W. Griffin - By Order of the President

Jesus Christ, Naylor thought, how fucking dumb can one major be?

"Yes, ma'am, I am."

"And how did this come to your attention?" she asked.

"Ma'am, I'm stationed in Germany. In Fulda. The boy's mother went to my wife, and my commanding officer's wife:"

"Major Naylor is referring to Colonel Frederick Lustrous, Dona Alicia," General Stevens said. "I know him well. He's a very fine officer."

"I see," Dona Alicia said. "You were saying, Major?"

"Frau Gossinger:"

"Being the child's mother?" Dona Alicia interrupted.

"Yes, ma'am. The women are friends. And Colonel Lustrous and Frau Gossinger's late father were friends."

"And therefore you believe this: Frau Gossinger?"

"Yes, ma'am. And we know that the boy and Mr. Castillo: your late son: have the same blood type."

"I don't think that's conclusive proof of paternity, is it?"

"No, ma'am, it is not," Naylor admitted.

"This: would have had to be more than a dozen years ago?"

"Yes, ma'am. The boy is twelve."

"Do you have any idea why she brought this up now? Twelve years after the fact?"

"She is terminally ill, Mrs. Castillo," Naylor said.

"I don't suppose you would have a photograph of the child, would you?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do," Naylor said, and took several photographs from the breast pocket of his tunic.

"His name is Karl," Naylor said. "He's a really bright kid."

Dona Alicia stared at the first photograph for a long moment and then laid it down and stared at the second and then laid that down and stared at the third.

"Blond," she said. "And so fair-skinned."

"Yes, ma'am," Naylor said.

"Would you think me rude if I asked you gentlemen to wait outside for a few minutes?" Dona Alicia asked. "Grace will get you coffee. I think I should talk to my husband about this."

"Yes, of course," General Stevens and Major Naylor said, almost in unison.

They left the office and sat beside one another on a couch in the outer office. General Stevens looked at Major Naylor and raised his eyebrows.

"I don't think that went as well as it could have gone," Stevens said.

[NINE]

Room 714

The Plaza Hotel

New York City, Mew York

0955 12 March 1981

"Who the hell can that be?" Juan Fernando Castillo inquired almost angrily when the telephone rang, although there was no one else in the three-room suite.

He was a tall, heavyset man with a full head of dark hair. He was dressed in white Jockey shorts and a hotel-furnished terry cloth bathrobe. He had not knotted the cord, and his chest, covered with thick hair, was visible.

He laid The Wall Street Journal down on the room service table and tried to push back the chair he had just pulled up to it. It hung up on the carpet and fell over. In stepping over it, he bumped into the room service table, knocking over his freshly squeezed grapefruit juice, which, for some reason known only to God, the goddamned hotel served in a stemmed glass.

He walked to the telephone.

"What is it?" he snarled into it.

"Did I wake you, Fernando? It sounds as if I did."

"Actually, I was having my breakfast," he said. "Is something wrong, love of my life?"

"No, I would say quite the opposite."

"Then why did you call at this hour?"

"Because I really wanted to catch you before you left the hotel."

"What's up, Alicia?"

"I just found out we're grandparents."

"Funny, I seem to recall having five grandchildren," he said, then thought: Four granddaughters and one grandson, out of three daughters. He has my Christian name, but his surname is Lopez. The Castillo name dies with me.

"Now there are six. He is an absolutely beautiful boy of twelve."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"It seems Jorge had a child, or started one, when he was in Germany."

Oh, my God!

"Start at the beginning, Alicia, please."

"You don't sound very thrilled."

"I would be thrilled if I believed it. Start at the beginning, Alicia."

"General Stevens came to the office just now," she said. "With him, he had a major who is stationed in Germany. He said that the major was his godson, that he and the major's father had been at West Point together."

What the hell has this to do with Jorge having a child?

"And?"

"The major-his name is Naylor-said that the boy's mother went to his wife and told her and some colonel's wife-they're friends-about the boy."

Oh, Sweet Jesus, please, Alicia doesn't need this!

When Jorge-their baby and their only son-had died, Juan Fernando Castillo had to seriously consider getting institutional care for his wife. It hadn't gotten that far, but she had been clinically depressed for more than a year, and she still had trouble at least twice a year, on Jorge's birthday and on the date of his death.

"Sweetheart, Jorge: left us: twelve years ago," he said.

"I know. I told you, the boy is twelve."

"What does General Stevens want us to do about this? Alicia, how does he know, how can we know, that the child is Jorge's?"

"Fernando, when I looked at the boy's picture-his name is Karl-Jorge's eyes looked back at me."

That's hardly proof of paternity.

Oh, sweetheart, I am so sorry. How could that goddamned General Stevens do this to you? What was the sonofabitch thinking?

"And what does General Stevens want us to do about this child?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, does he want us to provide support? What?"

"He didn't say anything about support. But if he's Jorge's son, our grandson, of course we'll support him. What a question!"

Oh, shit!

"Sweetheart, listen to me. If this is true:"

"Of course it's true!"

"We don't know that, sweetheart. Wishing it so doesn't make it so."

"He has Jorge's eyes," she said.

Screw his eyes.

"What I'm asking you to do, sweetheart, is just take it easy right now. I'll be home tomorrow and then we can talk about it. I'll have a word with General Stevens, get all the facts:"

"I'm telling you, Fernando, this is Jorge's child."

"If it is, no one would be happier than I would. But we don't know that, sweetheart. We have to be very careful in a situation like this."

"Now I'm becoming sorry that I called you," she said.

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning I'm sorry I called you," she said. "You re ruining this for me, Fernando. Sometimes you have a heart of ice."

"Honey, come on. I'm thinking of you. Listen to me. I can probably catch a plane later today. When I get home, we can talk about it."

She didn't reply.

"Sweetheart, will you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Ask General Stevens if he can come to the office-or if we can go to his-first thing tomorrow morning."

The Citibank meeting will just have to wait. I simply can't let her go off the deep end again.

Why the hell didn't I bring the goddamned Lear? Because it's throwing money down the goddamned toilet to use it to carry one man in a six-passenger airplane.

I wonder if I can charter one?

Slow down, for Christ's sake. Nobody's at death's door. I'll be there later today; that's soon enough.

"If you like," she said, coldly.

"I don't know what flight I can catch, sweetheart. But I'll be on the first plane to Dallas I can catch this afternoon. And I'll have the Lear sent to Dallas to meet me. All right?"

"Do whatever you want," Alicia said.

"And in the meantime, please don't do anything, or say anything, you might regret later."

For an answer, she hung up on him.

Juan Fernando Castillo calmly put the telephone back in its cradle.

Then he looked up at the ceiling. Then he raised his spread arms above his shoulders.

"Jesus Christ, God!" he cried. "Don't do this to her! She has suffered enough."

[TEN]

Passenger Lounge