The Hostage

VIII

[ONE] El Presidente de la Rua Suite The Four Seasons Hotel Cerrito 1433 Buenos Aires, Argentina 0647 24 July 2005 A full minute after Special Agent Jack Britton lifted the brass knocker on the door of suite 1500-which was actually a switch triggering the door chimes-Major C. G. Castillo pulled the door open to him.

Castillo was wearing a plush white ankle-length terry cloth robe adorned with the crest of the Four Seasons hotel. He needed a shave, his hair wasn't combed, and it wasn't wet, either.

Britton thought, I got here even before he got into the shower, then said: "Schneider's not up yet, either. Or she's in the shower. She didn't answer when I knocked. But your driver is. They put him through to me by mistake. I told him I'd tell you he was here."

"Come on in, Jack," Castillo said. "We're running a little late. They haven't even taken the dishes away from last night."

Castillo walked to the telephone on the coffee table, punched a number, and in Spanish asked the concierge to send up his driver with copies of La Nacion, Clarin, and the Herald; to check on his suit with the valet; and to immediately send up two large pots of coffee.

Britton listened and watched intently, trying to understand what was being said.

And then his interest really perked up.

The bedroom door opened and Special Agent Schneider came out, dressed as she had been the night before in blue jeans and a sweater.

"Good morning, Jack," she said, matter-of-factly.

She had her voice under control but not her blush mechanism.

"If you're going to order breakfast," she said, "order a big one for me."

She then walked out of the El Presidente de la Rua Suite, calling over her shoulder, "I won't be long."

The door closed, and Britton and Castillo looked at each other.

"I think, Jack," Castillo said finally, "that this is one of those times when silence would be golden."

Britton nodded, then said, "Sorry. I have to say this. From the way you looked at her just now, I could tell that you're not fooling around with her, that it's something more serious. So good for you. I know she's nuts about you."

"How the hell could you know that?"

"When we were in G-Man School, the subject of our conversations always seemed to wind up with you. And the proof came last night when we were eating. Both of you looked at everything but each other. And then, just now, the two of you looked like Adam and Eve in the garden before Eve started fooling around with the snake. She's a good lady. You're lucky."

Because he could think of nothing else to say, Castillo asked, "Is that what you call it, 'G-Man School'?"

"Yeah. Actually, it wasn't too bad." He grinned. "Betty was a laugh when they finally put us on the range. She had kept her mouth shut and her face straight when they were explaining how to squeeze the trigger and telling her not to let the recoil throw her, after a while she'd get used to it, but I could tell she didn't like being patronized.

"Anyway, there we are on the pistol range, two lowly candidates and the instructor. I'm standing behind her. So she gets the 'open fire' order, and her Glock sounds like an Uzi.

"'This was timed fire, Candidate Schneider. One aimed shot at a time.'

"'That's what I did, sir,' Schneider says, all sweet and feminine. 'I aimed each time, sir.'

"'Well,' the instructor adds, 'as you will see, you'll never hit anything firing that rapidly. Roll back number seven.'

"So they rolled the target back to us and she'd put all fourteen rounds into the bad guy's face.

"The instructor didn't like being duped but couldn't let it go. 'It would seem, Candidate Schneider, that you have had some previous marksmanship experience. If you're trying to make me look foolish or whatever, it won't work.'"

Castillo chuckled.

The door chimes went off. It was the lady from the valet service with Castillo's suit.

"There's a room-service menu in the drawer of that desk," Castillo said, and pointed. "When Roger gets up here, find out what he wants, and then order for everybody. I'm going to get dressed." [TWO] Special Agent Schneider sat across the breakfast table from Major Castillo, which position precluded Major Castillo from surreptitiously holding her hand-or perhaps touching her knee-beneath the table, but did not, he soon learned, prohibit Special Agent Schneider from rubbing the ball of her foot against his calf.

They were almost finished eating when the chimes sounded again.

Roger Markham rushed to the door, and Castillo was wondering what the hell it could be now when he heard a familiar voice: "You're American, right? Maybe a Marine?"

"Yes, sir," Markham replied.

"Go back in there, throw Major Castillo and whoever's with him out of bed, and tell him Colonel Jake Torine, USAF, wishes a moment of his valuable time."

Castillo, laughing, started to get out of his chair. As he did, he saw from Special Agent Schneider's face that she failed to see what was amusing.

Colonel Torine, a tall, somewhat bony man in a sports jacket and slacks, marched into the sitting room and saw the people at the table in the dining alcove.

"Oops!" he said. "Sorry, Charley. I didn't know you had people in here."

"Good morning, sir," Castillo said. "I should have contacted you last night."

"No. It's the other way around. I should have reported to you when we got in last night. Those were my orders, from General Allan Naylor himself. But it was late, and raining like hell, and I figured I'd wait until morning. The defense attache told me where I could find you."

"Great!" Castillo began.

Torine silenced him with an upraised palm and went on: "Then I got here, and the hotel had never heard of you. So I stood there in the lobby for a couple of minutes, wondering why the attache had sent me to the wrong hotel, and then I decided that there are two Four Seasons hotels, and I was in the wrong one, so I went back to the desk and asked the guy where the other one was."

Castillo laughed.

"At that point, I remembered your alter ego, asked for Herr Gossinger, and here I am."

Castillo saw from their faces that Betty had some idea what was going on, and Jack Britton and Roger Markham none at all.

"Guys, I sometimes use the name Gossinger when I'm working," he explained. "That's how I'm registered here."

Britton, who had worked deep undercover for years as Ali Abid Ar-Raziq, nodded his understanding. Roger Markham's face registered what could have been awe.

My God, he's a real intel operator with a phony ID and all!

"Colonel," Castillo said, "remember when the Philadelphia cops turned up the intel that the guy who owned our 727 had sold another one to Costa Rica?"

"Oh, yeah."

"There they are," Charley said.

"No," Britton said. "There she is. Betty put that together. I had nothing to do with it."

"Betty Schneider and Jack Britton, now of the Secret Service," Castillo went on. "This is Colonel Jake Torine, who flew the 727 home from Costa Rica."

They shook hands.

"No, I haven't had breakfast, and yes, thank you, I could eat a bite," Torine said.

"I don't know how warm it still is," Castillo said, liftinga stainless-steel dome and revealing a pile of still-steaming scrambled eggs.

"Warm enough," Torine said and sat down.

He started spooning eggs onto a plate.

"So what's going on, Charley?" Torine asked.

Castillo handed him the Buenos Aires Herald.

"This is what's been given out," he said. "Most of it's pretty accurate. I'll fill you in on what's not."

Torine took the newspaper and started to read. Shaking his head as he swallowed his last bite of breakfast, Torine handed the Herald back to Castillo.

