W. Griffin - The Hostage

"Thank you," Castillo said. "I'll see you later, Bradley."

"Yes, sir."

Castillo saw Mrs. Masterson coming down the stairway and hurried forward.

"I'm glad you're here, Mr. Castillo. My father is here, and the less he knows about the threats made, the better. He has a heart condition."

"I understand," Castillo said. "Mrs. Masterson, this is Mr. D'Allessando. Have you ever heard of Delta Force?"

"There was a terrible movie," she said. "You mean there's really something like that?"

"Yes, ma'am, there is. The real Delta Force is made up of the best of Special Forces. They're not much like what you see in the movies, but they are really professional. Mr. D'Allessando has been associated with Delta for a long time, and he's brought twenty-four men here with him to make sure you and your family are all right."

"That's very reassuring," she said. "I'm really pleased to meet you, Mr. D'Allessando."

"I'm really sorry about your husband, ma'am," he said. "That shouldn't have happened."

"Thank you," she said.

Castillo saw a very tall, very slim man in an elegant double-breasted dark suit coming down the stairs.

My God, he looks just like Masterson! The only difference is the white hair and that absolutely immaculate pencil-line mustache.

The man walked up to them and smiled.

"Dad," Betsy Masterson said, "this is Mr. Castillo and Mr. D'Allessando. Gentlemen, my father-in-law, Winslow Masterson."

"How do you do?" Masterson asked, offering his hand. "May I ask which of you is Mr. Castillo?"

"I am, sir."

"I was actually about to go looking for you, sir, when it somewhat belatedly occurred to me that it was likely you were asking for a word with my daughter-in-law."

That accent is not what you expect to hear from a Mississippian, a farmer, or a black Mississippi farmer, or any combination thereof. What the hell is it?

"May I be of some service, sir?" Castillo asked.

"First, let me express my appreciation for everything you have done for my daughter-in-law-"

"Sir, that's absolutely unneces-"

"Pray let me continue, sir."

"Pardon me, sir."

"And then let me inquire of you as a government official-I spoke with Colonel McElroy, who had absolutely no idea what I was talking about-why, in a situation like this, with all the resources of the government presumably at your disposal, you have been unable to make contact with Jean-Paul Lorimer?"

Betsy Masterson and Castillo exchanged glances.

"Sir…" Castillo began.

"Mrs. Masterson's father, Ambassador Lorimer, is quite upset, Mr. Castillo. And if I may say so, understandably so. He has a certain physical condition and should not be under stress."

"Dad-" Betsy Masterson said.

"Please permit Mr. Castillo to answer the question, if he desires to do so."

"Sir, there are problems locating Mr. Lorimer. Mrs. Masterson is aware of them…"

"Indeed?" Masterson asked, and looked at his daughter-in-law.

"I didn't want to get into it with my father listening."

Masterson nodded.

"I'd really like to explain much of this to you, sir," Castillo said, "but this, I suggest, is neither the time nor the place to do so."

"He's right, Dad," Betsy Masterson offered.

"Well, I need to know what's going on as soon as possible," Masterson said. "And at the plantation, your parents will be there, and it would be impossible to exclude them without…" He paused, visibly in thought, then nodded in obvious agreement with what he had thought of.

"Mr. Castillo, it was of course my intention to ask you to stay with us at the plantation."

"I wouldn't want to intrude, sir," Castillo protested.

Masterson dismissed that with a wave of his hand.

"But is there some reason you have to go there immediately after this?" Masterson inquired, gesturing toward the activities in the hangar. "Would my daughter-in-law and the children and of course the Lorimers be safe, in your judgment, if you weren't personally there for an hour or so?"

"Yes, sir, I'm sure they would be. In addition to the state police you already have, Mr. D'Allessando and his men-"

"You're thinking of the Belle Visage," Betsy Masterson said.

"And what do you think of me thinking of the Belle Visage?" Masterson asked.

"That'd do it, Dad," she said. "No one would disturb you there."

"Then it's settled. What we'll do as the cortege heads for the plantation, Mr. Castillo, is go to the Belle Visage. We can have our little talk in private and then go out to the plantation. You can ride with me. How does that sound?"

"Sir, I don't know what the Belle Visage is."

"It's a gambling hell on the coast. There's a place there where we will not be disturbed."

"Whatever you say, sir. But there is one other problem. I have to establish contact with my cousin."

"Your cousin? May I inquire what that's all about?"

"Excuse me," Torine said, "but I just heard the band play 'Hail to the Chief.'"

"Charley, I can handle things until you get to the… plantation," Vic D'Allessando said, as they saw Lieutenant Colonel McElroy walking up to them. "Colonel, you want to come with me or go with Charley?"

"Charley?" Torine asked, seeking guidance.

"I'll see you at the plantation," Castillo said.

"You stay here, my dear," Winslow Masterson said. "I'll go get the children and your parents." He started for the stairs, then stopped and turned. "If you are seen with me, Mr. Castillo, there might be interest that at the moment neither of us wants. Can you get to the Belle Visage by yourself?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, then, I'll see you there," Winslow Masterson said, and started again for the stairs.

Castillo looked at D'Allessando. "You have wheels, Vic?"

"Not to spare, Charley."

"You have the Secret Service guy on your radio?"

D'Allessando nodded.

"Tell him that I need a Yukon here, right now, for I don't know how long."

"You can do that?"

"You can do that and we'll see what happens."

D'Allessando tilted his head slightly.

"You on, Ogilvie?" he said.

Mrs. Masterson looked at him with great curiosity.

"He's got a radio under there," Castillo explained.

"Mr. Castillo wants a Yukon at the Globemaster right now," D'Allessando said. There was a pause. "All he told me was to tell you he wants a Yukon here, now."

D'Allessando straightened up and announced, "On the way, Charley."

"Now tell them to find Fernando Lopez-he's my cousin, he's in the VIP section, and they know it-and bring him here."

D'Allessando bent his head again and repeated the order, and then said, "They'll do it."

Betsy Masterson's eyes met Castillo's.

"My father-in-law is just like Jack, isn't he?"

"Yes, ma'am, I was thinking the same thing."

"I guess it's the genes," she said. [FIVE] Estancia Shangri-La Tacuarembo Province Republica Oriental del Uruguay 2355 25 July 2005 Jean-Paul Bertrand watched the ceremonies taking place at Keesler Air Force Base on CNN.

They are really making a show of it, he thought, with somewhat grudging admiration. And then he thought, That's precisely what it is, a show. Jack gets himself shot, and they're acting as if he were the secretary of state, and all he was was chief of mission in a third-rate embassy.

The President arranged the show for his own agenda.

Jean-Paul got to watch not only Betsy and the kids this time but his father and mother as well. There was a camera long shot of the family walking behind the casket as it was slowly marched off the airplane.

Daddy looks fine, old but fine; not as one would expect of someone who nearly died of a heart attack. Mom must have her hands full with him. Jack's father looks just like Jack. And so does the older boy. What the hell is his name? Do they call him "Junior" or "the Third"?