The Hostage pa-2

by W. E. B Griffin

  "That's what I mean," Kocian said. "What I'm going to do, Karl, if you give me your word you won't turn it over to the CIA, or anyone in your government, is give you the names of Germans I believe have both profited from Oil for Food and are now trying to hide that money in Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay… all over the southern tip of South America. If you can use this information to find Lorimer, fine. But you give me your word you won't use it for anything else."

  "You have my word."

  "And that you won't tell anyone where you got it."

  "Agreed."

  "And that these gentlemen will be similarly bound by our agreement."

  "Agreed. When do I get the names?"

  "Once I get to the office, it will take me an hour or more to go through what I have. I want to make sure in my own mind that if you have to render any of these people harmless-that's a much nicer phrase than 'terminate with extreme prejudice,' isn't it?-that they really deserve such treatment."

  "Fair enough."

  "And I don't want you-especially Otto-coming to the office and making people curious. So why don't you meet me at the Karpatia at noon? You know where it is, Otto."

  Goerner nodded.

  "And so do I," Castillo said. "Not far from the American embassy."

  Kocian nodded. "We can have a nice lunch," he said and, not without effort, got to his feet. Then, grunting, he bent over and picked up his ashtray, his cellular telephone, and the books and magazines.

  Then he waddled down the tiled floor of the bath and disappeared through a door.

  "You got more out of him, Karl," Otto Goerner said, thoughtfully, "than I thought you would. I can only hope that's a good thing. What he didn't say was that these people would torture and kill him without thinking twice about it if they knew he knows as much as he does. And unless you're very careful with those names, they will learn he does."

  Castillo nodded but didn't reply. Then he stood up.

  "Let's get out of here," he said, wrapping a towel around his waist. "I want to get on the horn." [TWO] The Embassy of the United States of America Szabadsag ter 12 Budapest, Hungary 1105 28 July 2005 Otto Goerner touched Castillo's arm as they started to get out of the taxi in front of the American embassy, a seven-story century-old mansion.

  "You're not going to need me in there, are you?" Goerner asked.

  "No."

  "And it might even be a bit awkward, no?"

  "I'll handle it," Castillo said.

  "Why don't I keep the cab, go to the Karpatia, get us a table, get myself a cup of coffee…"

  "Okay, Otto. This won't take long. We'll see you there," Castillo said, and he and the others got out of the taxi. As Castillo watched it drive away, Sergeant Seymour Kranz touched his arm.

  "Major, what the hell is that?" he asked, pointing.

  Castillo looked. In the park facing the embassy was a statue of a man in uniform with his hands folded behind his back.

  "It's a statue, Seymour. Budapest is full of them. They even have a section of the Berlin Wall around here somewhere."

  "That's an old-timey American uniform," Kranz said.

  "I'll be damned, I think he's right," Colonel Torine said.

  Castillo looked again and asked, "What time is it in Washington, Seymour?"

  Kranz consulted his watch and reported, "Oh-four-oh-five, sir."

  "Since it won't make much difference to whoever we get out of bed whether it is oh-four-oh-five or oh-four-ten, let us go and broaden our cultural horizons by examining the statue," Castillo said. "Why the hell would there be a statue of an American officer in a park in Budapest?"

  They walked to the statue. It was indeed of an American, wearing a World War I-era uniform of riding boots and breeches. He looked as if he were examining the embassy and found it wanting.

  There was a bronze plaque with a legend in English beneath it. Kranz read it aloud: "Harry Hill Bandholtz, Brigadier General, U.S. Army. 'I simply carried out the instructions of my Government, as I understood them, as an officer and a gentleman of the United States Army.'"

  "I wonder what the hell that's all about?" Fernando said.

  "I wonder what the instructions he carried out were to get him a statue?" Kranz asked.

  "Gentlemen," Castillo said, "fellow history buffs. Perhaps there is a public information officer in the embassy who can enlighten us all. Shall we see?"

  There might have been a public information officer at the embassy, but they never got to meet him.

  They encountered first a Marine guard, a buck sergeant, who politely but firmly told them there was no way they could see the ambassador without an appointment.