"There's an editorial, too," Castillo said. "Headlined THE NATION IS SHAMED."

"Should they be?" Torine asked.

"Embarrassed, sure," Castillo said. "A diplomat's wife is kidnapped and then the diplomat gets blown away. That's not supposed to happen in a civilized nation. This isn't the Congo. But 'shamed' is a little strong. And God knows, they got their act in high gear the minute this happened to find out who did it.

"What we think happened is that Mrs. Masterson's kidnappers got in touch with him, set up a meeting, and he sneaked out of his house and went to meet them. And got himself blown away."

"Weren't they watching the house?" Torine asked, incredulously.

"They had cops and SIDE agents-you know what SIDE is?"

Torine nodded.

"So, not only cops and SIDE agents all over the place, but sitting in a car in front of his house at two in the morning when Masterson sneaked out was a CIA spook named Paul Sieno and Colonel Alfredo Munz, the head of SIDE."

"You think Masterson went to pay the ransom and something went wrong?"

"I just don't know. All I know is that Alex Darby, the station chief, Sieno-good guy, I knew him in Afghanistan; his cover is commercial attache and Alex says he's his best man-and Munz did the best they know how to make sure something like this didn't happen. And it did. I should throw in that Masterson was Darby's best friend."

"Jesus, what the hell is this all about?"

"I wish to hell I knew," Castillo said. "And one more thing, Colonel: These bastards have something on Mrs. Masterson-maybe a threat to kill the kids, maybe something else-that's got her terrified."

"That's understandable, isn't it?"

"Surrounded by the embassy's security people, plus the CIA, the Secret Service, and SIDE, you'd think she'd feel protected enough to at least come up with a description of who grabbed her," Castillo said. "If we are to believe her, and I don't, she doesn't remember anything. That's one of the reasons I had them send Betty down here"-one of them, anyway-"to see if she can get close to her and come up with something."

Special Agent Schneider's mind apparently ran on a parallel path with one of them, anyway. Castillo felt the ball of her foot on his calf again, and when he looked at her, there was a hint of a smile on her lips and a naughty look in her eyes.

"The one question in my mind, ever since I heard about this, was whether it is terrorist-connected," Torine said.

"If it had just been assassinating Masterson, maybe. But if terrorists did it, they would have been boasting about it an hour after it happened. And I don't think they would have passed up the opportunity to kill Mrs. Masterson when they had the chance."

Torine nodded his understanding.

"So what happens now?" he asked.

"We get her and the children out of Argentina just as soon as we can get her on your airplane. Have you got approach charts for Keesler Air Force Base?"

"Of course. Why Keesler?"

"Mrs. Masterson wants him buried in Mississippi. That's where he's from. The Mississippi Gulf Coast."

"General Naylor told me the President wants Mr. Masterson buried in Arlington."

"It's her call, isn't it?"

"Obviously. When do you think she'll be ready to leave?"

"I think-think, don't know-that they're going to release her from the hospital this morning. If I had my way, she'd go directly from the hospital to the airport. But I doubt that's going to happen. Maybe late tonight, which would put us into Keesler in the morning. But probably sometime tomorrow."

"The defense attache told me the Argentines want to put the casket in the Catedral Metropolitana, so they can pay their respects," Torine said. "What's that?"

"I hadn't heard that," Castillo replied. "And I have no idea."

"It's like their national cathedral," Sergeant Roger Markham furnished. "Not far from the Casa Rosada, which is like their White House. Except it's pink. The Casa Rosada, I mean. The cathedral looks like what the Parthenon must have looked like before it fell down. Marble, I think."

"The Marines to the rescue," Castillo said. "Keep going, Roger."

"Well, it's their big-time church. San Martin-that general they call 'the Great Liberator'? He was a pal of Thomas Jefferson. Avenida Libertador is really named after him, like if we named Washington Square 'Father of Our Country Square.'"

"Fascinating," Colonel Torine said, managing to keep a straight face.

"They guard his tomb inside like we do the Unknown Soldier, twenty-four/seven. If they want to put Mr. Masterson's body in there, it's really an honor."

"You're right, Roger. And I can see why they'd want to do it, but I don't know how that's going to go down with Mrs. Masterson, not to mention my orders to get her and the kids out of here as quickly as possible."

He looked at Torine.

"What we're going to do now is go to the hospital and introduce Betty and Jack to her. I told you, she's frightened. It might be useful if you went along, if you'd be willing. Tell her the travel plans, you know, whatever might make her feel better."

"You don't have to ask, Charley," Colonel Torine said. "About that or anything else. General Naylor didn't like it much, I don't think, but he made it very clear that you're running this exercise."

"I hear a cell phone ringing," Betty announced.

Castillo patted his clothing as he remembered his was in the bedroom, then quickly got up and went to get it. That took some time, as it was in the pocket of the pants he had been wearing when Betty had come looking for her lost handkerchief, and had been kicked out of sight when Jack Britton had rung the door chimes.

As had, Castillo learned when he reached under the bed for them, Betty's brassiere and underpants.

That means when she walked out of here, she wasn't wearing anything under her blue jeans and sweater!

A series of mental images flooded his mind.

Goddammit, what's the matter with you? Answer the goddamn cellular!

By the time he'd gotten the telephone from his pocket, it was too late.

The phone, however, had captured the caller's number. He pushed the MISSED CALL key, then the DIAL key.

"Sylvia Grunblatt."

The embassy public information officer. What the hell does she want?

"C. G. Castillo, Ms. Grunblatt. Were you trying to reach me?"

"Where are you?"

Not that it's any of your business, but-

"I'm in the Four Seasons."

"According to them, they don't have anybody named Castillo registered. You want to tell me what that's all about?"

"How'd you get my cellular number?"

"Ambassador Silvio gave it to me."

"How can I help you, Ms. Grunblatt?"

"The shoe's on the other foot. The press is onto you. Somebody around here has a big mouth."

"You want to explain that?"

"The New York Times guy wants to know about the President's agent, starting with his name, and so do CNN and AP and La Nacion, ad infinitum. What do I tell them?"

"You have no idea what they're talking about."

"They're not going to believe that, and they're not going to like it."

"Ambassador Silvio told me you're a first-class press officer. You'll think of something."

"I can hear them now," she said. " 'Are you trying to tell me, Sylvia, that my source was lying to me?' "

"To which you respond, 'I cannot vouch for your unnamed sources. I can only tell you what I have been told.'"

"To which they will respond, 'Oh, bovine excreta, Sylvia,' or words to that effect."

"Sylvia, I'm sorry, but your splendid relations with the press are going to have to be sacrificed for operational requirements."

"I was afraid of that," she said. "The ambassador said I was to handle this any way you wanted."

"The one thing I don't need is my name, picture, or the words 'Presidential Agent' in the newspapers or on the tube."

