W. Griffin - The Hostage

"Yes, sir."

"And that last night, the bad guys-presumably the same ones-murdered a Marine sergeant and seriously wounded a Secret Service agent?"

"Yes, sir."

"Under those circumstances, Lieutenant, don't you think it behooved you to acquire enough ammunition for your men so that they could at least defend themselves?"

The lieutenant didn't reply.

"And possibly even be in a position to contribute to the defense of Mrs. Masterson and her children should that situation arise?"

The lieutenant colored but did not reply.

"To answer the unspoken question in your eyes, Lieutenant-to wit, 'Who the fuck is this civilian questioning the behavior of a professional officer such as myself?'-I'm Major C. G. Castillo, U.S. Army, charged with the security of this operation."

"Permission to speak, sir?"

"Granted."

"Sir, I have been taking my direction from the defense attache."

"And?"

"Sir, I can only presume that if he wanted my men to have live ammunition, he would have issued live ammunition."

"Lieutenant, I was a Boy Scout. Therefore, even before I was told by my tactical officer at that school on the Hudson River of which we are both graduates that the second great commandment for any officer-right after Take Care of Your Men-is that he be prepared for the unexpected, I knew that Be Prepared is a commendable philosophy to follow. Since you were apparently asleep when your tac officer tried to impart that philosophy to you, I suggest you write it down so you won't forget it."

"Yes, sir."

Castillo heard the door to the alcove open, and turned.

Ambassador Silvio and Alex Darby came through the door.

Jesus! Castillo suddenly thought. What was that all about?

Why did I jump all over that guy?

Not that he didn't deserve it.

Because you're angry with the world, and want to vent it on somebody and he was there.

But it wasn't smart.

"Good morning, sir," Castillo said. "Alex."

"The Mastersons are three minutes out," the ambassador said. "We just got a call from Mr. Santini."

"Yes, sir."

"What I would like to do," Silvio went on, "if it's all right with you, is stay behind when the Mastersons go to Ezeiza, then go out there with the casket."

"Anything you want to do, sir, is fine with me."

"Tony needs to know, Charley, if you're going to go out there with the Mastersons," Darby said.

"Tony has more experience than I do," Castillo said. "I don't want to get in his way."

"Then I'll go with the family," Darby said, "my wife and I will."

"Fine. And I'll go out there with the ambassador."

"Okay," the ambassador said. "Let's go find our seats, Alex."

A moment after they had left, Castillo decided he should be outside when the Mastersons arrived, and walked out of the alcove. Corporal Lester Bradley followed on his heels.

They found themselves standing alone in the narrow street outside the church.

I wonder where the hell the gendarmes are?

Then he saw. There were gendarmes at either end of the street. Some were blocking the street where it entered Plaza de Mayo. At the other end, a gendarme was making policeman-like traffic-control gestures, and a moment later a Peugeot sedan started backing into the street. An embassy BMW followed, then a GMC Yukon XL.

"I guess they're backing the convoy in so they can get out quick," Lester said.

"My thoughts exactly, Corporal Bradley."

"Permission to speak, sir?"

"Granted."

"You really ate that lieutenant a new asshole, didn't you, sir?" Bradley said, admiringly.

"You weren't supposed to hear that, Corporal."

"Hear what, sir?"

Castillo smiled at him and shook his head.

Bradley pointed up the street.

Tony Santini and two other Americans whose faces Castillo recognized but whose names he didn't know were walking quickly down the street to them. Both were wearing topcoats Castillo knew concealed submachine guns.

"How's Schneider?" Santini greeted him.

"Awake and hurting. She was really unhappy that she didn't hit one of the bastards with the one shot she got off. Britton and a DEA agent named Ricardo Solez are with her."

"You checked inside?" Santini asked, nodding toward the cathedral.

Two embassy Yukons had now backed down the street to where they were standing. One of them discharged six Americans, three armed with M-16 rifles, two with Uzi submachine guns, and one with a Madsen. Santini motioned one of the men with an Uzi to them, and then looked at Castillo.

"You checked inside?" he repeated.

Castillo nodded. "Argentine VIPs, but neither the President nor the foreign minister is across the aisle."

"They probably want to come in last, for the show," Santini said.

"The ambassador and Darby and wives are here," Castillo went on. "Darby and his wife want to go to Ezeiza with you and the Mastersons. The ambassador wants to go with the casket."

"And you?"

"I thought that's what I'd do."

Santini nodded. "Scenario," he said, "Masterson family convoy leaves. We head for Ezeiza via Avenida 9 Julio and the autopista. As soon as the street is clear, the ambassador's car, the embassy Yukons-three, one for the casket, two for the honor guard-plus a bus for the Argentine soldiers, back in here with the SIDE tail vehicles. Mass is over, honor guard moves casket to Yukons, that convoy takes same route to Ezeiza. Okay with you?"

"Fine."

"Where's your car?"

"Around the corner," Castillo said, gesturing. "With two SIDE cars."

"I'd say go with the ambassador, but these SIDE people are not going to like it if they're not in the parade. Your call."

"I'd say screw them, but they're liable to insist and cause trouble."

"I agree. I'll have your car and theirs lined up back there," Santini said, pointing to the rear of the cathedral. "When the SIDE and embassy lead cars pull out of the street, the ambassador's car will get in the line, and then after the Yukon with the casket passes, you'll get in the line with your SIDE cars, then everybody else. Okay?"

"Tony, you know what you're doing. We'll do whatever you think we should."

Santini nodded, then turned to the man with the Uzi. "You heard that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Set it up."

"Yes, sir."

Santini raised his voice for the benefit of those out of earshot: "I'm going to check inside. If everything looks all right, we take the Mastersons in."

"You want me to go inside with you?" Castillo asked.

"Your call, Charley."

"I'll follow the Mastersons in," Castillo said.

Santini nodded and entered the cathedral. Ninety seconds later, he came out again.

"Okay, we move them!" he ordered, and walked quickly to the closest Yukon and opened the rear side door.

A very tall slim girl of thirteen or so got out first. Santini smiled at her, then showed her the door to the cathedral. Then a ten-year-old boy got out and followed his sister into the cathedral, and then Mrs. Masterson climbed down from the Yukon. She looked at Castillo, and then turned back to the truck.

"Just climb over the seat, Jim," she ordered, and then a six-year-old appeared in the open door.

Mrs. Masterson put her arm around his shoulders and led him toward the door in the cathedral wall.

As she passed Castillo, she said: "I can't tell you how sorry I am about Betty and the Marine."

Castillo didn't reply.

The only difference between the Masterson kids and Pevsner's kids is the color of their skin. Same sexes, same ages, same intelligent eyes.

Wrong. There's one more difference: Some sonofabitch shot the Masterson kids' daddy.

Castillo followed Mrs. Masterson and the six-year-old into the cathedral.

The President of the Republic of Argentina, whose face Castillo recognized, was now sitting across the nave of the cathedral with another man and two women, who Castillo guessed were the foreign minister and the appropriate wives. Colonel Gellini stood behind the President.