"You will get your reward in heaven, Joel Isaacson."
Isaacson smiled, then opened the door to the presidential suite.
Castillo could see what was obviously the President's private office. It contained an angled desk with a high-backed red leather chair bearing the presidential seal in gold facing aft, two armchairs facing the desk, and a credenza behind the desk.
"Mr. President," Isaacson called. "Major Castillo is here."
"Come on in, Charley," the President called. "I'm in the bedroom. Straight through to the front."
When Charley made his way all the way forward, he found the President of the United States supporting himself with one hand on a chest of drawers as he fed his right leg through his trousers. There were two single beds in the small area, on one of which lay the suit the President had just taken off, and on the other, the jacket to the suit he was now putting on.
"God, you're going to be hot in that," the President said, as he stuffed his shirt in his trousers.
"Tom McGuire brought a summer suit for me, sir."
"Well, as soon as we're finished here, you better put it on. Quickly. God and the presidential protection detail wait for no man, including the President."
"Yes, sir."
"This won't take long. First, a quick question. What's Mrs. Masterson like?"
"Very tall and elegant. Very intelligent."
"Is she going to weep, maybe get hysterical?"
"I doubt that very much, Mr. President."
"Thank God for that. Okay. What I didn't say in the conference room was that in order to keep you out of the sight of the eyes in the White House, I want you to avoid going there as much as possible."
"Yes, sir."
"I also told Matt Hall privately that he'll be your conduit to me. A three-man loop, in other words. If he's for some reason not available, the switchboard has been told to put you through to me, and there will be an any time, any area White House pass for you in the guard shack closest to the OEOB at all times. Just identify yourself, and they'll pass you."
"Yes, sir."
"Natalie Cohen isn't happy with the finding, but she'll go along with it. The director of the FBI and the DCI are going to like it less than Natalie does, but I don't think they'll fight it. Charles Montvale loathes the finding. I understand why. I suspect that he will be searching for your failures, so that he can bring them to my attention. I'm going to speak privately to him. If he poses problems, tell Matt Hall. Or me."
"Yes, sir."
"And how do you think General Naylor regards the finding?" the President asked.
"Sir, I think his reaction is much like mine."
"Which is?"
"That you have given a lot of responsibility and a lot of authority to a very junior officer."
"Not without a good deal of thought, Charley. Not without a good deal of thought. Now go change your clothes." [THREE] Keesler Air Force Base Biloxi, Mississippi 2120 25 July 2005 Jake Torine was waiting at the foot of the stairs to Air Force One when Charley Castillo came down them. They could see the Globemaster III was now backed up against the open doors of a huge hangar and that the hangar was really crowded.
Outside the hangar, and just inside it, held back by rope barriers and lines of airmen facing them, was a huge crowd of spectators.
Farther inside the hangar, what looked like a company of Air Force airmen was formed on one side of the cavernous space. Across from them was a U.S. Marine Corps band. A reviewing stand, with a lectern bearing the presidential seal, was in the rear of the hangar facing outward. The rear of the stand held maybe fifty American flags-of course there're fifty; one for each state-on either side of the presidential flag.
Next to the presidential flag were those of the secretary of state, the secretary of Homeland Security, and one that had to be the brand-new flag of the director of national intelligence. Flanking that were the flags of the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard, and maybe a dozen personal flags of the general and flag officers of the armed forces-the red one with four stars is Naylor's-present for the ceremony, most of whom were already on the platform.
Standing at Parade Rest in front of the reviewing stand was a ten-man squad of Marines in dress uniforms and a second squad composed of two men from each of the armed services, each under the command of a crisply uniformed lieutenant.
And in front of the reviewing stand were two black-draped catafalques ready to receive the caskets.
Well, that's a nice touch. They're going to put Markham beside Masterson.
"Very impressive," Torine said, as the Secret Service Yukon stopped beside the Globemaster.
"The White House billed this as a major foreign policy speech," the Secret Service agent driving the Yukon said.