"Okay, you got it. But be warned, they'll be looking for you. Since there are-with one exception-no other developments in the story, you-the President's agent- are the story."

"What's the one exception?"

"Presuming the ambassador can get Mrs. Masterson to go along-he hasn't asked her yet-the Argentines want to pin the Grand Cross of the Great Liberator on Jack's casket, which at the time will be lying in state in the Catedral Metropolitana. If she goes along-and she might not; if I were her I think I'd tell the Argentines to go piss up a rope-that will be a spectacle. The press- especially TV-likes spectacles, and that may get some of the heat off you."

"I was about to go to the German Hospital," Castillo said.

"You got somebody from SIDE with you who can get you in the back door? Otherwise be prepared for celebrity."

"How will they know what I look like?"

"The leak about the President's agent was intentional. I think it follows they would have also leaked a description."

"You have any idea who the leaker is?"

"If I had to bet, I'd bet it was one of the law enforcement types…"

Yeah, Castillo thought, and I'll bet the bastard's name is Yung.

"… but nothing more specific than that. If I can get the name, you want it?"

"Indeed I do."

"I was hoping you would."

"Why?"

"Because I ran out of imagination after I thought castration would be a suitable punishment for the sonofabitch, and I'm sure you can think of something more exquisitely painful."

"Indeed I can."

"Stay in touch, please, Mr. X."

"Thanks, Sylvia."

Castillo put the cellular in his trousers pocket, whereupon it immediately rang again.

Now what the hell does she want?

"Yes, Sylvia?"

"Actually, this is Juan Silvio."

"Good morning, sir."

"Before I get into this, I presume Ms. Grunblatt did get in touch with you?"

"Yes, sir. I just got off the line with her."

"I guess she told you there's been a leak?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm sorry. I'd really like to know who did it."

"So would I."

"Did Sylvia also tell you the Argentine government wants to honor Mr. Masterson both by having him lie in state in the cathedral, and by posthumously decorating him with the Grand Cross of the Great Liberator?"

"Yes, sir."

"I didn't think I had the right to agree to either without talking to both you and Mrs. Masterson. And I think we should talk this over before I broach the subject to her."

"Sir, I was just about to go to the hospital. I want to introduce Special Agent Schneider to Mrs. Masterson. She's the female agent I asked be sent down here. And I have Colonel Torine, who flew the C-17 down here, with me. I thought he might be able to reassure Mrs. Masterson about the travel arrangements. Which brings up something else, sir. Colonel Torine informed me the President wants to inter Mr. Masterson at Arlington, and-"

"All of which suggests that we should talk, and not on the telephone, as soon as possible."

"I'm at your disposal, sir."

"Since we both are going to the hospital, why not there? I'm sure we could find someplace there to talk."

"You tell me when and where, sir."

"The hospital in thirty, thirty-five minutes. Can you do that?"

"I'll see you there, sir."

"Thank you."

Castillo broke the connection, looked at the cellular for a moment, and then pushed an autodial button.

"?Si?"

"Alfredo?

"Si."

"Karl, Alfredo. I need a service."

"Whatever I can do, Karl."

"I'm on my way to the German Hospital. Someone at the American embassy not only got the crazy idea that there is some sort of White House agent down here, and that I am that agent, but he told the press."

"Herr Gossinger, you mean?"

"Probably Castillo. Anyway, I understand that the press is all over the hospital…"

"Then, my friend, I suggest you stay away from the hospital."

"I have to see Mrs. Masterson; and the ambassador's going to meet me there."

There was just a moment's hesitation.

"You're at the Four Seasons, right?"

"Yes."

"You have an embassy car?"

"Right."

"I have a car in the basement garage."

"The embassy car is there."

"Very well. Go to the basement and get in your car. My man will make himself known to you. Follow him to the hospital. I will arrange for you to enter via their service basement."

"Thank you."

"When you finish your business with Mrs. Masterson-I presume you heard about the lying in state and the decoration?"

"I'm not sure Mrs. Masterson wants to go along with that. That's one of the reasons I have to see her."

"May I ask the others?"

"I want to introduce her to the female agent I had sent from Washington, and I want to confirm her travel plans. And if you're going to be there, I want to introduce the other Secret Service agent to you."

"I'll see you here shortly, then."

"You're at the hospital?"

"I thought your security man would like to hear our security plans for the Catedral Metropolitana."

"And so would I. I'd also like a look at the place."

"I'll see you here, then, shortly."

Was that tone of voice a "yeah, sure"? Or an "I don't know about that"?

"Thank you, Alfredo." [THREE] The German Hospital Avenida Pueyrredon Buenos Aires, Argentina 0930 24 July 2005 The embassy BMW had been crowded. Colonel Torine had claimed the front passenger seat because of his long legs. Special Agent Schneider rode in the middle of the backseat, between Castillo and Britton.

While Special Agent Schneider's right calf did come in contact with that of Castillo, what he had been most aware of was something hard and sharp-edged pressing against his lower left rib cage. He endured the discomfort, deciding that saying, "Schneider, your Glock is stabbing me in the ribs" would not only provoke mirth from the other passengers, but probably result in Betty sitting so far away from him that the calf-to-calf contact would be lost.

The SIDE car-two burly men in a Peugeot-had taken a fairly circuitous route from the Four Seasons, and had turned off Avenida Pueyrredon two blocks before they had reached the German Hospital. As they followed, Castillo could see that the street and sidewalk at the hospital were crowded with television vans with satellite link dishes and journalists of one kind or another festooned with microphones, and still and video cameras.

The SIDE car led them to the basement of the hospital, past doors that opened as they approached, and closed the moment they were inside.

Gendarmeria National troops guarding the elevator passed them through somewhat reluctantly, and only after the SIDE agents had vouched for them.

The corridor outside Mrs. Masterson's room was crowded with more uniformed and plainclothes security personnel, Argentine and American, and the walls were lined with floral displays. Two of them-the ones on each side of the door-were enormous.

"Is Mr. Santini in there?" Castillo asked one of the Americans. He didn't know his name, but he had been in the brainstorming session.

"Yes, sir."

"Would you tell him I'm here, please?"

The man went into the room and Castillo bent over the largest of the floral displays to get a look at the card.

I wonder if anyone took a look at this to make sure it won't blow up?

Of course they did. Munz wouldn't let it into the building, much less up here, without checking.

The card was impressive. It had a gold-embossed representation of the seal of the Republic of Argentina at the top, under which it had the name of the President.

The message was handwritten: "With my profound condolences for your loss and my prayers for your rapid recovery."

Just as Santini came through the door, Charley looked at the card on the other floral display. This one carried the gold seal of the foreign minister, who also offered his condolences and prayers.

