“Sorry, sir.”
“On the block the Masterson house is on—it’s in the middle of the block—the street is blocked off with barriers, cars, and whatever they call those strips with steel points on them to blow tires.”
“I know what you mean, sir.”
“Plus more Gendarmeria National and SIDE people and our guys. Now the house itself sits behind an eight-foot brick wall topped with razor wire. The wall completely surrounds the property. In the rear, there is a service road—for deliveries, garbage, et cetera. That’s been blocked off.
“The house is three stories, masonry, and all the windows except two in the attic are barred. Heavily barred, and they don’t open. The front door looks like a bank vault, and the rear door is steel. The gates in the fence— two in the front, one vehicular, one for people, and two in the back, ditto—are steel, decorative but heavy-duty. The vehicular gate in the front slides on tracks when a switch inside the front door is pushed. The one in the back has to be moved by hand. Closed, it’s locked with a huge padlock, keys kept in the kitchen. The people gates are opened with a solenoid, switches by the front door and in the kitchen. The front and back yards are illuminated by floodlights, triggered by motion sensors, or they can be turned on and left on.
“We have two of our guys and two SIDE guys inside the house. There are two telephone lines, plus a dedicated line for the burglar alarm. And everybody has cellulars. I can’t think of a thing to add, except maybe the Abrams tanks I mentioned.”
“That sounds pretty secure, sir.”
“When are you going to leave the hospital?”
“In the next couple of minutes.”
“If you tell me you love me, I’ll tell you where I’m going from here.”
“That would be very difficult at this time, sir.”
“Well, if somebody’s listening to us, then why don’t you say ‘Wiener schnitzel’ and I’ll understand.”
She giggled, then said, “Wiener schnitzel.”
“And same to you, love of my life.”
“Where will you be, sir?”
“We—Munz, Jack, and me—are going from here to the cathedral. After that we’re going to SIDE headquarters. I’ll call again. Better yet, when you’ve got Mrs. Masterson in her house, call me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And be prepared to say, ‘Wiener schnitzel.’ ”
“Whatever you say, sir.”
“Wiener schnitzel, baby.”
[FIVE]
Catedral Metropolitana Plaza de Mayo Buenos Aires, Argentina 1130 24 July 2005
C. G. Castillo answered his cellular telephone on the second buzz.
“Castillo.”
“Schneider, sir.”
“ ‘Wiener schnitzel Schneider,’ that Schneider?”
“Yes. sir. I called to tell you we’re in the house in San Isidro.”
“No problems?”
“No, sir. Went off like clockwork.”
“I’ve just had a tour of the cathedral, led by Sergeant Roger Markham. He dazzled Colonel Munz; he knew more about the cathedral than Munz did.”
Betty chuckled. “He’s a really nice kid.”
“Anyway, no problems that I can see. It’s right down the street from the Casa Rosada. The cops around here have a lot of experience dealing with angry mobs, and they keep a cache of barriers handy. Munz offered a helicopter to fly the family from the racetrack—the Jockey Club—in San Isidro. After they put the barriers up, there’s room to sit one down. But I turned him down.”
“May I ask why, sir?”
“Two reasons—and you may ask me anything you want to, Wiener schnitzel. The first is—I thought you knew this—that I am one of the best—if not the best— chopper pilots in the world, and I don’t trust any other chopper jockey unless I’ve flown with him—”
“Jesus, Charley!”
“I guess no one can hear this conversation?”
“No. I’m in the kitchen, having a cup of coffee.”
“In that case, can we dispense with the Wiener schnitzel nonsense and come right out with ‘I love you, Charley’?”
“You said there were two reasons, sir?”
“And I’ll tell you the other one if you tell me you love me.”
Betty hesitated a moment, and then said, chuckling, “Wiener schnitzel, okay?”
