W. Griffin - The Hostage

"'Well,' the instructor adds, 'as you will see, you'll never hit anything firing that rapidly. Roll back number seven.'

"So they rolled the target back to us and she'd put all fourteen rounds into the bad guy's face.

"The instructor didn't like being duped but couldn't let it go. 'It would seem, Candidate Schneider, that you have had some previous marksmanship experience. If you're trying to make me look foolish or whatever, it won't work.'"

Castillo chuckled.

The door chimes went off. It was the lady from the valet service with Castillo's suit.

"There's a room-service menu in the drawer of that desk," Castillo said, and pointed. "When Roger gets up here, find out what he wants, and then order for everybody. I'm going to get dressed." [TWO] Special Agent Schneider sat across the breakfast table from Major Castillo, which position precluded Major Castillo from surreptitiously holding her hand-or perhaps touching her knee-beneath the table, but did not, he soon learned, prohibit Special Agent Schneider from rubbing the ball of her foot against his calf.

They were almost finished eating when the chimes sounded again.

Roger Markham rushed to the door, and Castillo was wondering what the hell it could be now when he heard a familiar voice: "You're American, right? Maybe a Marine?"

"Yes, sir," Markham replied.

"Go back in there, throw Major Castillo and whoever's with him out of bed, and tell him Colonel Jake Torine, USAF, wishes a moment of his valuable time."

Castillo, laughing, started to get out of his chair. As he did, he saw from Special Agent Schneider's face that she failed to see what was amusing.

Colonel Torine, a tall, somewhat bony man in a sports jacket and slacks, marched into the sitting room and saw the people at the table in the dining alcove.

"Oops!" he said. "Sorry, Charley. I didn't know you had people in here."

"Good morning, sir," Castillo said. "I should have contacted you last night."

"No. It's the other way around. I should have reported to you when we got in last night. Those were my orders, from General Allan Naylor himself. But it was late, and raining like hell, and I figured I'd wait until morning. The defense attache told me where I could find you."

"Great!" Castillo began.

Torine silenced him with an upraised palm and went on: "Then I got here, and the hotel had never heard of you. So I stood there in the lobby for a couple of minutes, wondering why the attache had sent me to the wrong hotel, and then I decided that there are two Four Seasons hotels, and I was in the wrong one, so I went back to the desk and asked the guy where the other one was."

Castillo laughed.

"At that point, I remembered your alter ego, asked for Herr Gossinger, and here I am."

Castillo saw from their faces that Betty had some idea what was going on, and Jack Britton and Roger Markham none at all.

"Guys, I sometimes use the name Gossinger when I'm working," he explained. "That's how I'm registered here."

Britton, who had worked deep undercover for years as Ali Abid Ar-Raziq, nodded his understanding. Roger Markham's face registered what could have been awe.

My God, he's a real intel operator with a phony ID and all!

"Colonel," Castillo said, "remember when the Philadelphia cops turned up the intel that the guy who owned our 727 had sold another one to Costa Rica?"

"Oh, yeah."

"There they are," Charley said.

"No," Britton said. "There she is. Betty put that together. I had nothing to do with it."

"Betty Schneider and Jack Britton, now of the Secret Service," Castillo went on. "This is Colonel Jake Torine, who flew the 727 home from Costa Rica."

They shook hands.

"No, I haven't had breakfast, and yes, thank you, I could eat a bite," Torine said.

"I don't know how warm it still is," Castillo said, liftinga stainless-steel dome and revealing a pile of still-steaming scrambled eggs.

"Warm enough," Torine said and sat down.

He started spooning eggs onto a plate.

"So what's going on, Charley?" Torine asked.

Castillo handed him the Buenos Aires Herald.

"This is what's been given out," he said. "Most of it's pretty accurate. I'll fill you in on what's not."

Torine took the newspaper and started to read. Shaking his head as he swallowed his last bite of breakfast, Torine handed the Herald back to Castillo.

"There's an editorial, too," Castillo said. "Headlined THE NATION IS SHAMED."

"Should they be?" Torine asked.

"Embarrassed, sure," Castillo said. "A diplomat's wife is kidnapped and then the diplomat gets blown away. That's not supposed to happen in a civilized nation. This isn't the Congo. But 'shamed' is a little strong. And God knows, they got their act in high gear the minute this happened to find out who did it.

"What we think happened is that Mrs. Masterson's kidnappers got in touch with him, set up a meeting, and he sneaked out of his house and went to meet them. And got himself blown away."

"Weren't they watching the house?" Torine asked, incredulously.

"They had cops and SIDE agents-you know what SIDE is?"

Torine nodded.

"So, not only cops and SIDE agents all over the place, but sitting in a car in front of his house at two in the morning when Masterson sneaked out was a CIA spook named Paul Sieno and Colonel Alfredo Munz, the head of SIDE."

"You think Masterson went to pay the ransom and something went wrong?"

"I just don't know. All I know is that Alex Darby, the station chief, Sieno-good guy, I knew him in Afghanistan; his cover is commercial attache and Alex says he's his best man-and Munz did the best they know how to make sure something like this didn't happen. And it did. I should throw in that Masterson was Darby's best friend."

"Jesus, what the hell is this all about?"

"I wish to hell I knew," Castillo said. "And one more thing, Colonel: These bastards have something on Mrs. Masterson-maybe a threat to kill the kids, maybe something else-that's got her terrified."

"That's understandable, isn't it?"

"Surrounded by the embassy's security people, plus the CIA, the Secret Service, and SIDE, you'd think she'd feel protected enough to at least come up with a description of who grabbed her," Castillo said. "If we are to believe her, and I don't, she doesn't remember anything. That's one of the reasons I had them send Betty down here"-one of them, anyway-"to see if she can get close to her and come up with something."

Special Agent Schneider's mind apparently ran on a parallel path with one of them, anyway. Castillo felt the ball of her foot on his calf again, and when he looked at her, there was a hint of a smile on her lips and a naughty look in her eyes.

"The one question in my mind, ever since I heard about this, was whether it is terrorist-connected," Torine said.

"If it had just been assassinating Masterson, maybe. But if terrorists did it, they would have been boasting about it an hour after it happened. And I don't think they would have passed up the opportunity to kill Mrs. Masterson when they had the chance."

Torine nodded his understanding.

"So what happens now?" he asked.

"We get her and the children out of Argentina just as soon as we can get her on your airplane. Have you got approach charts for Keesler Air Force Base?"

"Of course. Why Keesler?"

"Mrs. Masterson wants him buried in Mississippi. That's where he's from. The Mississippi Gulf Coast."

"General Naylor told me the President wants Mr. Masterson buried in Arlington."

"It's her call, isn't it?"

"Obviously. When do you think she'll be ready to leave?"

"I think-think, don't know-that they're going to release her from the hospital this morning. If I had my way, she'd go directly from the hospital to the airport. But I doubt that's going to happen. Maybe late tonight, which would put us into Keesler in the morning. But probably sometime tomorrow."