“Hold one,” Castillo said to the cellular, then gave Otto the cellular number and his room number in the Four Seasons.
“Please, Karlchen, be very careful,” Otto said.
“I will. Thanks, Otto.”
“Auf wiedersehen, Karlchen.”
“Sorry,” Castillo said into the cellular. “I was on the other line.”
“How long will it take you to get to a secure line, Charley?” the secretary of Homeland Security asked.
“Ten, fifteen minutes.”
“The sooner the better,” Hall said. “I’ll be waiting. He’s gone ballistic.”
The line went dead.
Castillo had no doubt that he who had gone ballistic was the President of the United States.
VI
[ONE]
Communications Center The United States Embassy Avenida Colombia 4300 Palermo, Buenos Aires, Argentina 1100 23 July 2005
The slender, trim man sitting behind the desk rose when Castillo walked in. The man was wearing a suit and a crisp white shirt, but there was something about him— carriage, short haircut, attitude—that made Charley sure he was a soldier.
“Mr. Castillo?”
“Right. I need a secure line to the White House. It’s been cleared.”
“Sir, the ambassador left word that if you came in, he wanted to see you right away.”
Shit!
This situation wasn’t covered in Obeying Orders 101 at The Point. The rule there was simple: you obey your last lawful order. My last order was to get on the horn as quickly as possible. And technically, Ambassador Silvio can’t even legally issue me orders.
Or can he? He’s the ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary of the President of the United States.
And Major C. G. Castillo is not about to tell Ambassador Silvio, in his embassy, that I don’t have time for him right now, but I will try to fit him into my busy schedule just as soon as I can.
“Thank you,” Castillo said, and headed for the ambassador’s office.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” Castillo asked, when Silvio’s secretary ushered him into the ambassador’s office.
“Yes, I did. Thank you for coming so quickly. I just wanted to tell you that the security staff has been alerted and are holding themselves ready for your instructions.”
What the hell is he talking about?
“Sir?”
“You don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“No, sir. I don’t.”
“I thought you might not. May I ask what you’re doing in the embassy?”
“Sir, I got word to get on a secure line to my boss . . . to Secretary Hall . . . as quickly as possible.”
“I just had a very interesting conversation with my boss, as a matter of fact. Well, why don’t you speak with your boss, and when you’re finished, we can compare notes, so to speak.”
“Sir, I have the uncomfortable feeling that I’ve done something to displease you.”
“I’m displeased, frankly, but it’s nothing you’ve done, Mr. Castillo,” Silvio said. “In a manner of speaking, I would say that you and I are leaves being blown about by the winds of a storm.”
Charley couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Why don’t you speak with Secretary Hall? And then come see me?” Silvio said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Hall.”
“Charley, sir.”
“Let me get right to it,” Secretary Hall said. “By direction of the President, Major Castillo, you are directed and empowered (a) to take whatever action you deem necessary to protect the family of the late J. Winslow Masterson while they are in Argentina, and (b) to ensure their safe return—”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Let me finish, Charley. By direction of the President, I have written all this down.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“And (b) to ensure their safe return to the United States; and you are (c) directed and empowered to assume responsibility for the investigation of the kidnapping of Mrs. Elizabeth Masterson and the murder of Mr. Masterson.” He paused. “You understand me so far?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The U.S. ambassador in Buenos Aires has been advised of this Presidential Directive and directed to provide you with whatever you feel you need to accomplish your duties. The directors of the CIA and the FBI have similarly been notified of this directive and directed to furnish you with whatever support you feel you may need to carry out your duties.”
“My God!”
“I told you he went ballistic. It began with him banging his fist on the desk and declaring, ‘The assassination of a U.S. embassy official will not stand,’ and got more heated from there. I don’t think I’ve seen him so angry since we were under fire in ’Nam.”
“Sir, you know I’m not qualified to do anything like this.”
“The President apparently feels you are.”
“From what I’ve seen, everybody from the ambassador on down has done everything possible . . . and is still doing everything possible.”
“Apparently, the President doesn’t think so. This is not open to debate, Charley. That’s another quote.”
“Yes, sir.”
“To assist you in the accomplishment of your duties, the DCI has notified the CIA station chief that he is to place himself under your orders, and the director of the FBI has been ordered to send a team of FBI experts down there to assist you in your investigation, and the commander in chief CentCom has been ordered to dispatch an aircraft, together with adequate security personnel, to return the remains of Mr. Masterson, and his family, to the United States. I understand from General Naylor that that aircraft will be wheels-up within the hour—which means it’s probably already in the air— and the senior officer aboard has been placed under your orders.”
“Sir—”
“What part of ‘this is not open to debate’ did you miss, Charley?”
“I understand, sir.”
“The only thing I need to hear from you—in addition to ‘timely reports of any and all developments,’ of course—is what assistance you think you need.”