  Colonel Torine produced his Air Force identification.

  "Sergeant, you get the defense attache on the phone, or down here, and do it now."

  The Marine guard examined the photo ID carefully, and then picked up his telephone.

  "There is a USAF colonel here who wants to talk to a defense attache," he announced, and then handed the telephone to Torine.

  "This is Colonel Jacob Torine, USAF. Are you the defense attache, Captain?" Brief pause. "Then get him on the goddamned horn, or down here, and right goddamn now!"

  An Army lieutenant colonel appeared.

  "Colonel Torine?" he asked.

  "Right."

  "I'm Lieutenant Colonel Martin, sir. I'm the Army attache. May I see your identification, please, sir?"

  Torine produced his identification again.

  "How may I help you, Colonel?"

  "We would like to see either the ambassador or the chief of mission," Torine said.

  "May I ask why?"

  "No, goddammit, you may not!" Torine exploded.

  "Jake!" Castillo said, warningly. "Colonel, what we need to do is get into the White House switchboard on a secure line."

  "And you are, sir?"

  "My name is Castillo. I'm with the Secret Service."

  He showed Lieutenant Colonel Martin his credentials.

  "This is very unusual," Lieutenant Colonel Martin said.

  "I'm prepared to explain it to the ambassador or the chief of mission," Castillo said.

  "One moment, please," Lieutenant Colonel Martin said, and motioned for the Marine guard to slide him the telephone. He punched in a number. "This is Colonel Martin. We have an Air Force colonel here, I've checked his ID, who wants to be connected to the White House switchboard. Can we do that?"

  There was a reply.

  Lieutenant Colonel Martin turned to Colonel Torine.

  "He said that you have to be authorized to connect to the White House switchboard. Do you have that authorization?"

  "I do," Torine said.

  "Excuse me, sir. But how do I know that?"

  Torine threw up his hands in disgust.

  "That was your commo room?" Castillo asked.

  Lieutenant Colonel Martin nodded.

  "Is it tied into the White House switchboard?"

  "To the State Department switchboard."

  "Tell him to get the State Department switchboard operator. Tell her, or him, as the case may be, that C. G. Castillo wants to talk to the secretary of state, and that if she is not available, to be connected to the White House switchboard."

  "You want to talk to the secretary of state, Mr. Costello?"

  "It's Castillo. See that you get that right when you call."

  "Sir, it's four o'clock in the morning in Washington."

  "So I have been told."

  "Just one moment, please," Lieutenant Colonel Martin said, and took his hand off the mouthpiece of the telephone. "Mr. Costello-"

  "Castillo. Castillo. With an 'a' and an 'i,'" Castillo said.

  "Mr. Castello wonders if it would be possible for you to contact the State Department switchboard and ask… see if they will take his call for the secretary of state." Martin turned to Charley. "The office of the secretary, Mr. Castello, or Secretary Cohen personally?"

  "Castillo with an 'i,'" Castillo responded. "Secretary Cohen personally."


  "Secretary of State Cohen personally," Lieutenant Colonel Martin parroted. He put his hand over the mouthpiece again. "It'll be just a moment."

  A moment later, he announced: "They will take your call, Mr. Castillo, but Secretary Cohen is not available. She's in Singapore."

  "What time is it in Singapore, Seymour?"

  "Jesus, Major, I don't know," Sergeant Kranz confessed.

  It was apparent to Castillo that Lieutenant Colonel Martin had picked up on Seymour's use of his rank.

  "I don't think this is a secure line, is it, Colonel?" Castillo said. "I need a secure line."

  "Yes, of course," Lieutenant Colonel Martin said, and thought that over. "If you'll give the sergeant your identity documents, gentlemen, he'll give you a visitor's badge and I'll escort you to a room with a secure telephone."

  They were in the process of handing over their documents when a tall, rather distinguished-looking man walked through the door, smiled, and said, "Good morning."

  "Good morning, Mr. Ambassador," Lieutenant Colonel Martin said.

  "You're the ambassador?" Castillo asked.

  "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am," the ambassador said. "And you are?"

