carry out the brilliant order I have just received. And then do my goddamnedest to execute it.

"Can I take this with me? The ambassador wants to see me ten minutes ago."

"Sure," the sergeant said. [FOUR] "Sir, I just spoke with Secretary Hall, who told me what the President has ordered."

"The President made it crystal clear what he wishes done; what he wants you to do," Ambassador Silvio said.

"For your ears only, sir, I'm way out of my depth."

"The President doesn't seem to think so," Silvio said, "and that's all that really matters, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir, I guess it is."

"I've asked everybody with a role in this to come to the conference room. They're in there now."

"Have you said anything to them, sir?"

"I thought I would ask you what you would like me to say before I said anything."

"Sir, I think the simple facts-that the President told you he has given me the responsibility to get Mrs. Masterson and the children, and Mr. Masterson's body, safely out of the country, and that I am now in charge of the investigation-would be the best way to handle it."

"That's about what I was thinking," Silvio said. "Just before the President called me, I made a decision that I don't think is going to please the FBI team that's coming down."

"Yes, sir?"

"Colonel Munz asked for permission to perform the autopsy on Mr. Masterson's body and I gave that permission. It was a tough call."

"I'm not sure I follow you, sir."

"We get into a somewhat hazy area of law and diplomacy here," Silvio said. "A murder and an abduction have occurred. Those are violations of Argentine law. The murder of an official of the U.S. government, no matter where it occurs, is a violation of the United States Code, one of the few offenses for which the death penalty may be applied…"

Castillo thought, If I needed another proof that I don't know what the hell I'm doing, I never thought about any of this.

"… And in theory at least, the government can demand that the perpetrators be extradited to the United States for trial. I don't know-I just haven't had the time to look into it-where Mrs. Masterson's abduction fits into this, but her abduction violates Argentine law."

"I never even thought about this," Castillo confessed.

"I've given it some thought," Silvio said. "Now, presuming that the people who did this are apprehended, they would be arrested by the Argentines, and tried in an Argentine court. The problem I have with that is that if found guilty, the maximum penalty is twenty or twenty-five years' imprisonment."

"No death penalty," Castillo said.

"And, for your ears only, Mr. Castillo, while I would dearly love to see these people-what is that lovely phrase?-'hung by the neck until dead, dead, dead,' that's just not going to happen.

"Furthermore, extradition poses some problems. Unfortunately, a number of Argentine officials and more important legislators oppose anything we norteamericanos ask for-probably a vestige of Juan Domingo Peron-as a Pavlovian reflex. While I'm fairly certain that extradition would ultimately be approved, I'm not certain.

"Our death penalty enters into the equation. When I was a young consular officer in Paris, there was a terrible man from Philadelphia who stuffed his girlfriend in a trunk and let her petrify there. When this was finally discovered and he was arrested, his attorney-now Senator Arlen Specter, as a matter of interest-got him out on bail, which he promptly jumped. We finally located him in France. When we tried to have him extradited, French officials and legislators, who seem to share the Argentine fondness for denying anything we Americans ask, were more than a little difficult.

"One of the reasons they cited for denying extradition was that we have the death penalty, and they don't. There were other reasons, but that was one of their major moral arguments. It took us about twenty years to get this chap extradited from France. That took place just a couple of years ago. And I feel sure that our death penalty would be advanced as a reason for the Argentines to deny extradition."

"I heard that story," Castillo said. "I have some friends in the Philadelphia Police Department."

Including a former sergeant named Betty Schneider, who at this very moment is on her way down here. And who may not be nearly as delighted to see me as I will be to see her.

"Two of whom, sir," Castillo went on, "have become Secret Service agents. I asked that they be sent here to assist me. One of them is a woman, whom I intend to assign to Mrs. Masterson's security detail. The other is a very bright detective, who will keep his eyes on the investigation for me. He's a black guy, which I thought might be useful."

"So you do have some ideas what to do?" Silvio said. "I suspect you're not nearly as far out of your depth as you say you are."