Castillo exhaled audibly.
“How are the FBI experts going to come down here? On the Air Force transport?”
“They have their own plane.”
“Is there any chance you could send Jack Britton and Betty Schneider down here on either airplane?”
“Odd that you should ask, Charley. Just after the fireworks started, Joel told me that since he thought they were both spinning their wheels in the training academy, he had asked the superintendent of the school if he could get them out early to come here and take over your reading of the daily intel reports. I don’t suppose you knew anything about this?”
“No, sir, I did not.”
“The objections the superintendent had were twofold. It would set a bad precedent, and he had planned to ask for both to serve as instructors.”
“Sir, I really—”
“By now both have been sworn in, issued credentials, and are probably already on their way here, if they haven’t landed already. Joel can be very persuasive, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“I’ve noticed, sir.”
“Why do you want them down there?”
“Because they’re both cops, and I’m not, and Betty’s a woman, and I’m not, and Jack is black, and I’m not.”
“‘Welcome to the Secret Service. Don’t unpack; go back to the airport, where an FBI plane is waiting for you. Castillo will explain everything when you get to Argentina.’”
“Can you do that, sir?”
“The truth is, Charley, that I can’t not do it. I don’t want to explain to the President why I didn’t give you something you asked for.”
“Sir, how about getting Dick Miller out of the hospital and having him vet the daily intel reports?”
“Charley, you know as well as I do that he just had yet another operation on his knee.”
�
�Sir, he told me that just as soon as he can get out of bed, he’s going on recuperative leave.”
“And instead you want him to come over here with his knee in a cast and go through the daily intels?”
“I think he’d rather do that than lie in a bed at Walter Reed or go home.”
“I’ll see what I can find out, but refusing you that would be something I might be able to justify to the President. Even in his present state of mind, I think he might be sympathetic to my explanation, ‘Sir, Major Miller is in Walter Reed, recovering from an operation on his knee.’”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll call you when I have ETAs on both planes.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Charley, did you ever hear that ‘no good deed goes unpunished’?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m almost sorry—operative word almost—that you found the goddamn 727.”
“Yes, sir.”
[TWO]
“Doctor,” the secretary of Homeland Security said into the phone to the chief, orthopedic surgery division, the Walter Reed Army Medical Center, at the other end of the line, “let me be sure I understand you. Presuming he keeps his leg as immobile as reasonably possible, there is no reason Major Miller has to stay in Walter Reed while waiting for his cast to be removed, and that will not be for fifteen days?
“And you have advised him of this and that he’s free to go on recuperative leave?”
Hall looked at Joel Isaacson sitting in an office chair on the other side of the desk as Hall parroted the doctor:
“You have strongly recommended personally that he go home and get TLC from his mother, whom you have known all of Major Miller’s life.
“And you think I should know that Major Miller is at least as stubborn and hardheaded as his father, whom you have known even longer than you have his mother, as he has declined to take the recuperative leave despite your strong personal recommendation.”
Isaacson smiled and shook his head.
“With your permission, Doctor, I’m going to ask Major Miller if he would like to perform some limited duty—administrative—in my office. If he agrees, I have a place—with room service—for him to stay, and can get a Yukon to haul him back and forth—
“Just keep him off his leg? I can do that, sir.”
“Joel, you call him,” Secretary Hall directed. “If I call, he’ll consider it an order.”
Isaacson nodded and reached for Hall’s telephone. Hall slid a yellow stick-’em note with the Walter Reed telephone number on it, and Isaacson punched it in.
“Put it on the speakerphone,” Hall ordered.
“Dick, Joel Isaacson. Am I calling at a good time?”
“A good time for what?”
“For you to tell me how you’re doing, for example?”
“I’m up to my ass, literally, in about thirty pounds of plaster of paris.”
“How do you feel?”
“How would you feel, Joel, if you were up to your ass, literally, in thirty pounds of plaster of paris?”
“I thought they might let you go home on recuperative leave.”
“They are trying to make me go home on recuperative leave.”
“You don’t want to go?”
“Tell me, Joel, if you were up to your ass in thirty pounds of plaster of paris, would you want to spend your days taking the correspondence courses offered by the Command and General Staff College?”
“I don’t follow you.”
“That is what Major General Miller has in mind for his beloved son to do. He has this thing about using one’s time profitably, and never wasting a second.”
“So what are you doing with your time?”
“Watching reruns of Hollywood Squares and M*A*S*H on the tube. I haven’t been too successful in enticing any of the nurses to hop in bed with me.”
“We need some help in the office. Couple of hours a day. Interested?”
“Joel, when was the last time you were kissed by a six-foot-two black man? When do you want me?”
“You didn’t even ask what we need you to do.”
“Quoting Clark Gable in Gone With the Wind, which I have seen two more times since I have been in here, ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!’”