The proof of that was the unruly sea of television cameramen, still photographers, and what had become known as "print journalists" held back by barriers and more airmen on both sides of the reviewing stand.
Castillo and Torine got out of the Yukon and found themselves facing four soldiers wearing green berets and armed with Car 4s.
"I'm Colonel Torine, the aircraft commander-" Torine began.
"You are armed, sir," one of the Special Forces soldiers said to Castillo. It was an accusation.
Well, so much for trying to conceal a.45 under a seersucker jacket.
"Yes, I am."
"You can pass him, Sergeant," a voice behind them said. "Not only is he the man, he's one of us."
Castillo turned to see a very short, totally bald man wearing a tweed jacket that didn't come close to fitting around his barrel chest. He was cradling a Madsen submachine gun in his arm.
"Hello, Vic," Castillo said, offering his hand to CWO- 5 Victor D'Allessando, Special Forces, USA, Retired.
"Just like old times, Charley," D'Allessando said. "You get yourself in the deep doo-doo, and McNab sends me to haul you out."
"You're running this?"
D'Allessando motioned for Torine and Charley to step over to a spot in the shadow of the Globemaster's wing where he could speak without being overheard. "Yeah, I am," he said.
"Boy, am I glad to hear that!" Castillo exclaimed. "What have you got?"
"Twenty-four shooters, mostly Delta, and a few guys from Gray Fox."
"I saw Sergeant Orson," Castillo said. "Actually, Colonel Torine saw him. Oh, hell, excuse me. Colonel, this is an old buddy of mine, Vic D'Allessando. I thought you'd know each other."
"Why do I think you're not wearing your green beret, Vic?" Torine said with a smile.
"I hung the fucker up, Colonel, after twenty-seven years. They medically retired me as a CWO-5. Now I'm a goddamn double-dipping civilian. GS-15, assimilated full fucking bird colonel."
"Who runs the stockade at Fort Bragg," Castillo said.
"I know it well," Torine said, smiling.
"Now I know who you are, Colonel," D'Allessando said. "You're the Air Commando who we used to fly our 727-"
"Almost correct," Torine replied. "Former Air Commando. When they made me a full fucking colonel, they paroled me from the stockade and put me behind a desk."
"… from which McNab rescued you when Charley was looking for that stolen 727. You went with Charley to Costa Rica and flew it back to the States after Charley and some of my guys stole it back from the bad guys."
"Guilty," Torine said.
"And he's in on this operation, Vic," Castillo said.
"Welcome aboard," D'Allessando said, smiling and offering his hand.
"What have you got going, Vic?"
"In detail? Or just the highlights?"
"In detail."
"Okay. Naylor called McNab and told him that your boss, Hall, had called him and said the President wanted either Delta or Gray Fox or both to make sure nothing else happened to the Mastersons when they got here. I almost had to tie McNab down to keep him from coming here himself."
Castillo and Torine chuckled.
"So we saddled up. Like I said, twenty-four shoo
ters, mostly Delta but with four guys from Gray Fox. We got two Black Hawks and two Little Birds from the 160th. Both Little Birds are gunships-we can move everybody on the Black Hawks, but you never know when you're going to have to pop somebody. Then we came here.
"The guy running things is Masterson's father. Big tall drink of water. The widow's father-they call him 'the ambassador,' which I guess he was-is a little guy who almost went out with a heart attack. So they're trying to keep him in the dark as much as possible.
"Masterson's father has a great big farm not far from here. No airstrip, but no problem with the choppers. They're going to bury Masterson in a cemetery on the farm, after a mass in a little Catholic church in a little dorf called De Lisle, right outside the farm property. They wanted to have a big deal with the funeral, but the old man-Masterson's father-told them no way.
"What's going to happen here, after the President does his thing, is take the body out to the farm in a hearse. Funeral's by invitation only, but they expect maybe three hundred people at the cemetery."
"Can you handle that many people?"