Oh, yes I am. And did I ask for Sergeant Schneider because I wanted her to sit on Mrs. Masterson, or because I can't get her out of my mind? How does Dick Miller so cleverly phrase it? That I have the lamentable tendency to think with my dick?

"With all of these things in mind," Silvio said, "it seemed to me that justice-as much of it as can be expected in this circumstance-would best be served to have these scum tried and convicted in an Argentine court."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

"Which means, of course, that all evidence gathered will be retained by the Argentine judicial system; that extraditionof these people, even if finally approved, would be futile. Even if we could get around the double jeopardy business, we would have no evidence to present. Plus, the very act-justified, legally permissible, or not- of asking for extradition would certainly offend Argentine pride. It would be tantamount to saying we don't trust their judicial system."

"Did you tell the President what you had decided, Mr. Ambassador?"

"The conversation, Mr. Castillo, was rather one-sided," Silvio said. "Is there anything else we should talk over before we go into the conference room, do you think?"

"I can't think of anything, sir." [FIVE] Everyone sitting at the long conference table stopped talking and rose to their feet as Ambassador Silvio and Castillo entered the room.

Alex Darby was at the foot of the table. Kenneth Lowery sat on his right, and Tony Santini on his left. The two FBI agents from Montevideo sat together. There were a dozen other men around the table. Castillo didn't know any by name, but some of them, the DEA people, he recognized from the brainstorming session Masterson had organized the day before. There were three people in uniform: an Air Force colonel, an Army colonel, and a Marine gunnery sergeant.

Castillo pegged them as the defense attache, the military mission commander, and the NCO in charge of the Marine guards. Everybody looked at Castillo with unabashed curiosity.

"Keep your seats, please, gentlemen," Silvio ordered, as he walked to the head of the table. He put his hands on the back of the chair there.

"For those of you who haven't had the opportunity to meet him, this gentleman is Mr. C. G. Castillo, who is in Argentina as the President's agent. A short time ago, the President conveyed to me his decision to place Mr. Castillo in charge of dealing with all aspects of the unfortunate situation we find ourselves in vis-a-vis Chief of Mission J. Winslow Masterson and his family. The President further informed me that the secretary of state, the secretary of defense, and the directors of the Central Intelligence Agency and the Federal Bureau of Investigation have been informed of his decision."

The ambassador looked at Castillo, said, "Mr. Castillo, you have the floor," and sat in the first chair at the side of the table.

Castillo looked around the room.

There's not a hell of a lot of friendly faces looking at me. As a matter of fact, none.

Well, here goes.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Castillo began. "Our priorities are these. First, the protection of Mrs. Masterson and her children. Second, the protection of all embassy personnel. Third, to cooperate with the Argentine authorities in their investigation of what has happened.

"In regard to the last, after consulting with Ambassador Silvio, I have decided that we will proceed on the assumption that the Argentine government will find out who committed these crimes, arrest the culprits, and subject them to trial in Argentine courts."

"We're not even going to try to extradite these scum-bags?" FBI agent Yung asked.

"That is what, after consultation with Ambassador Silvio, I have decided. And please don't interrupt me again until I open the floor for comments and questions," Castillo said.

There was some murmuring, but nothing more.

Well, I got away with that. Let's see what else I can get away with.

"With regard to Priority One: Mr. Santini, who has had extensive experience with the Secret Service Presidential Protection Detail, will assume responsibility for the protection of the Masterson family until we can get them safely out of the country. An Air Force transport is already in the air on its way down here to transport Mr. Masterson's body and his family to the United States.

"With regard to Priority Two: Mr. Lowery will put in place whatever heightened security measures he deems necessary for the protection of all other embassy personnel. I know the President has a deep interest in this, so I'd like, within the hour, a rough game plan from you, Mr. Lowery, so that after Ambassador Silvio approves it-or modifies it-I can send it to Washington."