Can I read anything of significance in them being outside her room, instead of inside?

"Good morning," Santini said, and then saw Colonel Torine and Jack Britton and Betty Schneider.

"This is Colonel Torine, who's flying the C-17," Castillo said. "And Special Agents Britton and Schneider."

Santini smiled at Betty Schneider.

"Did you really put all fourteen rounds in the bad guy's face?" he asked.

"Thirteen," Betty said. "One went in his ear."

"You have an admirer in Joel Isaacson," Santini said. "He told me. When this business is over, I think they're going to want you on the protection detail."

When this business is over, Tony, Special Agent Schneider is going to give all this fun up, and come live with me in a rose-covered cottage by the side of the road.

Or maybe on the ranch in Midland.

I wonder if she's ever been on a horse?

Santini shook Britton's and Torine's hands, and then, gesturing down the corridor, said, "Come on. They gave me a room to use. The ambassador's waiting for you."

Castillo wondered about the security of the room, and looked with a raised eyebrow at Santini. When Charley mouthed swept? Santini blinked once slowly and made a slight nod. "You must be Miss Schneider," Ambassador Silvio said, offering his hand with a smile.

"Yes, sir."

"I'm very glad you're here. Mrs. Masterson will probably be delighted to see a feminine face in the sea of men around her."

"Let's hope so, sir," Betty said.

"You all might as well hear this," Silvio said. "I'm torn between my sense of duty as a diplomat and my personal feelings. The Argentines are determined to go ahead with this business of having Mr. Masterson's casket lying in state in the Catedral Metropolitana and awarding him the medal-the Grand Cross of the Great Liberator. Officially, I am delighted. Personally, and not only because I knew Jack well enough to know that his reaction would be, 'A medal? For what? Getting shot?' I wish the Argentines hadn't had the idea. I also don't like the idea of exposing Mrs. Masterson and the children to any possible danger."

"Colonel Munz assures me, sir," Santini said, "that the level of protection being established at the cathedral will be as good, if not better, than that provided to the President. I almost asked him when was the last time someone took a shot at his President, then realized that with the country's economy still in dire straits, there likely have been some serious threats. The bottom line, sir, is that I really can't fault Munz's plans. And I'll be with her, and Special Agent Schneider and some other of our people."

"And the government would be-perhaps understandably-upset if I just told them, 'Thank you, but no thank you,' " Silvio said, and then looked at Castillo. "Charley?"

"Sir, isn't it her call?" Castillo asked. "If she doesn't want to go to the cathedral, we can say, truthfully, that she's just too grief-stricken. I think the Argentines would understand that."

"You mean, have the casket lie in state, but not have Mrs. Masterson participate in the decoration ceremony?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's a good thought."

"Sir, I'd like to get the Mastersons out of the country as soon as possible. When are they going to let her leave here?"

"She can leave anytime," Santini answered. "They did another blood workup first thing this morning. She's clean."

"When do the Argentines want to start the show?" Castillo asked.

"They want to move the body to the cathedral this afternoon," Silvio said. "Then, they will permit the public to pay its respects from six until ten tonight, and from eight to ten in the morning. They're going to provide an honor guard, and I've asked the Marines to be ready to do the same. They've scheduled the award ceremony for ten, starting with a mass, which will be celebrated by the papal nuncio. Fortunately, Jack was a Roman Catholic."

"As opposed to being a Southern Baptist, you mean?" Santini said, and immediately added, "I didn't mean to be flippant."

"If Jack had been a Southern Baptist, or Jewish, or a Mormon," the ambassador said, "that probably would pose a problem."

"How's the security at her house?" Castillo asked.

"I went out there in the wee hours," Santini replied. "It looked fine to me."

"And if she leaves the hospital in, say, an hour, how long is it going to take to set up a secure motorcade?"

"Munz says give him thirty minutes' notice. He has people standing by."

"Will the motorcade be secure?" Ambassador Silvio asked.

"Actually, sir, there will be three motorcades," Santini said, "each consisting of a Gendarmeria National lead car, followed by a Policia Federal car, followed by two armored embassy cars with blacked-out windows, followed by another Policia Federal car and an ambulance and a Gendarmeria chase car. They will go to the house in San Isidro by three different routes. The embassy cars will have security personnel in both. Mrs. Masterson will be in one of them."

"Which one?" Castillo asked.

"I'll decide that just before we leave the hospital," Santini said.

Castillo had just thought, That three-motorcade business is really clever; thank God Santini really knows how to handle things like this, when the ambassador asked, "Sound good to you, Charley?" which brought on the sobering realization, Jesus Christ, Santini may be good, but this is my responsibility.

"It sounds fine to me, sir," Castillo said.

"Well, let's go see how Mrs. Masterson feels about all this," Ambassador Silvio said. "As Charley says, it's her call."

No, Castillo thought, it's not. It's mine. I have both the responsibility for her safety, and the authority to say, "No way are we going to put her in the line of fire again. I don't care if the Argentines like it or not." The roll-down metal shutters over the windows of Elizabeth Masterson's room were closed. The fluorescent lights in the room were harsh.

She was sitting in an armchair, wearing a dressing gown. The ashtray on the small table beside her was full of butts. Most of them were long, as if she'd taken just a few puffs before putting them out.

"Good morning, Betsy," Ambassador Silvio said, taking the dirty ashtray from the table and handing it to one of the guards at the door with the unspoken order to bring a clean one. "How are you?"

"How would you suppose I am, Mr. Ambassador?" she asked, sarcastically.

"I hoped I was Juan to you, Betsy," Silvio said. "You remember Mr. Castillo from yesterday?"

"Good morning," Castillo said.

She acknowledged his presence with a slight inclination of her head and the faintest of smiles.

Yesterday she looked sick. Today she looks bitter. And more than a little wary. She obviously would prefer that I not be here. What the hell is she hiding?

"Mrs. Masterson," Castillo said, "this is Special Agent Schneider of the Secret Service. If you have no objection, she'll be with you and the children."

"Hello," Mrs. Masterson said, with a smile that looked genuine. She put out her hand.

"I'm very sorry about your husband, Mrs. Masterson," Special Agent Schneider said.

"Thank you. Would you be offended- What do I call you?"

"Betty would be fine, ma'am."

"Would you be offended, Betty, if I said you're not what comes to mind when you hear 'Secret Service'?"

"Not at all."

Betsy Masterson turned to Silvio.

"I heard a doctor tell a nurse-I guess they think I don't speak Spanish-something about a ceremony at the Catedral Metropolitana. What's that all about?"

