The Hostage pa-2

by W. E. B Griffin

  Torine turned and looked up at him, smiling.

  "Dotterman told me you were on the floor back there," Torine said. "If you want to lay down, Charley, and God knows you have every reason to be tired, just pull the armrests out from one of the seats. I've even got a blanket and pillow I'll loan you."

  He's neither pissed nor embarrassed, which he would be if the Widow Masterson had complained to him about me.

  Well, maybe she's waiting to tell the President what a cold-hearted bastard I am.

  And I really don't care if she does.

  "Thanks, but I'm not sleepy, sir."

  "Well, then, maybe you'd like to sit in the right seat for a while and see how real pilots aerial navigate over the Amazon jungle?"

  "Is that where we are, over the Amazon jungle?"

  "I don't know where we are," Torine said. He nodded at the copilot. "I'm relying on him, and my painful experience with him has been that he often gets lost in a closet. How about getting out of there, Bill, and we'll see if this Army aviator can find out where we are?"

  The copilot smiled and unfastened his harness.

  When Castillo had taken his seat and strapped himself in, the copilot leaned over him and pointed out a screen on which their location was shown. A well-detailed electronicmap showed that they were about two hundred miles from Buenos Aires, a few miles north of Rosario. The screen also showed their altitude, airspeed, course, and the distance and time to alternate airfields. Castillo was familiar with the equipment. There was a civilian version of it in the Lear Bombardier. Guided by data from three-or more-satellites fed through a computer, the location and ground speed provided on the screen was accurate within six feet and three miles per hour.

  I wonder if Tom got Fernando permission to land at Keesler?

  "That gadget takes all the fun out of flying," Colonel Torine said. "It was much more fun when you could stick your head out into the slipstream and see if the highway was still under you." [FOUR] Keesler Air Force Base Biloxi, Mississippi 2035 25 July 2005

  As Castillo sat in the jump seat while Torine lined the Globemaster up with the Keesler runway and then smoothly sat the huge airplane down, he could see, bathed in the light of maybe a dozen pole-mounted banks of high-intensity floodlights, the Boeing 747-the Air Force called it the VC-25A, which when the President of the United States was aboard became Air Force One-parked at the end of the taxiway paralleling the runway. It was being protected not only by sentries but also by a half dozen Humvees with.50 caliber machine guns.

  "Three-Zero-One on the ground at three five past the hour," Torine said into his microphone. "Close me out, please. And taxi instructions, please."

  "Air Force Three-Zero-One, this is Keesler Ground Control. Halt in place at the termination of your landing roll. Be advised that you will be met by a follow-me vehicle. Be advised that you will be met by a vehicle which will take Major C. Castillo from the aircraft to his ground destination. Acknowledge."

  "Keesler," Torine responded, "Three-Zero-One understands halt in place at termination of landing roll. Further understand follow-me vehicle will be there. Further understand Major Castillo will be taken by a second vehicle to his ground destination."

  "That is correct, Three-Zero-One."

  The copilot touched Torine's shoulder and then pointed out the window. An Air Force blue pickup truck with a FOLLOW ME sign mounted on the bed and a GMC Yukon were sitting side by side on a taxiway access ramp.

  "Dotterman, you heard that?" Torine asked.

  "I'm by the side door, Colonel."

  Torine turned to Castillo.

  "Why do I think your ground destination is that 747?"

  "Keesler," the copilot said into his microphone. "Three-Zero-One is halted on the runway."

  "We have you in sight, Three-Zero-One," ground control replied.

  "Colonel," Dotterman announced, "here comes a Suburban and a Follow-Me. The Suburban sees me. He's coming up this side of the fuselage."

  "That's probably a Yukon, Dotterman," Torine said.

  "What's the difference?"

  "I don't know," Torine confessed.

  "People getting out of the whatever-the-hell-it-is," Chief Master Sergeant Dotterman reported.

  When Colonel Torine started to unfasten his harness with the obvious intention of leaving his seat, Castillo got off the jump seat, folded it out of the way, and stood in the cockpit door. He felt Mrs. Masterson's eyes on him. He met them for a moment, and then looked away.

  Thirty seconds later a tall, slim, Marine lieutenant colonel in dress blues, to which splendor had been added the golden aiguillettes worn by aides to the commander in chief, appeared at the head of the stairs.

  He glanced at Castillo then headed straight for Mrs. Masterson.

  "Mrs. Masterson, I'm Lieutenant Colonel McElroy, an aide to the President. What's going to happen next is the aircraft will taxi to a hangar. Ambassador and Mrs. Lorimer will come onboard at that time…"

  "I'm Special Agent Willkie of the Secret Service," a stocky man announced in Castillo's ear. "Are you Mr. Castillo?"

  Castillo was annoyed at the interruption. Mrs. Masterson had locked eyes with him again, and had been paying far more attention to him than to the President's aide.

  And she wasn't angry. It wasn't a "Now you're going to get yours, you sonofabitch" look.

  It was an "I need your help" look. Or a "We have to talk" look.

  Or both.

  What's going on?

  And now this sonofabitch is in the way!

  Castillo stopped himself at the last split second from pushing the Secret Service agent out of the way.

  "I'm Castillo."

  "Will you come with me, please, sir? The President would like a word with you."