  "He's from the Secret Service, Mr. Ambassador," Lieutenant Colonel Martin offered helpfully.

  "Really?"

  "And he wants to talk to the secretary of state, sir, personally."

  "Indeed?" the ambassador said, and went to the counter and examined the identification documents.

  "You did tell Mr. Castillo that the secretary of state isn't here, didn't you, Colonel?" the ambassador asked.

  "Actually, she's in Singapore," Castillo said.

  "Is she indeed?" the ambassador said. "Would you mind telling me what this is about, Mr. Castillo?"

  "I will tell you, sir. But I suggest this isn't the place to do that, sir."

  "Well, then, why don't we go to my office and we'll see if we can get to the bottom of this."

  "Thank you very much, sir," Castillo said. "I knew Jack Masterson," the ambassador said. "He was a good man."

  "Yes, sir, he was."

  "You're in Budapest, so there's obviously a Hungarian connection. Are you going to tell me what that is?"

  "I was running down a source of information, sir. There is no Hungarian connection I know of to Mr. Masterson's murder."

  The ambassador considered that a moment, then pointed at a telephone on his desk. "Help yourself, Mr. Castillo."

  "Thank you, sir." He picked it up and punched the "O" key.

  "My name is Castillo. Would you get me the state department switchboard on a secure line, please?"

  "Sir, I'll have to have someone authorize that."

  Castillo pushed the SPEAKERPHONE button. "Mr. Ambassador, I'm going to need your authorization."

  "It's okay," the ambassador said, raising his voice.

  Castillo started to push the SPEAKERPHONE button again to shut it off but changed his mind.

  "One moment, please," the embassy operator said.

  "State Department."

  "This line is secure?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "My name is C. G. Castillo. Can you patch me through to the secretary, please?"

  "No, sir. The secretary is out of the country, and the secure voice link is down."

  "Okay. Put me through to the White House switchboard, please." "White House."

  "C. G. Castillo on a secure line for the secretary of state, please."

  "Her voice link is down, Mr. Castillo. We have a secure teletypewriter link. You'll have to dictate what-"

  "Before we try that, put me through to Secretary Hall's office in the Nebraska Complex, please."

  "Secretary Hall's office or your office, Mr. Castillo?"

  "Okay, my office."

  There was the sound of the phone ringing twice.

  "Mr. Castillo's line. Mr. Miller speaking."

  "What are you doing there at four o'clock in the morning?"

  "I had them move a cot in. It's a long ride back and forth to your apartment in the back of a Yukon. I was starting to feel like a dummy in a disaster exercise. Where are you?"

  "Budapest."

  "Montvale wants to talk to you. So does the boss. And we have a mysterious message from your pal Natalie. The encrypted voice link on her plane is down, and so is the one in the embassy in Singapore. Heads are going to roll about that."

  "Read me the message. Maybe I won't have to talk to Montvale."

  "Okay. You going to write this down, or do you just want to hear it?"

  "Just read it."

  "Okay. 'Top Secret-Presidential. From SecState to SecHomeSec. Start Please convey following personal to C.G. by most expeditious means. Charley, believe me, I didn't know Yung was working for me until an hour ago. I have spoken with Ambassador Silvio in Buenos Aires and Ambassador McGrory in Montevideo and told both to tell Yung he is to put himself and whatever intelligence he has developed at your disposal. That's all I felt safe in doing as there is something wrong with the secure voice link on both the plane and in the embassy, believe it or not. Let me know what else I can do. Best personal regards. Natalie. End Personal message from SecState.'"

  "Got it, Dick."

  "Who the hell is Yung?"

  "He's an FBI agent in Montevideo."

  "And he's working for Cohen? What's that all about?"

  "I don't know. And I guess I won't find out until we get to Buenos Aires."

  "When are you going there?"

  "Just as soon as we have lunch."

  "Will that little airplane make it across the South Atlantic?"

  "God, I hope so. Dick, wait until we're out of here- say, nine your time-and then tell Secretary Hall I called and have Secretary Cohen's message. I don't want to wake him or Ambassador Montvale at four in the morning. And send one to Secretary Cohen, quote Got it. Many thanks. Charley, end quote. And send one to Ambassador Silvio saying we're on our way and will be there however long it takes to get there. We should be wheels-up out of here in no more than two or three hours."