"Actually, it's the reason I'm here, Betsy," Silvio replied. "What the Argentine government wants to do is to place Jack's casket in the cathedral-to have him lie in state, in other words, with an honor guard-let the public pay their respects tonight and tomorrow morning, and then, in connection with a memorial mass to be celebrated by the papal nuncio, to award Jack the Grand Cross of the Great Liberator. Either the President or the foreign minister-probably the President-will do that. It's quite an honor."

"Jack didn't like either one of them," she said, then immediately added, "I shouldn't have said that."

"You can say anything you want to say," Silvio said.

"Am I expected to participate in this?"

"All you would have to do is be there, and that's entirely up to you, Betsy. Mr. Castillo and I are agreed that it's your decision. The entire diplomatic corps will be there."

"In other words, it would be what Jack would call a command performance?" she asked, but it was a statement, not a question.

"Jack had a good many friends in the diplomatic corps," Silvio said.

"When Jack thought it was in the interests of the United States, he could make the devil himself think they were close friends," she said.

"That's true," Silvio said, with a smile.

"Jack would want me to participate in something like this, so okay."

"To repeat myself, Betsy, that's entirely up to you."

"Not really," she said. "My father would not understand my not participating. It's always been duty first with him, too. He used to say-and I don't think he was joking-that a diplomat should be like a Jesuit priest, who gives up his personal life and comfort to serve something far more important. And we both know Jack went along with that notion. Which brings me to my family. Have they been told what's happened?"

"I spoke with Ambassador Lorimer shortly after I saw you yesterday," Silvio said. "I didn't get into your abduction, just… what happened to Jack."

"What exactly did you tell him?"

"That Jack had been assassinated by parties unknown," Silvio said. "I'm aware of Ambassador Lorimer's physical condition-"

"That was the right thing to do. Thank you."

"He wanted to telephone, but I told him-I guess this is a diplomatic obfuscation; I really believed it was in a good cause-that you had been sedated, and it probably would be best to wait until you felt yourself again, at which time you would call him."

"Again, Juan, that was the right thing to do. And thank you again. Well, I feel myself again. When do I get out of here?"

"An hour after you say the word, Mrs. Masterson," Castillo said. "It will take us about that long to arrange your transportation."

She looked at him, and not with gratitude.

I don't think I've done anything to annoy her-except maybe being an intruder into the diplomatic community-so that leaves her being afraid of me.

What the hell is that all about?

And how come her brother, the UN diplomat-Jean-Paul Lorimer-wasn't in the conversation? She didn't ask if he'd been notified, and he wasn't mentioned in that diplomatic holy orders speech she gave.

"What's the word?" she asked, almost belligerently. "I want to get out of here and be with my children."

"You just said it, Mrs. Lorimer. I'll tell Mr. Santini to get things rolling."

"Good."

"Mrs. Masterson," Castillo went on, "Colonel Torine, the pilot of the C-17-the Globemaster III that the President sent down here-is outside. I thought perhaps he could tell you about what's planned to get you and the children out of here and back to the States. And that you could tell him what you require."

She looked at him and nodded, then turned to Betty Schneider.

"Would my children be safe at the ceremony in the cathedral?"

"The head of SIDE, Mrs. Masterson-" Castillo began.

"If you don't mind, Mr. Castillo, I asked her."

"Excuse me."

Betty exchanged a glance with Charley, who nodded, and turned to Mrs. Masterson. "Mr. Santini and Mr. Castillo are better equipped to answer that, Mrs. Masterson, than I am."

"Still, I'd like to hear what you think, please."

Betty nodded, and then after a just-perceptible hesitation said, "The Secret Service is pretty good at protecting people, Mrs. Masterson, but it's not perfect. President Reagan was shot. A crazy woman shot at President Ford twice."

"Let me put it this way: If they were your children, would you take them to the cathedral?"

"Fortunately for me, I don't have to make that choice. And I certainly wouldn't presume to advise you what to do."

"Thank you. I appreciate your honesty," Mrs. Masterson said, and then looked at Castillo. "My children and I will attend the ceremony at the cathedral. I want them to have that memory, of their father being honored. And Jack-and my father-would see it as my duty."

Castillo nodded.

And again, no mention of the brother.

"Send in your colonel, please, Mr. Castillo," Mrs. Masterson said. "I'd like to be able to tell my children what's the agenda."

Castillo nodded again, and left the room.

El Coronel Alfredo Munz was standing in the corridor with Colonel Torine, Jack Britton, and Tony Santini.

"She has decided to attend the ceremony, with the children," Castillo announced. "And she wants to go home."

"Give me thirty minutes," Santini said.

"I told her an hour," Castillo said. "Which will give me a chance to take a look at her house before we send her out there."

"Everything's in place, Charley," Santini said evenly.

"I'd like a fresh look myself," Munz said. "I directed some modifications to the plan."

Well, maybe that got me off the hook with Santini, who understandably wonders who the hell I think I am to be checking his work.

"Tony, what this probably is is me covering my ass, but I want to see for myself the arrangements at the house and at the cathedral," Castillo said.

"Your call, Charley."

"And I want you to get Schneider a cell phone. I want the number of mine on an autodial button on it, and I want the number of her phone on mine."

Santini reached in his pocket and came out with a cellular telephone.

"I already gave one to Jack and one to Colonel Torine," he said. "And if you'll give me yours, I'll put their numbers in it."

Castillo handed him his telephone and then looked at Britton. "I'm presuming you've met Colonel Munz."

"Yes, sir. He's offered, when you're finished with me here, to send me to his headquarters and show me the investigation so far."

Castillo turned to Munz. "Thank you, Alfredo. Will it be possible for us to get a copy of the investigation report?"

"Of course. It may take some time to get it translated."

"You give me the report, I'll translate it."

Munz nodded.

"Colonel, why don't you go in there and tell Mrs. Masterson about the travel plans?"

"When do you want to go wheels-up, Charley?"

"What I'd like to do is go directly from the cathedral to Ezeiza," Castillo said. "I haven't asked her-or the ambassador-but shoot for that."

"You're not going in there with me?" Torine asked.

"I have the feeling she'd rather I just went away," Castillo said. "But yeah, just as soon as Tony gives me my cellular back, I'm going in there. I've got to get you some wheels." [FOUR] Dr. Jose Arribena 25 San Isidro Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1035 24 July 2005 Major C. G. Castillo stood in the middle of the residential street in front of the Mastersons' property in the upscale San Isidro neighborhood. He pulled out his cell phone, punched an autodial button, and Special Agent Schneider answered on the second ring.

"Schneider."

"Hello, baby."

"Yes, Mr. Castillo?"

"I love you."

"So I have been led to believe."

"And vice versa?"

"That is my understanding of the situation. Where did you say you were, sir?"

"I'm standing on the street in front of the Masterson house."

"And you're satisfied with the security arrangements, sir?"