“Close enough. Okay, what Munz offered was a French Alouette III, the SA 316A. It’s an old one. That bothered me, as I don’t know what kind of maintenance it gets here. And they replaced the tail and main rotors— they had problems with them not being strong enough—on the B model, and this is the A model.”
“You do know about helicopters, don’t you?”
“Therefore, Special Agent Wiener schnitzel, after carefully weighing the pros and cons of the matter, I decided it would be more prudent to have the Alouette fly roof cover than to utilize it for personnel transport.”
“You’re really hooked on that Wiener schnitzel nonsense, aren’t you? And what’s roof cover?”
“First of all, it’s not nonsense, and second, you might say that I’m in love with Wiener schnitzel. And roof cover, Special Agent Wiener schnitzel, is when a rotary wing aircraft flies low over an urban area, carefully observingrooftops to make sure there are no bad guys with sniper rifles, mortars, or other lethal weaponry on them.”
“And he’s going to do that? Colonel Munz?”
“Yeah. And this way, the Frog bird will also be available as emergency transport if we need it.”
“You think that’s liable to happen?”
“No. I don’t. The cathedral looks as safe to me as the house. The family will arrive by car, enter the cathedral by a side door, make a brief appearance at the casket, then take seats in an alcove. There’s two alcoves, near the altar. The President, probably, and the foreign minister for certain, plus assorted bigwigs, including Ambassador Silvio, will be in the one on the left—on the left, facing the altar—and the family, two guys from SIDE, and you, Special Agent Wiener schnitzel . . .”
“Enough already with the Wiener schnitzel, Charley.”
“. . . will be in the one on the right. At the appointed hour—ten—the prime minister or the President will approach the casket, drop to his knees for a moment on the prie-dieu—”
“The what?”
“A thing you kneel on. It means pray God in French. I suppose that identifies you as a non-Catholic?”
“I’m Lutheran, as a matter of fact.”
“Wonderful. So am I.”
“Why do I suspect that if I said I was Catholic, you would have said the same thing.”
“I would have, and with a clear conscience. My mother was Evangelische, which is just about the same thing as Lutheran, and until I was twelve, I even went to an Evangelische school. Then I moved to Texas, where my Texican family is all Roman Catholic. I am a multi-faith sinner, in other words. May I continue?”
“You’re a lunatic.”
“And is that why you Wiener schnitzel me, Special Agent Wiener schnitzel?”
“God!”
“As I was saying, after whoever does this rises from the prie-dieu, one of his staff will hand him the Grand Cross of the Great Liberator, which he will then pin to the flag on the casket. He will then return to his alcove. The Mass will start. Communion will be served to the family in their alcove. As soon as the papal nuncio moves across the aisle to do the same for the President, the family will leave their alcove, get back in the motorcade, and head for the airport. This motorcade will not have flashing lights or a motorcycle escort, but it will have lead and chase cars, three of each.
“At the airport, the Mastersons will immediately board the Globemaster III. Meantime, Mass will be offered to the bigwigs and diplomatic corps only—the first four rows of reserved seats. As soon as that’s done, the casket will be taken out a side door and loaded into one of the embassy’s Yukons, and taken under heavy escort to Ezeiza. As soon as it’s on the Globemaster, we go wheels-up for
Keesler.”
“I’m going to need clothing,” Betty said. “Something for the cathedral. And how am I going to get my things from the hotel?”
“You’ll be at the hotel tonight,” Castillo said.
“Not here?”
“I want you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the cathedral and the flight tomorrow.” And for tonight, too, as a matter of fact. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and naked. “All you could do at the Masterson place is doze in an armchair.” While I tossed, sexually frustrated and miserable, alone in my bed.
“I suppose,” she said.
“I’ll call after I’ve been to SIDE with Jack and Munz. Then I’m going to see the ambassador and (a) sell him on my plan to get out of here, and (b) get him to sell Mrs. Masterson. I have the feeling if I suggested it, she’d be against it.”
“She doesn’t like you, that’s pretty obvious,” Betty said.
