W. Griffin - The Hostage

"She and Jack Britton are on a Gulfstream Five, which left here at eleven-oh-five local time. They make about four hundred sixty knots, and it's about fifty-two hundred miles from here to there, so you figure it out."

Without asking permission, Castillo snatched a pencil from a mug on Silvio's desk. Silvio quickly handed him a yellow lined pad.

"The call sign is Air Force Zero-Four-Seven-Seven. They're bound for an airport called Jorge Newbery, which I presume is somewhere near Buenos Aires. Also on the plane are six somewhat annoyed FBI agents, pissed not only because they were told to report to you-as Secret Service, not Presidential Hotshot-but because two of their number got bumped because Schneider and Britton got on."

"Jorge Newbery is the downtown airport in Buenos Aires."

"The C-17-tail number Air Force Zero-Three-Eight-One-left Charleston Air Force Base, South Carolina, an hour earlier, but it's going to-probably already has-made a stop at Hurlburt, where it picked up a dozen Air Commandos ready to go to war, and a ten-man spit-and-polish detail from the Old Guard under a lieutenant for the burial party, who were conveniently in Florida burying some retired general."

"Jesus."

"I think you can guess where that order originated," Isaacson added. "Anyway, the C-17 will be landing at an airfield called Ezeiza-"

"That's the main international field."

"I guess they couldn't get that big airplane into the little airport."

"You can sit a Globemaster down in your backyard, Joel."

"No kidding. Well, for some reason, that's where it's going. And it will take however long after it leaves Hurlburt to go forty-two hundred nautical miles at four hundred fifty knots."

Castillo scribbled down those numbers.

"Okay. Got it. Now I need something from you."

"Shoot."

"The widow's brother, Jean-Paul Lorimer, works for the UN in Paris. The ambassador has been trying for forty-five minutes to get him on the phone without any luck. Have we got anybody in Paris who can help?"

"I'll get right on it."

"Call the embassy here and leave the numbers and address with the ambassador's secretary."

"Done. You got anything else you want me to tell the boss?"

"I put Tony Santini in charge of the Mastersons' security. She came out of the drug they gave her all right, but they're keeping her in the hospital overnight. I don't know when she'll want to leave here, but when she does, she wants to go to Keesler Air Force Base in Mississippi, near where he lived."

"She wants to bury him there?"

"Apparently."

"I know the President was thinking of Arlington…"

"I think she wants the family plot in Mississippi, Joel."

"That's going to pose a little problem. I also know the President wants Walter Reed to do the autopsy."

"The Argentines are already doing the autopsy. And they're going to prosecute these bastards, presuming we can catch them, in Argentine courts."

"Who decided that?"

"I did," Charley said. He met Silvio's eyes, and added, "The ambassador concurs."

"I think that may cause more than a little pique at the highest level, Charley."

"There was considerable doubt that we could extradite the doers. And the crime occurred here. And it's a done deed. The ambassador has already told the Foreign Ministry."

"I think the boss will more than likely want to talk to you about that, Charley. Or maybe his boss will."

"I thought that might happen."

"We'll be in touch, Charley. Watch your back."

Castillo pushed the disconnect button, and then did the calculation of the arrival times.

"Both planes will probably arrive here between eleven and midnight tonight," he announced to Ambassador Silvio, "the Gulfstream to Jorge Newbery, and the C-17 at Ezeiza. There's an honor guard from the Third Infantry Regiment-'the Old Guard'-on the Globemaster, plus a detail of Air Commandos."

"As a suggestion, if you want to meet your agents and the FBI, I can have the defense attache meet the transport."

"Thank you."

"He'll have to arrange transportation for them, and a place to live. I think the best thing to do with the military personnel is move them in with the Marines. And you told that FBI agent Yung to arrange to take care of the FBI. What about your agents?"

"I'll take care of them. But I am going to need wheels. Can I rent cars for them?"

"You could, but the rentals here are generally small and not always reliable. And they don't have radios. I'll have Ken Lowery deal with it. How many are you going to need?"

"If I can keep the one I have, one more. I really don't need a driver."

"You never know," the ambassador said. "I'll tell Ken to get you another car and a driver. Tonight?"

"First thing in the morning."

"And what are you going to do now?"

"Sir?"

"What are your immediate plans? For the next forty-five minutes or an hour?"

"I don't have any, sir. I thought I might go have a look at the Masterson house."

"Have you had breakfast?"

"No, sir."

"Neither have I, and it's now after three. Fortunately, right around the corner from here is a restaurant-the Rio Alba-that serves what I believe are the finest steaks in the world. Why don't we go have one while we wait to hear from your friend in the Secret Service?"

"I think that's a splendid idea, sir."

[ONE] The Four Seasons Hotel Cerrito 1433 Buenos Aires, Argentina 2105 23 July 2005 The Marine guard-who Castillo had learned was Staff Sergeant Roger Markham, twenty years old, of Des Moines, Iowa, who had been a seventeen-year-old fresh from Parris Island when he had been on the Marine March to Baghdad before being assigned to the Marine Embassy Guard battalion-pulled the embassy BMW 545i to a smooth stop in front of the Four Seasons and started to open his door.

Castillo caught his arm.

"If you try to rush around and open my door, Roger, I swear to God you'll regret it."

Markham looked at him sheepishly.

"It's now a little after nine," Castillo said. "The plane's due at eleven-thirty, give or take, which means we should leave here around eleven. What are your plans for those two hours?"

"Wait."

"Here?"

"Right here."

"Can you leave the car here?"

"Dip plates. I can leave it anywhere."

"What you are going to do, Roger, is park it. The driveway is right there." Castillo pointed to the entrance of the hotel's basement garage. "And then you're going to come to my room, where we will try to get a little shut-eye."

"Whatever you say, s-"

"There you go again," Castillo said. "What do they do to you at Parris Island, give you fifty push-ups every time you to forget to say 'sir'?"

"Fifty, sometimes a hundred. Sorry."

"Not really a problem, but try, huh?"

Markham nodded.

"Go park the car," Castillo said, and got out.

As he walked through the lobby Castillo remembered that he had not gotten rooms for Betty Schneider and Jack Britton.

That proved to be more of a problem than he anticipated.

The house was nearly full, the assistant manager on duty told him. After ten minutes of consulting the computer, it was decided that Herr Gossinger would move from his suite-1550-into 1500. Fifteen hundred was far grander than Castillo needed, and consequently far more expensive.

He toyed with the idea of putting Betty into 1500, but decided against it.

She would almost certainly decide that I was plying her with luxurious accommodation as part of my wicked and devious plan to get into her pants.

If I thought that would work, I'd rent the whole goddamn floor.

Vacating 1550 made it available to someone else, and somehow that freed up 1510 and 1518, both very nice single rooms with views of Avenida 9 Julio and the port. Both were equipped with two queen-sized beds. Castillo asked the assistant manager which was farthest from 1500 and was told 1518.