W. Griffin - The Hostage

"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.