W. Griffin - The Hostage

"And, with one exception, until this outrage occurred, their lives were going as well as my wife and I, and Ambassador and Mrs. Lorimer, could have wished. That exception was the unpleasantness that developed between Jack and Jean-Paul Lorimer."

Castillo, about to take a sip of his drink, stopped. "Over what?" he asked.

"At first, we thought it was differing political views, but on second thought, we realized that it almost certainly was more than that. It went back to their days at Saint Stanislaus, and had other causes." Masterson paused. "What I'm doing is what my wife would call 'airing the dirty family linen.' But you said 'anything at all.' Should I continue?"

"Yes, sir, please," Castillo said.

"Shortly after Jack joined the foreign service, he was posted to Paris. My wife and I went to see them. They had an apartment on the Quai Anatole France… Do you know Paris, Mr. Castillo?"

"Yes, sir."

"I can find my way from the Arch of Triumph to the Place de la Concorde without a guide," Fernando said.

"Facing the River Seine from the Place de la Concorde," Masterson said, "just across the river is a row of apartment buildings on the Quai Anatole France. Do you know where I mean?"

"Yes, sir," Fernando said.

"The high-rent district," Castillo said.

Masterson nodded. "And Jack and Betsy-who was very pregnant-were ensconced in an upper-floor apartment in one of the more expensive buildings on the Quai Anatole France. He was so junior in the foreign service that government quarters were not made available to him; they paid a rental allowance instead, and you were supposed to find yourself someplace to live.

"What Jack and Betsy found was a lovely apartment, from which one could see the Bateaux-Mouches on the Seine, the Place de la Concorde… and it was priced accordingly.

"I questioned Jack about the wisdom of his flaunting his affluence. His response was that everyone knew of that incredible settlement he'd been given, and that it would be hypocrisy to pretend they were not extremely well-off. Later in his career he became more discreet.

"In any event, he and Betsy gave a party for us. Jean-Paul Lorimer was also in Paris. He had resigned from the State Department some months before-later I learned that was shortly after he learned Jack would be sent to Paris-and joined the UN. When my wife learned that he had not been invited to the party becausehe and Jack had had words, my wife prevailed upon Betsy to include him.

"I don't think Jean-Paul had been in the apartment ten minutes before he said something that Jack construed as anti-American. It quickly became ugly, very ugly. Betsy was in tears. Cutting that short, Jack threw him-literally threw him-out of the apartment. As far as I know, that's the last time they ever saw one another.

"At first we thought it was a question of their political differences-Jack's mother always said that Jack was more chauvinistically patriotic than Patrick Henry-but on reflection, we realized that it went back as far as Saint Stanislaus."

"I don't think I follow you, sir," Castillo said.

"The green-eyed monster, Mr. Castillo. Jealousy," Masterson said. "Jean-Paul is three years older than Jack. Saint Stanislaus's football team leaves something to be desired, but they have always had a first-rate basketball team. Jean-Paul didn't earn a place on the team until he was a senior. Jack made it as a ninth-grader. They played together, in other words. Jack immediately became the star. The Celtics-and others-made their first offers to him when he was still at Saint Stanislaus, and they were not doing so as their contribution to affirmative action.

"And then came the scholarship to Notre Dame. Jean-Paul went to Spring Hill, where he didn't attempt varsity sports, and where his academic career was unspectacular. Jack's skill on the basketball court, on the other hand, gave a new meaning to the term 'Black Irish,' and academically he did well enough to earn a Phi Beta Kappa key.

"Then came his contract for all that money from the Celtics, and shortly thereafter he was struck by the beer truck. The enormous settlement he received from that exacerbated, my wife and I came to realize, the resentment Jean-Paul-but not, I hasten to add, his father and mother-harbored for our being far better off than the Lorimers.

"Jean-Paul followed his father into the foreign service. His initial assignment was to Liberia. When Jack went into the foreign service, his first assignment was Paris. I later learned that he believed I had something to do with that. I did not, if I have to say so.

"Jean-Paul resigned from the foreign service and joined the United Nations and was assigned to Paris. Where he found Jack and Betsy in the apartment on the Quai Anatole France."

"Wow!" Castillo said.

"That said, Mr. Castillo," Masterson went on, "I cannot believe that Jean-Paul could possibly have anything to do with Jack's murder. Nor can I imagine Jean-Paul being involved in anything illegal. He is one of those people who go through life trying to bend the rules to their advantage, but who simply don't have the courage, if that's the word, to break them."

"Maybe drugs are involved?" Fernando said. "That's a murderous business."

"I find that impossible to accept, even as a remote possibility, Mr. Lopez," Masterson said. "Might it have something to do with our involvement in Iraq?"

"I don't think that's likely, sir," Castillo said.

"Giving my imagination free rein," Masterson asked, "could it be that Jean-Paul has somehow annoyed the Israelis? Their intelligence agency… Mossad? Something like that?"

"Mossad," Castillo confirmed. "Formally, the Institute for Intelligence and Special Tasks."

"Mossad has a certain reputation for ruthlessness," Masterson finished.

"Maybe," Castillo blurted. He collected his thoughts. "All the shooters-of Mr. Masterson, Sergeant Markham, and Special Agent Schneider-were firing Israeli-manufactured nine-millimeter ammunition."

He heard himself. Jesus, motormouth, why did you say that?

"I shouldn't have said that," he said quickly. "My brain isn't functioning. All that proves is that Israel manufactures a lot of ammunition. It's unlikely that Mossad Special Task shooters would use traceable ammunition on a job like this."

"Probably not," Masterson agreed. "But now that I think about it, I don't think that Israeli involvement in this should be dismissed out of hand."

"On the other hand," Castillo went on thoughtfully, "since so much Israeli ammo is around, so readily available, maybe Mossad would use it. Why not?"

"Which appears to point right back to Jean-Paul Lorimer and his connections with the French," Masterson said, "as the key to this."

"Yes, sir, it looks that way. With a little bit of luck, I should be in Paris before our embassy closes tomorrow. Not that the embassy being closed matters. The CIA station chief will just have to give up his cinq a sept."

Masterson chuckled. "You have been in Paris, haven't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"What the hell is a sank… whatever you said?" Fernando asked.

"You could call it 'recreation on the way home from the office,'" Castillo said, and Masterson chuckled again. "It means five to seven. Something like a noonie in the United States."

Fernando shook his head. Masterson chuckled again.

"How well did you know my son, Mr. Castillo?"

"Not well," Castillo said. "But I liked what I saw."

"And that explains your enthusiasm to find these people?"

"That's part of it, sir. The other part is personal. I also really want to find the people who shot Special Agent Schneider and Sergeant Markham."

"Do you think the rest of the government is going to share your enthusiasm? Or will this just fade into memory?"

"I can't speak to enthusiasm, sir, but I expect cooperation."