Naylor opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of eggs and a package of bacon, and laid them on the table.
“I have what they call an ‘enlisted aide’ these days,” General Stevens said. “Fine young man. But he’s an even worse cook than I am. There’s a frying pan in there.” He pointed. “Sunny side up but not slimy, if you please. I know how to make toast. It’s done by machine.”
Naylor chuckled.
“I carry with me the compliments of Colonel Lustrous,” Naylor said as he went looking for a frying pan.
“Since you won’t be back over there in time to tell him and ruin the surprise, Freddy is now Brigadier General-designate Lustrous, to my—and a lot of other people’s—surprise. ”
“Well, that’s good news. He certainly deserves it. I’m not surprised.”
“Freddy has always had an unfortunate tendency to tell his superiors they’re wrong,” Stevens said. “That usually results in getting you passed over. Your father being one of the rare exceptions.”
“When did this happen?”
“Yesterday. That’s where I was, in Washington, at the promotion board. Don’t tell him I was on it. He’ll take that as my approval of his big mouth.”
“Which of course you don’t?”
“There’s a difference, Allan, between admiration and approval, ” General Stevens said. “Write that down.”
“I’m going to need a spatula,” Naylor said.
“One of those drawers,” Stevens said, pointing. “And I know there are plates around here somewhere.”
Naylor found the spatula and laid it on the stove.
“So what’s this hush-hush mission for the good of the service you’re on all about?” Then he had another thought: “Don’t you want an apron?”
“That would be an excellent idea,” Naylor said.
Stevens took an apron from the back of a door and handed it to him.
“I do know where some things are,” he said. “So, what’s up?”
“Twelve years ago, a young—very young—chopper pilot left a German girl in the family way before going off to Vietnam . . .”
“Oh, hell!”
“. . . from which he did not return,” Naylor went on. “And the mother is now terminally ill and went to Colonel Lustrous—actually, to Netty—and asked for help in finding him.”
“I thought you said he didn’t come back from ’Nam?”
“He didn’t. What I’m doing now is making an initial reconnaissance for Colonel Lustrous to see what this guy’s family is like. I have an address and after breakfast I’m going to go start looking.”
“They have a thing now they call the telephone,” General Stevens said. “All Freddy had to do was call me. I would have had somebody do this for you.”
“General Towson ‘suggested’ to Colonel Lustrous that he send me over here,” Naylor said.
“Bob Towson said send you?” General Stevens asked. “I must be missing something here, Allan. Why the fuss and feathers? I’m ashamed to say that a lot of our soldiers, PFCs through general officers, left German girls in the family way behind them. Thousands of them.”
“Sir, I guess I left out that the father got the Medal of Honor in Vietnam.”
“Yes, I guess you did,” Stevens said. “That little fact does put a different color on things, doesn’t it?”
“And Colonel Lustrous and the boy’s grandfather—who wiped himself out on the autobahn several months ago— were good friends.”
“What’s Freddy concern? Personal and official?”
“I think, sir, he’s worried—I know I am—that the father’s family is going to be less than overjoyed to learn their son left an illegitimate child behind in Germany twelve years ago. If that’s the case—they reject the idea—Colonel Lustrous wants to cushion the boy and his mother from that as much as possible.”
“And Bob Towson is concerned about what would appear in the papers if the family and the mother get in a pissing match? ‘GERMAN WOMAN CLAIMS MEDAL OF HONOR WINNER FATHER OF HER BASTARD CHILD’?”
“Yes, sir, I’m sure that’s true.”
“Well, you can’t blame the mother wanting to make sure the child is fed and cared for,” Stevens said. “And, on the other hand, you can’t really blame the family for being suspicious of someone who claims to be the mother of a child fathered by the dead son.”
“Yes, sir, that’s true.”
Naylor turned to the stove and flipped the bacon.
There was a knock at the kitchen door and then the door opened and a young clean-cut-looking buck sergeant came through it.
“Good morning, sir,” he said.
“Pay attention to what the major is doing, Wally,” General Stevens said. “One day, in a dire emergency, I may have to press you into service again.”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said with a smile.
“Major Naylor, Sergeant Wally Wallace,” Stevens said.
“How are you, Sergeant?”
“How do you do, sir?”
“You had breakfast, Wally?” General Stevens asked.
“Yes, sir, I have. Thank you.”
“What you hear here stays here, Wally, okay?”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
“You have a name, you said, Allan?” General Stevens asked.
“Yes, sir. The next of kin are the pilot’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Juan Fernando Castillo.”
“Let me have that again?”
“The name I have for the next of kin is Castillo. Mr. and Mrs. Juan Fernando.”
“This gets better and better. Or worse and worse. I shudder to think what interesting fact may next pop out of your mouth,” General Stevens said.
“Sir?”
“Wally, go get Mrs. Stevens’s phone book. The pink one. It’s on her desk in the study.”
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Wallace said.
“You know these people, sir?” Naylor asked.