“I’ll call you later, sweetheart.”
“Charley?”
“Yeah?”
“Wiener schnitzel.”
[SIX]
The American Club of Buenos Aires Viamonte 1133 Buenos Aires, Argentina 1430 24 July 2005
SIDE headquarters was not at all like the J. Edgar Hoover Building, which is the FBI headquarters in Washington, or like the CIA complex in Langley, Virginia. It was housed in a nondescript office building half a block off Avenida 9 Julio and two blocks away from the Colon Opera House. As they followed Colonel Munz’s Peugeot past the opera house, Sergeant Roger Markham matter-of-factly informed them the opera house had been built in the heyday of Argentina wealth with the primary architectural concern that it be larger and more elegant than the opera houses of Vienna, Paris, and Rome.
There was no sign identifying the building’s purpose, and entrance to SIDE headquarters was through a truck loading dock and then onto a freight elevator operated by a man with an Uzi submachine gun hanging from his neck.
Special Agents David William Yung, Jr., and Paul Holtzman of the FBI had been given a small glass-walled office in which to review the reports of the SIDE and other law enforcement investigations. Neither seemed either surprised or pleased to see Castillo and Markham.
And, since those reports are all written in Spanish, it can logically be assumed that they both read and write Spanish.
Colonel Munz announced he had “a few calls to make,” and Castillo and Markham sat down at a table beside Yung and Holtzman and started reading the reports.
Alex Darby walked into the small office about an hour later, and a moment later Munz came in.
“I just came from the embassy,” Darby announced, “where there are now two demonstrations, one to express sympathy and the other protesting the price of milk or something in Patagonia. There was a third, which seemed to approve of what happened to Jack. That was ended in front of the TV news cameras of the world by twenty guys on horses from the Corps of Mounted Police. There were no flashing sabers, but just about everything else, including Mace. Sylvia Grunblatt’s nearly hysterical.”
He paused, and looked at Castillo.
“And a guy from your office called. Miller. He said either your cellular doesn’t work or you talk a lot. He couldn’t get through to you. The message is you’re to call your boss on a secure line at four Washington time. Five here.”
“Got it.”
“And the ambassador wants to be brought up to speed. To avoid the circus at the embassy, he suggests lunch at the American Club. I reserved a private room. He especially hopes you can be there, Alfredo.”
“Of course,” Munz said.
“Does that include us?” Holtzman asked.
After a moment, Castillo said, “Yes, of course.”
The American Club was on the eleventh floor of an office building across the street from the Colon Opera House. The first thing Castillo saw when they got off the elevator was a huge American flag which had been flown from a warship off Normandy on D-Day, 1944. It was framed and hung on the wall.
Castillo was a little surprised that Sergeant Roger Markham—who he insisted eat with them—did not deliver a little historical lecture on D-Day activities and World War II in general.
There was a good-looking oak bar with a very appealing display of various spirits.
“Me for one of those,” Darby said, heading for the bar. “Possibly two. I have earned it.”
So have I, Castillo thought. But I better not.
C. G. Castillo and Sergeant Markham were the only two teetotalers, and Castillo suspected that was because Markham was following his noble example.
The meeting went well.
Ambassador Silvio solved the problem of whether Mrs. Masterson would be willing to leave for the United States immediately after the ceremony in the Catedral Metropolitana by calling her, suggesting that was what he thought to be the best idea, and getting her approval.
As they waited for the elevator Castillo had an unpleasant thought.
Everything is going very well. Too well. What the hell am I missing? When does the other shoe drop?
[SEVEN]
The United States Embassy Avenida Colombia 4300 Palermo, Buenos Aires, Argentina 1705 24 July 2005
“My name is C. G. Castillo. I need Secretary Hall on a secure line, please.”
“We’ve been expecting your call, Mr. Castillo. Hold one, please.
“Mr. Castillo is on a secure line, Madam Secretary.