Castillo looked at Lowery, who said, "Yes, sir. Within the hour."

Two down.

"With regard to Priority Three: Mr. Darby will handle all arrangements to cooperate with the Argentine authorities in their investigation of this situation, and, coordinatingwith Mr. Santini and Mr. Lowery, the incorporation of what security personnel the Argentine government provides into our own security arrangements.

"Further, the FBI is sending a team of investigators down here. They will report to Mr. Darby. Mr… Yung, is it?"

"Yung," he confirmed.

"You will be responsible for the logistic support of the FBI team. Find them someplace to live, to operate, automobiles, whatever they need, and also keep Ambassador Silvio, Mr. Darby, Mr. Lowery, Mr. Santini, and myself advised on a timely basis of whatever their investigation develops.

"The Secret Service is sending two special agents down here. One, Special Agent Schneider, will report to Mr. Santini to assist in the protection of the Masterson family. Special Agent Britton will monitor both the Argentine's and our investigation-including, of course, the FBI's- and report to the ambassador and me what information he comes up with. I will, since both special agents will be working for me, handle their logistic requirements."

Now how the hell are you going to do that?

"Finally, to ensure everyone's working on the same page, and to ensure that someone sitting behind a desk in Washington doesn't start to try to micromanage what we're going to do here, there will be no communication by any means-radio, e-mail, or telephone-with any agency in Washington unless it has been first vetted by the ambassador or myself."

"You're telling me, sir, that I'm forbidden to communicate with the bureau?" Yung demanded.

"Thank you for the opportunity to make myself perfectly clear, Agent Yung, as apparently my request to finish without interruption also went unheard," Castillo said icily. "You are forbidden to communicate with the bureau-or anyone else-absent the approval of the ambassador or myself in every instance. Got it?"

There was a moment's hesitation. Then a cold, "I've got it."

"Now, are there any questions or comments?" There were far fewer questions and comments than Castillo expected.

There is, however, a sullen, bubbling resentment toward Presidential Agent Castillo that can be cut with a knife.

But I think trying to be a nice guy would have made things even worse.

"Well, if that's it, gentlemen, thank you for your time and attention. Now let's get to work. Mr. Darby and Mr. Santini, will you remain behind, please?" "Will you be needing me for anything else, Mr. Castillo?" Ambassador Silvio asked, when everyone but Darby and Santini had left the room.

"If you would, sir. Give me another minute."

"Of course."

"Tony, Alex, that commo block doesn't apply to either of you. But I couldn't keep just the FBI off the horn. And I really didn't want some hotshot second-guessing what we're going to try to do here." He looked at Darby. "Remember the Langley hotshots with access to a satellite phone in Afghanistan, Alex?"

"Painfully," Darby chuckled.

"Joel said you were really a hardnose," Santini said. "You did very well in here just now, Ace."

"I wish I thought so."

"I thought so, too," Ambassador Silvio said. "I did wonder, however, why you claimed my decision not to go for extradition as your own?"

"We had a saying in Afghanistan, sir, when we did something we suspected might get us in hot water. 'Screw it. What are they going to do, send me to Afghanistan?'"

Silvio chuckled.

"There's also an expression, 'If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.' But that was gracious of you, Mr. Castillo. I'm grateful."

"Sir, do you think you could bring yourself to call me 'Charley'?"

"Of course. Thank you. My first name is Juan. My friends usually call me John."

"My real first name is Carlos, sir, and with your permission, I will continue to call you 'sir' and 'Mr. Ambassador. '"

"Charley, who are these two agents they're sending down?" Santini asked.

"They're both ex-Philadelphia cops. We worked with them when we were looking for the 727. The lady was a sergeant in intelligence, and the guy worked deep cover for years for counterterrorism. Hall was impressed with both of them, and told Joel to recruit them. Joel just got them out of the training academy early to work in Hall's office. So they were available."

"What are you going to do with them?"

Well, as far as the sergeant is concerned, I am going to look passionately into her beautiful eyes and get as much cabernet sauvignon down her lovely throat as possible.