“And the alleged father of this out-of-wedlock German child is Jorge Alejandro Castillo, am I right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yeah, Allan, I know them,” General Stevens said. “They own most of downtown San Antonio. Plus large chunks of the land outside the city. Plus a large ranch near Midland, under which is the Permian basin. And I don’t really think Don Fernando . . .”
“Juan Fernando, sir,” Naylor corrected him.
“I see Freddy has corrupted you, Allan. You too are too ready to correct your superiors when you make a snap judgment they’re wrong. In the culture of which the Castillos are part, Mr. Juan Fernando Castillo is addressed as ‘Don’ Fernando as a mark of respect; much like they call upper-class Englishmen Sir John. Get it?”
“Yes, sir. Sorry.”
Sergeant Wallace returned with a pink telephone book.
General Stevens sat down at the table and looked through it. Then he held up his hand. Sergeant Wallace took the handset of a wall telephone and put it in his hand. General Stevens punched in the number.
“Good morning,” he said. “This is General Stevens, from Fort Sam. I apologize for calling at this hour. Would it be possible for me to speak with Don Fernando? It’s a matter of some importance.”
There was a reply, and then General Stevens went on.
“Perhaps Doña Alicia might be available? This is really important.”
There was another reply, and then General Stevens went on again.
“Thank you very much, but no message. I’ll call again. Thank you.”
He broke the connection with his finger and held the telephone over his shoulder. Sergeant Wallace took it from him and hung it up.
“Don Fernando is ‘out of town,’ ” Stevens said. “That may mean he’s at their ranch, or it may mean he’s in Dallas, New York, or Timbuktu. Doña Alicia is at the Alamo; she likes to get there early.”
“The Alamo, sir?”
“You’ve heard of the Alamo, haven’t you, Allan? John Wayne died there, defending it against the overwhelming forces o
f the Mexican General Santa Anna.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Being a general, Allan, as your father may have told you, is something like being an aviator. Long days and hours of utter boredom punctuated by moments of terror. I am now forced to make a decision whether to wait until I can meet with Don Fernando or to go over to the Alamo before he gets back and dump this in Doña Alicia’s lap. No matter which decision I make it is likely to be the wrong one.”
He paused, and then went on. “After two full seconds of thought, I have decided to go with my cowardly instincts and go to Doña Alicia. Her temper is not nearly as terrible as that of her husband.”
Naylor, who didn’t know what to say, said nothing. “Wally, get on the horn and call the office and say I won’t be in until I get there, and the only messages I want on the radio are from the chief of staff or an Operational Immediate saying Russian bombers are over San Antone.”
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Wallace said and went to the wall telephone.
“Please tell me, Allan, that you haven’t burned my bacon and eggs.”
“I have not burned your bacon and eggs, sir.”
[EIGHT]
Alamo Plaza San Antonio, Texas 0835 12 March 1981
“Doña Alicia’s office is in the Daughters of the Republic of Texas library,” General Stevens said, pointing to the building. “And before we go in there, I think a little historical background is in order.”
“Yes, sir,” Major Naylor said.
“Contrary to what most people think, the Alamo is not owned by the federal government, or Texas, but is the property of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas. That organization is not unlike the Order of the Cincinnati, membership in which—I’m sure you know, since you and your father are members—is limited to direct lineal descendants of George Washington’s officers. Membership in the Daughters of the Republic of Texas is limited to ladies who can claim to be direct descendants of men and women who rendered service to the Republic of Texas, before the republic struck a deal with Washington and joined the Union. It helps if your ancestor or ancestors died at the Alamo, but the battle of San Jacinto will also get you in if other ladies like you. With me so far?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Doña Alicia Castillo has twice been president of this august organization, and it is reliably rumored that the Castillo family over the years has contributed a hell of a lot of money to keeping up the Alamo, and the San Jacinto Battlefield, and other historical things important to Texas. Getting the picture? ”
“Yes, sir.”
“I really don’t know how she’s going to react to the news that she has an illegitimate grandson in Germany. I suspect she’s not going to be overwhelmed with joy.”
“I understand, sir.”
“I think the best plan of action is for me to do the talking, and for you to say no more than ‘Yes, ma’am,’ or ‘No, ma’am.’ ”
“Yes, sir.”
“In these circumstances, it seems to me—since Freddy and Netty Lustrous believe the mother . . .”
“Elaine and I do, too, sir,” Naylor interrupted. “And we have the results of the blood test.”
General Stevens gave him a frosty look and went on:
“. . . that we have an obligation to see the boy gets what he’s entitled to as the fruit of the loins of a fellow officer who was awarded the Medal of Honor. Among other things, the boy gets a pass into West Point, if he so desires. We cannot permit the Castillos to sweep this kid back under the rug, even if that means they are going to suffer some embarrassment. ”
“I understand, sir.”
“So put a cork in your mouth when we get in there and let me do the talking.”
“Yes, sir.”
Doña Alicia Castillo, a trim woman who appeared to be in her late fifties, and whose jet-black hair, drawn tight in a bun, showed traces of gray, came to the door of her office when her secretary told her over the intercom that General Stevens, who did not have an appointment, was asking for a few minutes of her time.