  Castillo nodded.

  Special Agent Willkie started down the stairs. As Castillo turned to follow him he looked at Mrs. Masterson again. Their eyes locked again.

  She looks distressed, almost frightened.

  She doesn't want me to leave.

  Mrs. Masterson stood up and pushed Lieutenant Colonel McElroy to one side and called, "Mr. Castillo!"

  "Yes, ma'am?"

  "May I have a moment alone with you, please?"

  "Yes, ma'am. Of course."

  She brushed past McElroy and walked up to the cockpit opening. She got so close that Castillo backed up, which pushed him right up against Torine.

  "What can I do for you, ma'am?" Castillo asked. "Is something wrong?"

  She looked up at him. He saw tears forming.

  "I was afraid to say anything in Buenos Aires, Mr. Castillo," she said. "My priority was keeping my children safe."

  He nodded.

  Elizabeth Masterson took a deep breath.

  "But now we're out of Argentina. We're here." She paused, and then went on, slowly and carefully, as if she had rehearsed what she was going to say: "The people who abducted me wanted me to tell them where my brother is. They said that unless I told them, they would kill my children, one at a time. And they said they would kill my children and my parents if I said anything about it. And then they killed Jac-" Her voice caught. She swallowed and went on, "Then they killed my husband to show me they mean what they say."

  "And you don't know where your brother is, do you?" Castillo asked, gently.

  She shook her head.

  Castillo put his hands on her arms.

  "Listen to me, Mrs. Masterson. You have my word that no one is going to hurt your children. Or your parents. Or you…"

  "I just didn't know what to do. That's why I didn't-"

  "Mr. Castillo, the President is waiting!" Secret Service Special Agent Willkie impatiently announced.

  "He's just going to have to wait," Castillo snapped, and then looked down at Mrs. Masterson again.

  She was shaking her head and smiling through her tears.

  He looked at her quizzically.

  "I knew I was going to have to tell somebody," she said. "And I guess I was right in choosing you
."

  "I don't under-"

  "How many people do you think there are who, on being told the President of the United States is waiting for them, would say, 'He's just going to have to wait'?"

  "That just may be an indication that I act impulsively," Castillo said.

  "No, Mr. Castillo. What it is is that you're what Alex Darby told me you are."

  He looked at her quizzically again.

  She explained: "One really tough sonofabitch, and just the guy you need in your corner when you're really in trouble."

  "Well, if you believe that, ma'am, please believe I'm in your corner."

  "Mr. Castillo, for God's sake, the President is waiting!" Special Agent Willkie called.

  "I'll be back as soon as I can," Castillo said.

  She reached up and kissed his cheek, said, "Thank you," and went back to her seat.

  Castillo looked at Colonel Torine.

  "You heard all that, right?"

  Torine, his face stern, nodded.

  "Would you come with me, please? I may need a witness."

  "Sure," Torine said, turned his head and raised his voice. "Bill, I'm leaving the aircraft. It's now yours."

  "Yes, sir."

  When Special Agent Willkie saw Colonel Torine follow Castillo down the stairs, he looked at him in surprise, and then announced, "The President said nothing about wanting to see anyone but you, Mr. Castillo."

  "Well, then I guess he'll be surprised when he sees Colonel Torine, won't he?" As soon as they were standing on the runway beside the Globemaster, Special Agent Willkie spoke to his lapel microphone.

  "Mr. Castillo insists on bringing the pilot with him."

  "Not 'the pilot,' my friend," Torine said, not very pleasantly. "Colonel Jake Torine, U.S. Air Force."

  "He says his name is Torine," Special Agent Willkie said to his lapel microphone.

  Thirty seconds later, Special Agent Willkie said, "If you'll get in the Yukon, please, gentlemen, I will escort you to the President."

  They had been in the backseat of the Yukon about thirty seconds when Torine touched Castillo's shoulder and pointed out the window.

  Castillo looked and saw soldiers armed with Car 16 rifles forming a perimeter guard around the Globemaster.

  "I didn't know they trusted Air Force guys with loaded guns," Castillo said.

  Torine smirked. "Those aren't Air Force guys, wiseass. They're soldiers, almost certainly Special Forces and probably Delta Force. And at least one of them is Gray Fox. That is Sergeant Orson, isn't it?"

  Castillo looked. One of the soldiers was a tall, blond sergeant first class named Orson. The last time Castillo had seen the Gray Fox communicator/sniper was in Costa Rica, where Orson had very professionally taken out two of the terrorists who had stolen the 727.

  "I'll be damned, that's Orson all right."

  What the hell is going on? The Yukon stopped in front of the wide flight of stairs that had been rolled up to the huge Boeing, and Castillo and Torine got out. There was a knot of people guarding access to the stairs, including two females who were obviously Secret Service agents.

  One of them spoke to her lapel microphone, and then turned to Castillo and Torine.

  "You may board, gentlemen," she said. "The President is expecting you."

  XII

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Yes, sir. I suppose we are."

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

  "Hot and humid, sir," Torine said.

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

  There was dutiful laughter.

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

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

  "Would you please read that aloud, General?"

  "Yes, sir."

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

  "Top Secret-Presidential.

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

  "Presidential Finding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  General Naylor stopped reading and looked at the President.

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

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

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

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