"This is why I asked you to stay, Mr. Ambassador," Castillo said. "Alex, I was at the hospital when you and Lowery were talking with her-"

"Munz told me you were there," Darby interrupted.

"-and I had the feeling, Alex, that you weren't getting the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but."

Darby's eyes first registered surprise, and then hardened.

"Charley, she was coming out of the drug; she didn't know what she was saying."

"She knew enough to be very concerned about her kids," Castillo said. "But when it came to any detail of her abduction, she drew a blank. Not a partial blank, Alex, a blanket blank."

"That was not the feeling I had," Darby said.

"Well, what we're going to do now is go over to the hospital so that you-and if you can spare the time, Mr. Ambassador, you, too-can introduce her to Tony and me. At which time, Tony will ask her what happened, and what she remembers."

Darby shook his head.

"Why would she lie? About what?" he asked.

"I think Mr. Cast-Charley-is suggesting that her abductors told her to tell you-us-as little as possible, and threatened her," Silvio said.

"Yes, sir," Castillo said. "And we need all the information we can get."

"After they blew Jack away," Darby pursued, "it seems to me she would want to tell us anything we wanted to know."

"Unless they threatened her children," Castillo said. "If they were willing to blow her husband away, she knew they'd be willing to hurt the kids. Kill the kids. Or maybe her family. Her father and the brother."

"I think you're really reaching, Charley," Darby said.

"What brother?" Santini asked.

"He works for the UN," Castillo said. "That's about all I know, except what Alex told me about his not getting along with Masterson."

"I met him once, years ago," Silvio said. "He has some sort of liaison, coordination-of-agencies job in Paris. I was thinking of perhaps trying to get in touch with him, so that he could break this news to his father, who has some sort of heart problem."

"Sir-Alex, do you know his name?"

"Lorimer," Alex said. "Jean-Pierre, Jean-Paul, something like that. French. The ambassador's-Betsy's father's-first name is Philippe."

"They're French?"

"Maybe way back, way way back, like Jack's family," Darby said. "Jack used to delight in telling people who hated the South that there were three Mastersons-'free men of color'-who were Confederate officers, two in the navy and one in the army. If he was really pulling their chain, he'd say the family had made its money in the slave trade."

Silvio chuckled.

"Was there money, Alex?" Castillo asked. "Before he was run over by the beer truck?"

"Not that kind of money, but yeah. Both families are more than-what's the word?-'comfortable.' Sugar, I think, and cotton. Growing it and dealing in it."

"Mr. Ambassador," Charley said, "I was going to suggest that you get in touch with the State Department and see if we can get a location, maybe even a telephone number, on the brother. In case we can't get that information from Mrs. Masterson."

"I'll get right on it," Silvio said, "and if you'd like, I'll go to the German Hospital with you and introduce you and Tony to Mrs. Masterson."

"Thank you, sir. That will be very helpful." [SIX] The German Hospital Avenida Pueyrredon Buenos Aires, Argentina 1305 23 July 2005 El Coronel Alfredo Munz of SIDE walked up to them as they entered the lobby of the hospital.

"Your Excellency, gentlemen," he said in Spanish. "What a fortunate happenstance. I was about to call Senor Castillo and ask if he could spare me a moment of his time."

"Fortunate happenstance," my ass. Munz wasn't surprised at all to see us. He was waiting for us, which means he knew we were coming here.

How did he do that?

He's got somebody inside the embassy, more than likely, to keep an eye on things generally and the ambassador in particular. Somebody who heard the ambassador call for his car to bring us here, or someone listening to that allegedly encrypted radio in his car, or Darby's, or maybe hearing the Marine guard calling Lowery to update him on the ambassador's location.

Why am I surprised? Both Darby and Santini told me SIDE's good, and with this business going on, they've got their act in high gear.

But what does he want with me?