"I'd like to have a couple of Abrams tanks and a couple of twenty-millimeter Gatlings, but yeah, I am. Since you're all business, I'll let you know what to expect."

"Please."

"The whole area-maybe ten blocks on a side-is cordoned off. Provincial cops stop everybody trying to get in. They demand identification and want to know where everyone is going. Then they search the car. There's a second ring inside the outer one, this one manned by the Gendarmeria National. More military than cops. They're armed with submachine guns. Same routine, more thorough. This is an upscale residential neighborhood, people have to get to-and out of-their houses."

"And the house itself, sir?"

"I'm not finished, Special Agent Schneider."

"Sorry, sir."

"On the block the Masterson house is on-it's in the middle of the block-the street is blocked off with barriers, cars, and whatever they call those strips with steel points on them to blow tires."

"I know what you mean, sir."

"Plus more Gendarmeria National and SIDE people and our guys. Now the house itself sits behind an eight-foot brick wall topped with razor wire. The wall completely surrounds the property. In the rear, there is a service road-for deliveries, garbage, et cetera. That's been blocked off.

"The house is three stories, masonry, and all the windows except two in the attic are barred. Heavily barred, and they don't open. The front door looks like a bank vault, and the rear door is steel. The gates in the fence- two in the front, one vehicular, one for people, and two in the back, ditto-are steel, decorative but heavy-duty. The vehicular gate in the front slides on tracks when a switch inside the front door is pushed. The one in the back has to be moved by hand. Closed, it's locked with a huge padlock, keys kept in the kitchen. The people gates are opened with a solenoid, switches by the front door and in the kitchen. The front and back yards are illuminated by floodlights, triggered by motion sensors, or they can be turned on and left on.

"We have two of our guys and two SIDE guys inside the house. There are two telephone lines, plus a dedicated line for the burglar alarm. And everybody has cellulars. I can't think of a thing to add, except maybe the Abrams tanks I mentioned."

"That sounds pretty secure, sir."

"When are you going to leave the hospital?"

"In the next couple of minutes."

"If you tell me you love me, I'll tell you where I'm going from here."

"That would be very difficult at this time, sir."

"Well, if somebody's listening to us, then why don't you say 'Wiener schnitzel' and I'll understand."

She giggled, then said, "Wiener schnitzel."

"And same to you, love of my life."

"Where will you be, sir?"

"We-Munz, Jack, and me-are going from here to the cathedral. After that we're going to SIDE headquarters. I'll call again. Better yet, when you've got Mrs. Masterson in her house, call me."

"Yes, sir."

"And be prepared to say, 'Wiener schnitzel.' "

"Whatever you say, sir."

"Wiener schnitzel, baby." [FIVE] Catedral Metropolitana Plaza de Mayo Buenos Aires, Argentina 1130 24 July 2005 C. G. Castillo answered his cellular telephone on the second buzz.

"Castillo."

"Schneider, sir."

" 'Wiener schnitzel Schneider,' that Schneider?"

"Yes. sir. I called to tell you we're in the house in San Isidro."

"No problems?"

"No, sir. Went off like clockwork."

"I've just had a tour of the cathedral, led by Sergeant Roger Markham. He dazzled Colonel Munz; he knew more about the cathedral than Munz did."

Betty chuckled. "He's a really nice kid."

"Anyway, no problems that I can see. It's right down the street from the Casa Rosada. The cops around here have a lot of experience dealing with angry mobs, and they keep a cache of barriers handy. Munz offered a helicopter to fly the family from the racetrack-the Jockey Club-in San Isidro. After they put the barriers up, there's room to sit one down. But I turned him down."

"May I ask why, sir?"

"Two reasons-and you may ask me anything you want to, Wiener schnitzel. The first is-I thought you knew this-that I am one of the best-if not the best- chopper pilots in the world, and I don't trust any other chopper jockey unless I've flown with him-"

"Jesus, Charley!"

"I guess no one can hear this conversation?"

"No. I'm in the kitchen, having a cup of coffee."

"In that case, can we dispense with the Wiener schnitzel nonsense and come right out with 'I love you, Charley'?"

"You said there were two reasons, sir?"

"And I'll tell you the other one if you tell me you love me."

Betty hesitated a moment, and then said, chuckling, "Wiener schnitzel, okay?"

"Close enough. Okay, what Munz offered was a French Alouette III, the SA 316A. It's an old one. That bothered me, as I don't know what kind of maintenance it gets here. And they replaced the tail and main rotors- they had problems with them not being strong enough-on the B model, and this is the A model."

"You do know about helicopters, don't you?"

"Therefore, Special Agent Wiener schnitzel, after carefully weighing the pros and cons of the matter, I decided it would be more prudent to have the Alouette fly roof cover than to utilize it for personnel transport."

"You're really hooked on that Wiener schnitzel nonsense, aren't you? And what's roof cover?"

"First of all, it's not nonsense, and second, you might say that I'm in love with Wiener schnitzel. And roof cover, Special Agent Wiener schnitzel, is when a rotary wing aircraft flies low over an urban area, carefully observingrooftops to make sure there are no bad guys with sniper rifles, mortars, or other lethal weaponry on them."

"And he's going to do that? Colonel Munz?"

"Yeah. And this way, the Frog bird will also be available as emergency transport if we need it."

"You think that's liable to happen?"

"No. I don't. The cathedral looks as safe to me as the house. The family will arrive by car, enter the cathedral by a side door, make a brief appearance at the casket, then take seats in an alcove. There's two alcoves, near the altar. The President, probably, and the foreign minister for certain, plus assorted bigwigs, including Ambassador Silvio, will be in the one on the left-on the left, facing the altar-and the family, two guys from SIDE, and you, Special Agent Wiener schnitzel…"

"Enough already with the Wiener schnitzel, Charley."

"… will be in the one on the right. At the appointed hour-ten-the prime minister or the President will approach the casket, drop to his knees for a moment on the prie-dieu-"

"The what?"

"A thing you kneel on. It means pray God in French. I suppose that identifies you as a non-Catholic?"

"I'm Lutheran, as a matter of fact."

"Wonderful. So am I."

"Why do I suspect that if I said I was Catholic, you would have said the same thing."

"I would have, and with a clear conscience. My mother was Evangelische, which is just about the same thing as Lutheran, and until I was twelve, I even went to an Evangelische school. Then I moved to Texas, where my Texican family is all Roman Catholic. I am a multi-faith sinner, in other words. May I continue?"

"You're a lunatic."

"And is that why you Wiener schnitzel me, Special Agent Wiener schnitzel?"

"God!"