“What if I came over in the morning and picked you up? You’re still welcome in Charley’s apartment, I guess?”
“What if you come over right now and pick me up? And where is that sonofabitch? He was supposed to bring me a bottle the day before yesterday and never showed up.”
“He’s in Argentina.”
“I just saw that on Fox News. The bad guys blew Jack the Stack away. What’s Charley got to do with that?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here.”
“And, back to that question, when will that be?”
“Hold one, Dick,” Isaacson said, punched off the speakerphone, covered the microphone with his hand, and looked at Secretary Hall.
“Go get him,” Hall ordered.
“Dick, I’ll be over there in, say, half an hour,” Isaacson said.
“Well, if that’s the best you can do,” Miller said, and hung up.
[THREE]
Castillo came out of the phone booth and smiled at the guy in charge of the communications room.
“Thank you,” he said, and then, pointing at a coffeemaker, “What are my chances of getting a cup of that?”
“Couldn’t be better, sir,” the man said, and handed Castillo a china mug.
“Soldier or Marine?” Castillo asked.
“Soldier, sir. Sergeant First Class.”
“Do you ever yearn for simple soldiering?” Castillo asked. “Nothing to worry about except maybe an IG inspection?”
“Sometimes, sir. But this is pretty interesting, and the life here is good.”
“Did you know Mr. Masterson?”
“Yes, sir. One of the good guys. What the hell is going on?”
“Right now, nobody knows,” Castillo said.
Including, or maybe especially, the guy who by direction of the President is now in charge of the investigation.
And who is about to become the most unpopular sonofabitch in the embassy, with everybody from the ambassador on down pissed at him.
And with cause.
They have done their very best, from a sense of duty plus their feelings of admiration for Masterson and his wife, and it hasn’t been good enough.
They’re probably thinking, Some hotshot who’s been in Buenos Aires for two days is now in charge. God only knows what that sonofabitch said about us when he got on a secure line to Washington.
He took a sip of the coffee, burned his lip, and said, “Shit!”
“I should have warned you it was hot,” the commo sergeant said.
“My fault,” Castillo said.
Well, at least I learned how to handle a situation like this at The Point.
It’s essentially a matter of what not to do.
You don’t line the troops up and say, “Jesus, guys, wait until you hear what a dumb order we just got.”
When you get a lawful order, no matter how dumb— and with all due respect, Mr. President, this decision of yours is about as dumb as orders get—you either refuse to obey it or you obey it.
And since this order cannot be refused—it’s “not open for debate” and I have sworn a solemn oath, without any mental reservations whatsoever to cheerfully obey the orders of officers appointed over me, which would certainly include the President—that means I will have to go before the troops bubbling over with enthusiasm to carry out the brilliant order I have just received. And then do my goddamnedest to execute it.
“Can I take this with me? The ambassador wants to see me ten minutes ago.”
“Sure,” the sergeant said.
[FOUR]
“Sir, I just spoke with Secretary Hall, who told me what the President has ordered.”
“The President made it crystal clear what he wishes done; what he
wants you to do,” Ambassador Silvio said.
“For your ears only, sir, I’m way out of my depth.”
“The President doesn’t seem to think so,” Silvio said, “and that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir, I guess it is.”
“I’ve asked everybody with a role in this to come to the conference room. They’re in there now.”
“Have you said anything to them, sir?”
“I thought I would ask you what you would like me to say before I said anything.”
“Sir, I think the simple facts—that the President told you he has given me the responsibility to get Mrs. Masterson and the children, and Mr. Masterson’s body, safely out of the country, and that I am now in charge of the investigation—would be the best way to handle it.”
“That’s about what I was thinking,” Silvio said. “Just before the President called me, I made a decision that I don’t think is going to please the FBI team that’s coming down.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Colonel Munz asked for permission to perform the autopsy on Mr. Masterson’s body and I gave that permission. It was a tough call.”
“I’m not sure I follow you, sir.”
“We get into a somewhat hazy area of law and diplomacy here,” Silvio said. “A murder and an abduction have occurred. Those are violations of Argentine law. The murder of an official of the U.S. government, no matter where it occurs, is a violation of the United States Code, one of the few offenses for which the death penalty may be applied. . . .”
Castillo thought, If I needed another proof that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, I never thought about any of this.
“. . . And in theory at least, the government can demand that the perpetrators be extradited to the United States for trial. I don’t know—I just haven’t had the time to look into it—where Mrs. Masterson’s abduction fits into this, but her abduction violates Argentine law.”
“I never even thought about this,” Castillo confessed.
“I’ve given it some thought,” Silvio said. “Now, presuming that the people who did this are apprehended, they would be arrested by the Argentines, and tried in an Argentine court. The problem I have with that is that if found guilty, the maximum penalty is twenty or twenty-five years’ imprisonment.”
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