"Mi coronel, I am at your disposal," Castillo said, and then, to the ambassador, "Sir, why don't you go up to Mrs. Masterson's room? I know where it is and I can catch up with you." Munz led Castillo to a corner of the lobby.

"You have at once greatly disappointed several important people in the Ministry of Information, Herr Gossinger," Munz said in German, "and added a little excitement to what I'm sure you and I would both regard as their rather boring and mundane lives."

Oh, shit. He found out I entered the country as Gossinger.

And I never went to the Ministry of Information to register as a journalist.

Castillo smiled at him.

"How is that, Herr Oberst?" he replied in German.

Munz handed him a sheet of paper. It was a copy of the immigration form Castillo had filled out on the airplane and handed to the immigration officer at the airport. It also had his photograph, obviously taken by a good and unobtrusive camera as he stood at the immigration booth.

"They so wanted to explain to a prominent German journalist how concerned the Argentine government is with this sad situation, and then, when you failed to show up at the Ministry of Information, as you promised to do, they thought that perhaps this German fellow had something to do with the villains we're looking for."

"Actually, my name is Gossinger," Charley began.

"I know. I took the trouble to find out. The German embassy told me you are not only a distinguished foreign correspondent for the Tages Zeitung, but the great-great-grandson of the founder. What a wonderful cover! A second persona that is real."

"I feel like a kid caught with my hand in the cookie jar. What happens now?"

"I've assured them that not only have I informed you of our efforts to get to the bottom of this situation, but also that I told you it would be unnecessary to register with the Ministry of Information. There is no longer a problem."

"Thank you."

"And I have this for you, too."

He handed him a small, plastic-covered card. It read "Corps Diplomatique" and had his photograph and Gossinger's name on it.

"A diplomatic carnet, in case one of our ever-alert police would ask why you're carrying a pistol."

"A pistol?"

"Actually, it was my intention to loan you one, but I see under your suit coat that you're already carrying one in the small of your back."

"The ambassador lent it to me."

"Karl-you don't mind if I call you 'Karl,' do you?"

"Herr Oberst, you may call me anything you wish."

"There are some very dangerous people here in Argentina, I'm afraid, and I'm not talking about our cottage kidnapping industry. I haven't been able to come up with any connection between Herr Masterson and them-from what I have, he's, in that charming North American phrase, 'Mr. Clean'-but that doesn't mean there isn't one. And these people have proven that murder is just part of their game. I would be very sorry if they decided to eliminate you."

"You don't think this is a kidnapping, do you?"

"Do you?"

"Well, they abducted her, so that's a kidnapping. But it smells."

"Yes, it does. You have no ideas whatever?"

"None."

"If you did, would you tell me?"

Castillo met his eyes.

"Yes, I would. Between us, what did you think when Mrs. Masterson was being… I guess the word is 'interrogated' by Darby and Lowery?"

"I would not describe her responses as fully forthcoming."

"What do you think she's hiding?"

"There may be more to it than this, but the first thing that came to my mind was that they threatened her- probably her children-if she revealed anything she had learned about them."

"Why didn't they kill her?"

"They want something from her. Maybe Masterson didn't bring the ransom with him. And they are threatening to kill the children if she doesn't get it to them. I just don't know."

"Tony Santini is an experienced Secret Service agent-"

"I know. Did he really injure himself falling off the President's limousine?"

Castillo thought a moment before replying, "The Vice President's limousine."

"How embarrassing for him!"

"Anyway," Charley said, ignoring the subject, "the ambassador's going to introduce him as the Secret Service man assigned to protect her and the children, and he's going to use that to see what he can get out of her."

"And is he going to tell her of your appointment as the generalissimo in charge?"

"You heard about that, too, did you, Alfredo?"

"Like yourself, Karl, I'm sure, I like to keep my ear to the grindstone."

"Nose to the grindstone, ear to the ground," Castillo smilingly corrected him.

"Thank you," Munz said.