"As I was saying, after whoever does this rises from the prie-dieu, one of his staff will hand him the Grand Cross of the Great Liberator, which he will then pin to the flag on the casket. He will then return to his alcove. The Mass will start. Communion will be served to the family in their alcove. As soon as the papal nuncio moves across the aisle to do the same for the President, the family will leave their alcove, get back in the motorcade, and head for the airport. This motorcade will not have flashing lights or a motorcycle escort, but it will have lead and chase cars, three of each.

"At the airport, the Mastersons will immediately board the Globemaster III. Meantime, Mass will be offered to the bigwigs and diplomatic corps only-the first four rows of reserved seats. As soon as that's done, the casket will be taken out a side door and loaded into one of the embassy's Yukons, and taken under heavy escort to Ezeiza. As soon as it's on the Globemaster, we go wheels-up for Keesler."

"I'm going to need clothing," Betty said. "Something for the cathedral. And how am I going to get my things from the hotel?"

"You'll be at the hotel tonight," Castillo said.

"Not here?"

"I want you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the cathedral and the flight tomorrow." And for tonight, too, as a matter of fact. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and naked. "All you could do at the Masterson place is doze in an armchair." While I tossed, sexually frustrated and miserable, alone in my bed.

"I suppose," she said.

"I'll call after I've been to SIDE with Jack and Munz. Then I'm going to see the ambassador and (a) sell him on my plan to get out of here, and (b) get him to sell Mrs. Masterson. I have the feeling if I suggested it, she'd be against it."

"She doesn't like you, that's pretty obvious," Betty said.

"I'll call you later, sweetheart."

"Charley?"

"Yeah?"

"Wiener schnitzel." [SIX] The American Club of Buenos Aires Viamonte 1133 Buenos Aires, Argentina 1430 24 July 2005 SIDE headquarters was not at all like the J. Edgar Hoover Building, which is the FBI headquarters in Washington, or like the CIA complex in Langley, Virginia. It was housed in a nondescript office building half a block off Avenida 9 Julio and two blocks away from the Colon Opera House. As they followed Colonel Munz's Peugeot past the opera house, Sergeant Roger Markham matter-of-factly informed them the opera house had been built in the heyday of Argentina wealth with the primary architectural concern that it be larger and more elegant than the opera houses of Vienna, Paris, and Rome.

There was no sign identifying the building's purpose, and entrance to SIDE headquarters was through a truck loading dock and then onto a freight elevator operated by a man with an Uzi submachine gun hanging from his neck.

Special Agents David William Yung, Jr., and Paul Holtzman of the FBI had been given a small glass-walled office in which to review the reports of the SIDE and other law enforcement investigations. Neither seemed either surprised or pleased to see Castillo and Markham.

And, since those reports are all written in Spanish, it can logically be assumed that they both read and write Spanish.

Colonel Munz announced he had "a few calls to make," and Castillo and Markham sat down at a table beside Yung and Holtzman and started reading the reports.

Alex Darby walked into the small office about an hour later, and a moment later Munz came in.

"I just came from the embassy," Darby announced, "where there are now two demonstrations, one to express sympathy and the other protesting the price of milk or something in Patagonia. There was a third, which seemed to approve of what happened to Jack. That was ended in front of the TV news cameras of the world by twenty guys on horses from the Corps of Mounted Police. There were no flashing sabers, but just about everything else, including Mace. Sylvia Grunblatt's nearly hysterical."

He paused, and looked at Castillo.

"And a guy from your office called. Miller. He said either your cellular doesn't work or you talk a lot. He couldn't get through to you. The message is you're to call your boss on a secure line at four Washington time. Five here."

"Got it."

"And the ambassador wants to be brought up to speed. To avoid the circus at the embassy, he suggests lunch at the American Club. I reserved a private room. He especially hopes you can be there, Alfredo."

"Of course," Munz said.

"Does that include us?" Holtzman asked.

After a moment, Castillo said, "Yes, of course." The American Club was on the eleventh floor of an office building across the street from the Colon Opera House. The first thing Castillo saw when they got off the elevator was a huge American flag which had been flown from a warship off Normandy on D-Day, 1944. It was framed and hung on the wall.

Castillo was a little surprised that Sergeant Roger Markham-who he insisted eat with them-did not deliver a little historical lecture on D-Day activities and World War II in general.

There was a good-looking oak bar with a very appealing display of various spirits.

"Me for one of those," Darby said, heading for the bar. "Possibly two. I have earned it."

So have I, Castillo thought. But I better not.

C. G. Castillo and Sergeant Markham were the only two teetotalers, and Castillo suspected that was because Markham was following his noble example. The meeting went well.

Ambassador Silvio solved the problem of whether Mrs. Masterson would be willing to leave for the United States immediately after the ceremony in the Catedral Metropolitana by calling her, suggesting that was what he thought to be the best idea, and getting her approval.

As they waited for the elevator Castillo had an unpleasant thought.

Everything is going very well. Too well. What the hell am I missing? When does the other shoe drop? [SEVEN] The United States Embassy Avenida Colombia 4300 Palermo, Buenos Aires, Argentina 1705 24 July 2005 "My name is C. G. Castillo. I need Secretary Hall on a secure line, please."

"We've been expecting your call, Mr. Castillo. Hold one, please.

"Mr. Castillo is on a secure line, Madam Secretary.

"Mr. Castillo is on a secure line, Mr. Secretary.

"I have Secretary Cohen, Secretary Hall, and Mr. Castillo for you, Mr. President."

Oh, shit!

"Good afternoon, Charley," the President said. "How are things going down there?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. President. Sir, I'm calling from Ambassador Silvio's office. I thought I should tell you he can-"

"You're on a speakerphone, Charley?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Ambassador," the President said. "Your boss and Charley's are in on this. You all right with that?"

"Yes, of course, Mr. President. Good afternoon, Madam Secretary, Mr. Secretary."

"Let's have it, Charley," the President said.

"Well, sir, to get to the bottom line, Mrs. Masterson and the children will be wheels-up probably no later than noon, local time, tomorrow."

"She's still okay with that medal business in the cathedral?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is she-are they-going to be safe, Charley?"

"Yes, sir. I believe they will be safe. The ambassador and I just came from a meeting with the head of SIDE, and the Argentine government is taking every possible measure to ensure their safety."

"Our people-you-presumably are in on that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is that right, Mr. Ambassador?"

"Yes, sir. I agree with Mr. Castillo."

"And the investigation, how's that going?"

"Sir, we also met with Special Agent Holtzman, the agent in charge of the FBI team, and…" "Okay, Charley, that seems to be about it," the President said. "If everything continues on track, I'll see you tomorrow night in Mississippi. Natalie and I will. You, too, Matt?"

"If you wish me to be there, yes, sir," Hall said.

That's the first time he's opened his mouth.

"I think it would be a good idea, Matt," the President said.

"Then I'll be there, sir."

"And you, Mr. Ambassador, presumably we'll see you there, too?"