“What an unexpected pleasure, General,” she said, smiling and offering her hand. “Please, come in.”
She turned and went into her office. Stevens and Naylor followed.
“Marjorie’s well, I trust?” she said as she settled herself behind her desk. “I saw her last week at the United Fund luncheon.”
“She’s fine, Doña Alicia. She’s visiting her mother.”
“Please give her my regards,” Doña Alicia said, and added, “Please sit down, and tell me what I can do for you.”
“Doña Alicia,” General Stevens said, “may I introduce my godson, Major Allan Naylor? His father and I were roommates at West Point.”
“Well, I’m very pleased to meet you, Major Naylor. Welcome to the Alamo.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Naylor said.
“A somewhat delicate matter has come up, Doña Alicia,” General Stevens said.
“Is that so?”
“Allan, Major Naylor, has the details.”
Doña Alicia smiled and looked at Naylor expectantly.
Jesus Christ, what happened to “let me do the talking” and “put a cork in your mouth”?
“The thing is, ma’am,” Naylor began, hesitantly.
“Yes?”
“We have reason to believe that Mr. Castillo has a son in Germany,” Naylor said.
She looked at him for a moment without a change of expression.
“Somehow, I suspect you are talking of my late son, Jorge,” she said, evenly, “rather than my husband.”
Jesus Christ, Naylor thought, how fucking dumb can one major be?
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“And how did this come to your attention?” she asked.
“Ma’am, I’m stationed in Germany. In Fulda. The boy’s mother went to my wife, and my commanding officer’s wife . . .”
“Major Naylor is referring to Colonel Frederick Lustrous, Doña Alicia,” General Stevens said. “I know him well. He’s a very fine officer.”
“I see,” Doña Alicia said. “You were saying, Major?”
“Frau Gossinger . . .”
“Being the child’s mother?” Doña Alicia interrupted.
“Yes, ma’am. The women are friends. And Colonel Lustrous and Frau Gossinger’s late father were friends.”
“And therefore you believe this . . . Frau Gossinger?”
“Yes, ma’am. And we know that the boy and Mr. Castillo . . . your late son . . . have the same blood type.”
“I don’t think that’s conclusive proof of paternity, is it?”
“No, ma’am, it is not,” Naylor admitted.
“This . . . would have had to be more than a dozen years ago?”
“Yes, ma’am. The boy is twelve.”
“Do you have any idea why she brought this up now? Twelve years after the fact?”
“She is terminally ill, Mrs. Castillo,” Naylor said.
“I don’t suppose you would have a photograph of the child, would you?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do,” Naylor said, and took several photographs from the breast pocket of his tunic.
“His name is Karl,” Naylor said. “He’s a really bright kid.”
Doña Alicia stared at the first photograph for a long moment and then laid it down and stared at the second and then laid that down and stared at the third.
“Blond,” she said. “And so fair-skinned.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Naylor said.
“Would you think me rude if I asked you gentlemen to wait outside for a few minutes?” Doña Alicia asked. “Grace will get you coffee. I think I should talk to my husband about this.”
“Yes, of course,” General Stevens and Major Naylor said, almost in unison.
They left the office and sat beside one another on a couch in the outer office. General Stevens looked at Major Naylor and raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t think that went as well as it could have gone,” Stevens said.
[N
INE]
Room 714 The Plaza Hotel New York City, New York 0955 12 March 1981
“Who the hell can that be?” Juan Fernando Castillo inquired almost angrily when the telephone rang, although there was no one else in the three-room suite.
He was a tall, heavyset man with a full head of dark hair. He was dressed in white Jockey shorts and a hotel-furnished terry cloth bathrobe. He had not knotted the cord, and his chest, covered with thick hair, was visible.
He laid The Wall Street Journal down on the room service table and tried to push back the chair he had just pulled up to it. It hung up on the carpet and fell over. In stepping over it, he bumped into the room service table, knocking over his freshly squeezed grapefruit juice, which, for some reason known only to God, the goddamned hotel served in a stemmed glass.
He walked to the telephone.
“What is it?” he snarled into it.
“Did I wake you, Fernando? It sounds as if I did.”
“Actually, I was having my breakfast,” he said. “Is something wrong, love of my life?”
“No, I would say quite the opposite.”
“Then why did you call at this hour?”
“Because I really wanted to catch you before you left the hotel.”
“What’s up, Alicia?”
“I just found out we’re grandparents.”
“Funny, I seem to recall having five grandchildren,” he said, then thought: Four granddaughters and one grandson, out of three daughters. He has my Christian name, but his surname is Lopez. The Castillo name dies with me.
“Now there are six. He is an absolutely beautiful boy of twelve.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It seems Jorge had a child, or started one, when he was in Germany.”
Oh, my God!
“Start at the beginning, Alicia, please.”
“You don’t sound very thrilled.”
“I would be thrilled if I believed it. Start at the beginning, Alicia.”
“General Stevens came to the office just now,” she said. “With him, he had a major who is stationed in Germany. He said that the major was his godson, that he and the major’s father had been at West Point together.”
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