"There's a planeload of FBI agents on their way down here to assist in the investigation. And two Secret Service agents to assist me. One is a really bright female with a good deal of experience in intelligence. I'm going to put her on the protection detail, hoping she'll be able to get to Mrs. Masterson. The other one is a very good, street-smart cop who worked under deep cover in really bad situations for years. I'm going to have him look at what the FBI comes up with, and I would be grateful if you would let him see what you've come up with."

"Certainly, but there's not much."

"There's also an Air Force transport on its way to transport Masterson's body and his family home."

"Are you going with them?"

Jesus, I never thought about that!

"Maybe. But if I do, I have the feeling that I'll be coming back."

Munz nodded, then put out his hand.

"I'm glad we had this chance to chat, Karl."

"Thank you for everything, Alfredo." [SEVEN] Mrs. Elizabeth Masterson was not in the intensive care room where she had first been placed, but Castillo had no trouble in finding the room to which she had been moved. There were four uniformed Policia Federal, under the command of a sergeant, and two men in civilian clothing-one of them Paul Sieno, the CIA agent- hovering around a door near the end of the corridor.

Sieno nodded at Castillo, who then knocked on the door. A moment later, Ambassador Silvio opened it a crack, and then all the way.

"Come in, Mr. Castillo," he said, and as Castillo went through the door, the ambassador went on, "Betsy, here's Mr. Castillo."

Mrs. Masterson was sitting up in a hospital bed. She was in a nightgown that had to be hers from home, and Castillo saw there were two other women in the room, almost certainly Darby's wife and the ambassador's. They were sitting in chairs along the wall, and Darby and Santini were leaning on the wall next to them.

Castillo walked up to the bed.

"The President has asked me to tell you how terribly sorry he is, Mrs. Masterson."

That little lie came quickly to my lips, didn't it?

Well, if the President had thought about it, he would have.

"That's very kind of him," Mrs. Masterson said. She did not offer her hand and her smile was visibly an effort.

"And if I may, I would like to offer my own condolences."

When there was no response to this except the frozen smile, Castillo went on, "My orders, ma'am, are first to absolutely guarantee your safety, and that of your children, and then to get you to the United States just as quickly and as safely as possible."

The smile remained fixed, and she said nothing.

"Has Ambassador Silvio told you that Mr. Santini has many years' experience on the Secret Service Presidential Protection Detail?"

"Yes, he has."

"And the Argentine authorities have provided us with some of their very best men to help Mr. Santini."

"So the ambassador has told me."

"We hope to have word very soon about the arrival of the aircraft the President has sent down here. One of them is a transport, which will carry you and your family to the United States just as soon as you feel up to it, and the other is bringing both a team of FBI experts to assist in the investigation, and two Secret Service agents for your protection detail. One of them is a female agent."

Mrs. Masterson nodded.

"I'm very much aware, Mrs. Masterson, that this is a difficult time for you…"

Mrs. Masterson snorted.

"… but I hope you'll understand that certain plans have to be made."

"Such as?"

"Where in the United States would you like to go?"

"Keesler," she said. "Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi is closest to Jack's parents' home. In Pass Christian."

"Pass Chris-tee-ann"? That's the French pronunciation. And while I'm on that subject… what about her brother, who's supposed to be in France?

"Is there someone there, in Pass Christian, who we can contact? Your father?"

"My father lives in Metairie-New Orleans. And he has a heart condition. My father-in-law lives in Pass Christian. I really think he'd be the man to break this to my father. I was just talking about that, frankly, with Mrs. Silvio when you came in, Mr. Castillo. She's going to call Jack's father, or the ambassador is, just as soon as they can get to a phone. I hope they can get through to him before he sees it on CNN or Fox. And then I'll call him, of course, when they let me out of here."

"Have they told you when that's going to be?"

"They want to keep me overnight for observation," she said, then turned to the ambassador. "Juan, can't you do something about that? I want to be with the children."

"I understand," Silvio said. "But they really want to look for signs of whatever that drug might have done to you. If you'd like, we can bring the kids here to see you."