"I'm not going to have to. The old man mobilized the Mississippi State Police. There's about fifty of them, under a lieutenant colonel. And the head man, a colonel-tough bastard-is here as a friend of the family. So's the governor. Plus of course the sheriff and all his deputies."
"You don't see any problems in protecting the family?"
"No," D'Allessando said flatly. "But it would help, Charley, if I knew who popped Masterson and why, and why they may try to pop the widow and the family."
"I'll tell you what I know, Vic. It's not much. I have no idea who these people are. None. All I know is that it has something to do with Mrs. Masterson's brother. She-just now, after we landed here-told me that the people who grabbed her in Buenos Aires want her to tell them where her brother is, and promised to kill her children and family."
"And she didn't tell them?"
"She doesn't know where he is. He works for the UN in Paris, but we can't find him."
"Interesting."
"She said they killed Masterson to make the point that they meant what they said."
"And you have no idea why they want the brother?"
"No. All I know is they shot Masterson with Israeli-made nine-millimeter cartridges, and killed the Marine sergeant driving my car-and wounded a female Secret Service agent in the car-by sticking one of those through the window and emptying the magazine, also loaded with Israeli-made nine-millimeters."
"With a Madsen?"
Castillo nodded.
"How do you know that?"
"I think Sergeant Markham saw it coming, and as he tried to move out of the way, pushed the window-up button. It was automatic, and caught the Madsen. It was still in the window when I got there."
"That's interesting, too. There's not too many Madsens around. And that's all you know?"
"And I just now learned, in a sixty-second conversation with Mrs. Masterson, about Masterson getting whacked to make the point that they want the brother at any cost."
"Somebody's going to have to talk to her some more," D'Allessando said.
"I know. I don't know how much time there will be now, but that's why I'm here."
"Who's in charge?"
"I am."
"I mean, now that they're in the States. And after the funeral?"
"I am, Vic."
"No shit?"
"The President just told me."
"That's stretching your envelope some, isn't it, Charley?"
"Understatement of the year," Castillo replied. "I'd like to introduce you to Mrs. Masterson, Vic. See if you can reassure her that she's safe now."
"I want to meet her, too," D'Allessando said. "Now?"
Castillo nodded.
D'Allessando spoke to a lapel microphone Castillo had not noticed.
"Three coming through the side door," he announced. [FOUR] Lieutenant Colonel McElroy, the aide to the commander in chief, was standing at the foot of the steps to the passenger compartment of the Globemaster.
"Sir," he said, when he saw Castillo and the others coming, "the Masterson family is alone up there."
"My name is Castillo. Would you please go up and tell Mrs. Masterson I'd like a brief word with her?"
"Sir, Mrs. Masterson asked that the family not be disturbed."
"Do it, Colonel," Colonel Torine ordered.
"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Colonel McElroy said, and started up the stairs.
Castillo looked down the cargo compartment of the Globemaster. Corporal Lester Bradley, now wearing his dress blue uniform, was standing almost at attention while talking to a Marine captain.
Castillo walked to them.
"You look very spiffy, Corporal," Castillo said.
"Thank you, sir."
"Captain, what's Corporal Bradley's role in the ceremony?"
"May I ask who you are, sir?"
"My name is Castillo."
"Phrased another way, Captain," Colonel Torine added, "he's the man."
The captain looked at them curiously, and then replied to Torine: "Sir, immediately after the ceremony, when the sergeant's remains are taken from the hangar, the corporal will meet up with the cask-"
"Captain," Castillo interrupted. "I told the gunny in Buenos Aires that Corporal Bradley will accompany Sergeant Markham's remains all the way home. I'm sure he passed that on to Sergeant Markham's buddies. I want that to happen. Make room for him in the ceremony."
"Sir, I'm not sure that will be poss-"
"Do it, Captain," Colonel Torine ordered flatly.
The captain considered that just long enough for it to be perceptible, then said, "Aye, aye, sir."