  "The Gray Fox radio link is up and running in Buenos Aires. Should I use that?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Anything else, Charley?"

  "Get your filthy rotten smelly cast off my desk."

  "Go fuck yourself. I say that with all possible respect. Watch your back, buddy."

  "I will. Break it down, please."

  "After eavesdropping on your conversation, Mr. Castillo," the ambassador said, "I don't really know much more about what you're doing than I did before, except I now have no question about your right to use my secure voice link."

  "Thank you very much for the use of it, sir."

  "It should go without saying that I really hope you can find whoever murdered Jack Masterson. Is there anything I can do, anything at all?"

  "I can't think of anything, sir," Castillo said. "Except one thing. Who was the American officer whose statue is across the street?"

  The ambassador chuckled. "You saw that, did you?" he asked, rhetorically. "Brigadier General Harry Hill Bandholtz was sent here in 1919 to be the American on the Inter-Allied Control Commission which was supervising the disengagement of Romanian troops from Hungary.

  "The Romanians thought disengagement meant they could help themselves to the Transylvanian treasures in the National Museum. General Bandholtz didn't think that was right. So, on October 5, 1919, he showed up at the museum, alone, and armed only with his riding crop, ran the Romanians off like Christ chasing the money-lenders out of the temple. He must have been one hell of a man."

  "Obviously."

  "And when they asked him why, he said something to the effect that he was only obeying his orders as he understood them as an officer and a gentleman. You don't hear that phrase much anymore, do you, 'an officer and a gentleman'?"

  "Mr. Ambassador," Torine said, "oddly enough, I heard it earlier today."

  "Said seriously, or mockingly?"

  "Very seriously, sir," Tori
ne said. "Spoken by an officer and a gentleman."

  "The Hungarians loved Bandholtz and had the statue cast," the ambassador went on. "They set it up in 1936. The Hungarian fascists and the Nazis didn't bother it, but when the Russians were here, right after the war- before they let us reopen the embassy-they took it down and away 'for repair.' We heard about it, of course, from the Swiss, who were supposed to be guarding the embassy property. We were actually in the process of having another made when we learned that the Hungarians had stolen it from the scrap yard, and were concealing it so it could be put back up when the Russians left. The Russians left, and General Bandholtz is back on his pedestal."

  "Mr. Ambassador, that's a great story, and I'm really glad I asked. But now, sir, with our profound thanks, we won't take any more of your time," Castillo said.

  "Where are you going now, to the airport?"

  "First to the Karpatia, sir, then to the Gellert to check out, and then to the airport."

  "I'll get you one of our cars," the ambassador said, and reached for a telephone. "Then I can tell myself I at least did something to help." [THREE] Karpatia Ferenciek tere, 7-8 Budapest, Hungary 1215 28 July 2005 Otto Goerner and Eric Kocian were already mostly through what looked like liter-sized glasses of beer when Castillo and the others came into the restaurant. And the moment they sat down, a plump waiter with a luxuriant mustache showed up with a tray full of the enormous beer glasses.

  "None for those two, thank you just the same," Castillo said in Hungarian, pointing to Torine and Fernando. "They're driving."

  Goerner and Kocian chuckled.

  "Are you going to tell us what you just said about us?" Fernando challenged.

  "No booze, you're flying," Castillo said.

  "And what about you?"

  "I'll be doing the flight planning. I can do that with a little beer in my system."

  "I'll do the flight planning, thank you just the same, Major," Torine said, and slid Castillo's beer away from him, picked it up, took a healthy swallow, sighed appreciatively, and added, "As an officer and a gentleman, I'm sure you're aware that Rank Hath Its Privileges."

  "Well, in that case, I guess there's nothing for me to do but eat," Castillo said. "What do you recommend, Herr Kocian?"

  Kocian reached into his pocket and handed Castillo a business-sized envelope. It was stuffed with paper.

  "I would only give this to a friend," he said. "You may therefore call me Eric."