"No. I don't want them to see me like this. They're better off with Julia."

Julia, presumably, is Darby's wife.

"They're in school now?" Castillo asked.

"Their father has just been murdered," she snapped. "Of course they're not in school."

"Forgive me," Castillo said.

Then the other woman is Lowery's wife; Darby's wife- Julia, the old friend of the family-is with the kids.

"Is there anyone else, ma'am, that we should contact?"

"No. I'll notify everyone just as soon as I'm out of here."

That "no" came really quick. Wouldn't she want to tell her brother, even if he didn't get along with her husband?

"Mrs. Masterson, I won't intrude on your grief anymore. If there's anything you need, all you'll have to do is tell Mr. Santini."

"Thank you."

Castillo nodded at the people in the room and walked out.

He had taken half a dozen steps to the elevator when Ambassador Silvio caught up with him. Santini was on the ambassador's heels.

"I'm forced to agree with you, Mr. Cas-Charley," Silvio said. "She's concealing something."

"I got nowhere with her, either," Santini said.

"Mr. Ambassador, she didn't even mention her brother," Castillo said. "Would you be willing to try to get him on the telephone?"

"I thought that was odd, too," Silvio agreed. "I'll put a call in to him just as soon as I get back to the embassy. Where will you be?"

"At the embassy, sir. I want to get the ETAs of the airplanes."

"Then I'll see you there." [EIGHT] The United States Embassy Avenida Colombia 4300 Palermo, Buenos Aires, Argentina 1450 23 July 2005 It was a frustrating forty-five minutes on the telephone.

Even getting the number of the United Nations European directorate of interagency coordination was frustrating. The Buenos Aires international operator had trouble first connecting to and then communicating with the Paris information operator.

Silvio gave up on that and called the American embassy in Paris. The political attache had somewhat reluctantly-and only after Silvio had proven to him who he was-provided a listing for the directorate, but said he had neither an address nor a number for a Jean-Paul Lorimer.

A somewhat nasal-voiced French woman at the directorate told Silvio-whose French was fluent-that M'sieu Lorimer was out of the office, that she had no number at which he could be reached, and that any further inquiries should be directed to the director of information. She was unmoved by Silvio's announcement that he was the United States ambassador to Argentina, and was trying to contact Lorimer because there had been a death in the family.

The only address and telephone number the State Department in Washington and the United States Mission to the United Nations in New York City had for Lorimer was his office.

"Let me see what the Secret Service can do, sir," Castillo said, finally, and started to punch in Isaacson's number in Washington on his cell phone.

"You don't want to get a secure line?"

"What's classified?" Castillo said, and immediately added, "I didn't mean to sound flip, sir. Sorry."

"I didn't think you were being flip," Silvio said. "It was a dumb question."

"Isaacson."

"Charley, Joel."

"I see we're being telepathic again," Isaacson replied. "I was just about to call you about the FBI plane-on which, I'm sure you'll be thrilled to hear, Casanova, is the beauteous Agent Schneider-and the C-17."

"You didn't say something allegedly witty to her, did you, Joel?"

"No, but I was sorely tempted. She really is a delight to the eyes, and I felt duty-bound to warn her about you."

"Tell me about the airplanes."

"She and Jack Britton are on a Gulfstream Five, which left here at eleven-oh-five local time. They make about four hundred sixty knots, and it's about fifty-two hundred miles from here to there, so you figure it out."

Without asking permission, Castillo snatched a pencil from a mug on Silvio's desk. Silvio quickly handed him a yellow lined pad.

"The call sign is Air Force Zero-Four-Seven-Seven. They're bound for an airport called Jorge Newbery, which I presume is somewhere near Buenos Aires. Also on the plane are six somewhat annoyed FBI agents, pissed not only because they were told to report to you-as Secret Service, not Presidential Hotshot-but because two of their number got bumped because Schneider and Britton got on."

"Jorge Newbery is the downtown airport in Buenos Aires."