“Mr. Castillo is on a secure line, Mr. Secretary.
“I have Secretary Cohen, Secretary Hall, and Mr. Castillo for you, Mr. President.”
Oh, shit!
“Good afternoon, Charley,” the President said. “How are things going down there?”
“Good afternoon, Mr. President. Sir, I’m calling from Ambassador Silvio’s office. I thought I should tell you he can—”
“You’re on a speakerphone, Charley?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Ambassador,” the President said. “Your boss and Charley’s are in on this. You all right with that?”
“Yes, of course, Mr. President. Good afternoon, Madam Secretary, Mr. Secretary.”
“Let’s have it, Charley,” the President said.
“Well, sir, to get to the bottom line, Mrs. Masterson and the children will be wheels-up probably no later than noon, local time, tomorrow.”
“She’s still okay with that medal business in the cathedral?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is she—are they—going to be safe, Charley?”
“Yes, sir. I believe they will be safe. The ambassador and I just came from a meeting with the head of SIDE, and the Argentine government is taking every possible measure to ensure their safety.”
“Our people—you—presumably are in on that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is that right, Mr. Ambassador?”
“Yes, sir. I agree with Mr. Castillo.”
“And the investigation, how’s that going?”
“Sir, we also met with Special Agent Holtzman, the agent in charge of the FBI team, and . . .”
“Okay, Charley, that seems to be about it,” the President said. “If everything continues on track, I’ll see you tomorrow night in Mississippi. Natalie and I will. You, too, Matt?”
“If you wish me to be there, yes, sir,” Hall said.
That’s the first time he’s opened his mouth.
“I think it would be a good idea, Matt,” the President said.
“Then I’ll be there, sir.”
“And you, Mr. Ambassador, presumably we’ll see you there, too?”
“Sir, I thought I would ask Secretary Cohen’s guidance.”
“About what?” the President asked, sounding impatient.
“Sir, Mr. Masterson was our chief of mission. If I came along, and my wife and I would personally very much like to come, direction of the mission would fall on the shoulders of Mr. Darby, our commercial attaché . . .”
“Juan,” Secretary of State Cohen said, “I know
how you feel, but I think it would be best if you remained in Buenos Aires. We don’t want to make it appear as if we’re recalling you for consultation.”
And that’s the first time she’s opened her mouth.
“Yes, ma’am,” the ambassador replied.
“Your call, Natalie,” the President said. “Anything else from anybody?” There was a moment’s silence, then the President said, “Thank you, Charley. Thank you, both.”
[EIGHT]
“Schneider.”
“Don Juan for Agent Wiener schnitzel.”
“I don’t think you’re funny, Charley.”
“Why do I suspect no one can overhear this conversation?”
“As a matter of fact, I’m in the restroom.”
“You want me to call you back in a couple of minutes?”
“No. What’s on your mind?”
“Roger and I just escaped from the embassy,” Castillo said. “It’s a circus. Anyway, we’re on Avenida Libertador. Roger is going to drop me at the Kansas, go where you are, pick you up, and bring you to the Kansas.”
“What’s that all about?”
“I want you to see the place, for one thing; and I want to be with you and have a drink, for another; and I thought it would look better if your boyfriend didn’t pick you up at work.”
“Is that what you are, my boyfriend?”
“I was getting that impression, frankly.”
“Okay. You’re sure you don’t want me to spend the night here? Roger could drive me to the hotel—”
“I’m sure I don’t want you to spend the night there.”
I want you to spend it with me, frolicking in the nude.
“Getting back to business,” Betty said, “I may be able to get to her.”
“How so?”
“She’s really nice, and we talked some, and then she asked me if I would do her a personal favor, so I said sure, and then she asked me to find the best private security business in Mississippi—she thought the gambling places along the coast would probably have some good ones—or in New Orleans. She said she wanted the best she could get.”
“I would, too, in her shoes. So what did you tell her?”
The Hostage Page 27