"Thank you," Castillo said. "I'll see you later, Bradley."
"Yes, sir."
Castillo saw Mrs. Masterson coming down the stairway and hurried forward.
"I'm glad you're here, Mr. Castillo. My father is here, and the less he knows about the threats made, the better. He has a heart condition."
"I understand," Castillo said. "Mrs. Masterson, this is Mr. D'Allessando. Have you ever heard of Delta Force?"
"There was a terrible movie," she said. "You mean there's really something like that?"
"Yes, ma'am, there is. The real Delta Force is made up of the best of Special Forces. They're not much like what you see in the movies, but they are really professional. Mr. D'Allessando has been associated with Delta for a long time, and he's brought twenty-four men here with him to make sure you and your family are all right."
"That's very reassuring," she said. "I'm really pleased to meet you, Mr. D'Allessando."
"I'm really sorry about your husband, ma'am," he said. "That shouldn't have happened."
"Thank you," she said.
Castillo saw a very tall, very slim man in an elegant double-breasted dark suit coming down the stairs.
My God, he looks just like Masterson! The only difference is the white hair and that absolutely immaculate pencil-line mustache.
The man walked up to them and smiled.
"Dad," Betsy Masterson said, "this is Mr. Castillo and Mr. D'Allessando. Gentlemen, my father-in-law, Winslow Masterson."
"How do you do?" Masterson asked, offering his hand. "May I ask which of you is Mr. Castillo?"
"I am, sir."
"I was actually about to go looking for you, sir, when it somewhat belatedly occurred to me that it was likely you were asking for a word with my daughter-in-law."
That accent is not what you expect to hear from a Mississippian, a farmer, or a black Mississippi farmer, or any combination thereof. What the hell is it?
"May I be of some service, sir?" Castillo asked.
"First, let me express my appreciation for everything you have done for my daughter-in-law-"
"Sir, that's absolutely unneces-"
"Pray let me continue, sir."
"Pardon me, sir."
"And then let me inquire of you as a government official-I spoke with Colonel McElroy
, who had absolutely no idea what I was talking about-why, in a situation like this, with all the resources of the government presumably at your disposal, you have been unable to make contact with Jean-Paul Lorimer?"
Betsy Masterson and Castillo exchanged glances.
"Sir…" Castillo began.
"Mrs. Masterson's father, Ambassador Lorimer, is quite upset, Mr. Castillo. And if I may say so, understandably so. He has a certain physical condition and should not be under stress."
"Dad-" Betsy Masterson said.
"Please permit Mr. Castillo to answer the question, if he desires to do so."
"Sir, there are problems locating Mr. Lorimer. Mrs. Masterson is aware of them…"
"Indeed?" Masterson asked, and looked at his daughter-in-law.
"I didn't want to get into it with my father listening."
Masterson nodded.
"I'd really like to explain much of this to you, sir," Castillo said, "but this, I suggest, is neither the time nor the place to do so."
"He's right, Dad," Betsy Masterson offered.
"Well, I need to know what's going on as soon as possible," Masterson said. "And at the plantation, your parents will be there, and it would be impossible to exclude them without…" He paused, visibly in thought, then nodded in obvious agreement with what he had thought of.
"Mr. Castillo, it was of course my intention to ask you to stay with us at the plantation."
"I wouldn't want to intrude, sir," Castillo protested.
Masterson dismissed that with a wave of his hand.
"But is there some reason you have to go there immediately after this?" Masterson inquired, gesturing toward the activities in the hangar. "Would my daughter-in-law and the children and of course the Lorimers be safe, in your judgment, if you weren't personally there for an hour or so?"
"Yes, sir, I'm sure they would be. In addition to the state police you already have, Mr. D'Allessando and his men-"
"You're thinking of the Belle Visage," Betsy Masterson said.
"And what do you think of me thinking of the Belle Visage?" Masterson asked.
"That'd do it, Dad," she said. "No one would disturb you there."
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