"The C-17-tail number Air Force Zero-Three-Eight-One-left Charleston Air Force Base, South Carolina, an hour earlier, but it's going to-probably already has-made a stop at Hurlburt, where it picked up a dozen Air Commandos ready to go to war, and a ten-man spit-and-polish detail from the Old Guard under a lieutenant for the burial party, who were conveniently in Florida burying some retired general."

"Jesus."

"I think you can guess where that order originated," Isaacson added. "Anyway, the C-17 will be landing at an airfield called Ezeiza-"

"That's the main international field."

"I guess they couldn't get that big airplane into the little airport."

"You can sit a Globemaster down in your backyard, Joel."

"No kidding. Well, for some reason, that's where it's going. And it will take however long after it leaves Hurlburt to go forty-two hundred nautical miles at four hundred fifty knots."

Castillo scribbled down those numbers.

"Okay. Got it. Now I need something from you."

"Shoot."

"The widow's brother, Jean-Paul Lorimer, works for the UN in Paris. The ambassador has been trying for forty-five minutes to get him on the phone without any luck. Have we got anybody in Paris who can help?"

"I'll get right on it."

"Call the embassy here and leave the numbers and address with the ambassador's secretary."

"Done. You got anything else you want me to tell the boss?"

"I put Tony Santini in charge of the Mastersons' security. She came out of the drug they gave her all right, but they're keeping her in the hospital overnight. I don't know when she'll want to leave here, but when she does, she wants to go to Keesler Air Force Base in Mississippi, near where he lived."

"She wants to bury him there?"

"Apparently."

"I know the President was thinking of Arlington…"

"I think she wants the family plot in Mississippi, Joel."

"That's going to pose a little problem. I also know the President wants Walter Reed to do the autopsy."

"The Argentines are already doing the autopsy. And they're going to prosecute these bastards, presuming we can catch them, in Argentine courts."

"Who decided that?"

"I did," Charley said. He met Silvio's eyes, and added, "The ambassador concurs."

"I think that may cause more than a little pique at the highest level, Charley."

"There was considerable doubt that we could extradite the doers. And the crime occurred here. And it's a done deed. The ambassador has already told the Foreign Ministry."

"I think the boss will more than likely want to talk to you about that, Charley. Or maybe his boss will."

"I thought that might happen."

"We'll be in touch, Charley. Watch your back."

Castillo pushed the disconnect button, and then did the calculation of the arrival times.

"Both planes will probably arrive here between eleven and midnight tonight," he announced to Ambassador Silvio, "the Gulfstream to Jorge Newbery, and the C-17 at Ezeiza. There's an honor guard from the Third Infantry Regiment-'the Old Guard'-on the Globemaster, plus a detail of Air Commandos."

"As a suggestion, if you want to meet your agents and the FBI, I can have the defense attache meet the transport."

"Thank you."

"He'll have to arrange transportation for them, and a place to live. I think the best thing to do with the military personnel is move them in with the Marines. And you told that FBI agent Yung to arrange to take care of the FBI. What about your agents?"

"I'll take care of them. But I am going to need wheels. Can I rent cars for them?"

"You could, but the rentals here are generally small and not always reliable. And they don't have radios. I'll have Ken Lowery deal with it. How many are you going to need?"

"If I can keep the one I have, one more. I really don't need a driver."

"You never know," the ambassador said. "I'll tell Ken to get you another car and a driver. Tonight?"

"First thing in the morning."

"And what are you going to do now?"

"Sir?"

"What are your immediate plans? For the next forty-five minutes or an hour?"

"I don't have any, sir. I thought I might go have a look at the Masterson house."

"Have you had breakfast?"

"No, sir."

"Neither have I, and it's now after three. Fortunately, right around the corner from here is a restaurant-the Rio Alba-that serves what I believe are the finest steaks in the world. Why don't we go have one while we wait to hear from your friend in the Secret Service?"

"I think that's a splendid idea, sir."