"Sir, I thought I would ask Secretary Cohen's guidance."

"About what?" the President asked, sounding impatient.

"Sir, Mr. Masterson was our chief of mission. If I came along, and my wife and I would personally very much like to come, direction of the mission would fall on the shoulders of Mr. Darby, our commercial attache…"

"Juan," Secretary of State Cohen said, "I know how you feel, but I think it would be best if you remained in Buenos Aires. We don't want to make it appear as if we're recalling you for consultation."

And that's the first time she's opened her mouth.

"Yes, ma'am," the ambassador replied.

"Your call, Natalie," the President said. "Anything else from anybody?" There was a moment's silence, then the President said, "Thank you, Charley. Thank you, both." [EIGHT] "Schneider."

"Don Juan for Agent Wiener schnitzel."

"I don't think you're funny, Charley."

"Why do I suspect no one can overhear this conversation?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm in the restroom."

"You want me to call you back in a couple of minutes?"

"No. What's on your mind?"

"Roger and I just escaped from the embassy," Castillo said. "It's a circus. Anyway, we're on Avenida Libertador. Roger is going to drop me at the Kansas, go where you are, pick you up, and bring you to the Kansas."

"What's that all about?"

"I want you to see the place, for one thing; and I want to be with you and have a drink, for another; and I thought it would look better if your boyfriend didn't pick you up at work."

"Is that what you are, my boyfriend?"

"I was getting that impression, frankly."

"Okay. You're sure you don't want me to spend the night here? Roger could drive me to the hotel-"

"I'm sure I don't want you to spend the night there."

I want you to spend it with me, frolicking in the nude.

"Getting back to business," Betty said, "I may be able to get to her."

"How so?"

"She's really nice, and we talked some, and then she asked me if I would do her a personal favor, so I said sure, and then she asked me to find the best private security business in Mississippi-she thought the gambling places along the coast would probably have some good ones-or in New Orleans. She said she wanted the best she could get."

"I would, too, in her shoes. So what did you tell her?"

"That I would look into it."

"I'll get on the horn to Joel Isaacson and see what he can come up with."

"Thank you."

"I'll see you in just a little while, baby. We can talk about it."

"How soon will Roger be here?"

"No more than twenty minutes."

"Okay, I'll be ready." [NINE] Restaurant Kansas Avenida Libertador San Isidro Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1810 24 July 2005 Charley's glass of Senetin cabernet sauvignon was just about empty and he was getting just a little concerned- Jesus, Betty should have been here by now-when his cellular buzzed.

"Castillo."

"Wo bist du, Karl?"

Munz, and using the intimate form of address, as if we're pals.

"Between us, man-to-man, I'm sitting in the bar of the Kansas, waiting for my lady love."

"At the bar? You're sitting at the bar?"

"Yes, I am. And no, I don't want any more comp-"

"Listen to me, Karl, carefully. This instant, get away from the bar and into a booth. Keep your head down."

He's serious. What the hell is going on? Charley thought, then said, "Was ist los?"

"Do what I tell you, for God's sake! I'm trying to keep you alive! I'll have cars there in a couple of minutes."

The line went dead.

Shit!

Castillo got off the bar stool, signaled to the bartender that he was moving to a banquette, and did so.

As surreptitiously as he could, he took the Beretta from the small of his back and worked the action. He didn't think anyone saw what he did.

A minute or so later, he heard the wail of a siren, and then realized it was sirens, plural.

A minute after that, there was the screech of brakes outside, and first two members of the Gendarmeria National burst into the restaurant, their hands on Uzis. And on their heels came two men in civilian clothing, also carrying Uzis.

Smart. If they'd come in first, instead of the uniforms, after Munz's warning, I might have decided to shoot first and sort it out later.

One of the men he was sure were SIDE agents half trotted into the bar, saw him, and walked quickly to the table.

"If you'll come with us, please, Mr. Castillo?"

"What the hell is going on?"

"If you'll come with us, please, Mr. Castillo?" he repeated. "Colonel Munz will explain everything when we get there." It was a short ride, actually. The narrow streets and the high speed made it seem longer.

He saw first the flashing lights of police cars, and then the ambulances, and then the embassy car.

The embassy car-the windows looked as if someone had attacked them with a baseball bat-Jesus Christ, somebody shot the shit out of the car!-was backed into a sidewalk cafe at the traffic circle at the southeast corner of the San Isidro Jockey Club property. Tables and chairs had been scattered, and there were people sitting in chairs and lying on the ground who had either been run over or shot.

Castillo was out of the car before it stopped moving.

Munz was standing by the embassy car.

"Karl, I'm sorry!" Munz said.

Castillo started for the car. Munz tried to stop him. Castillo evaded him. Three other men rushed to stop him.

Munz ordered the men to let Castillo pass.

The front passenger window was gone.

Castillo stuck his head in.

Sergeant Roger Markham, USMC, was lying across the front seats. His head looked as if it had exploded.

Castillo couldn't see in the backseat, so he pulled open the rear door.

Where the hell is Betty?

There was a lot of blood on the leather upholstery.

Castillo ran to Colonel Munz.

"Where is she?"

"I sent her by ambulance to the racetrack," Munz said. "A helicopter will take her to the German Hospital."

"How bad?" Castillo asked.

"Multiple gunshot wounds. At least one to the face."

"What the hell happened?"

"First scenario, fragmentary witness reports," Munz said, professionally. "The car was making the circle. At that point it stopped. For some reason, the driver-"

"His name was Roger. He was twenty years old," Castillo blurted.

"Roger lowered the window. Then he apparently saw what was happening…"

"Which was?"

"A Madsen submachine gun," Munz said. "It's still in the window. Roger didn't get it closed in time, but the window closed. The Madsen's still there…" He pointed.

Castillo looked. A Madsen's barrel was pinned between the driver's-side window and the window frame.

"They go all the way up automatically," Castillo said.

"And he put the car in reverse and tried to get away. Which is why the car is where it is."

Jesus H. Christ!

"So the villain held on to the trigger as long as he could," Munz said. "And then ran away."

"Did you catch him?"

Munz shook his head, and then made a gesture. One of his men walked up with a resealable plastic bag. Munz took it and then extended it to Castillo.

It held a Glock semiautomatic pistol. The inside of the bag was heavily smeared with blood that had come off the pistol.

"Your agent got one shot off," Munz said.

"She's not my fucking agent." He handled the weapon through the bag with disbelief. "She's my… my… my love."

"I know, Karl," Munz said. "I saw your eyes."

There was the sound of rotor blades and Castillo looked in the direction in time to see an Alouette III, the SA 316A, the one with the weak main and tail rotors, struggling for altitude.

"I'll go with you to the hospital, Karl," El Coronel Munz said.