Herb and Bob were in Washington to attend the annual convention of the National Association of Wholesale Hardware Dealers. Both were in that business in Missouri, Herb in St. Louis and Bob in Kansas City. They had been pals since their days at the University of Missouri, where Bob married Kate the day after they graduated. Herb had married his Delores some years later.
They were staying at the Mayflower because of Delores. Someone had told her that the best place in Washington to see the big shots was in the lobby of the Mayflower, and Delores generally got what she wanted. She was far more interested in seeing the big shots up close than she was in seeing a bunch of old airplanes at the National Aerospace Museum, which was high on Herb and Bob’s agenda for their free time while in the nation’s capital.
They didn’t have to wait long to learn that what Delores had been told was true.
“Look!” Delores whispered loudly as a group of ten men came down the lobby to the elevator bank. “There’s Whatsisname!”
“Who?” Herb asked in a normal voice.
“The guy we see on Wolf News all the time,” Delores said impatiently.
“Roger Danton,” Kate furnished.
“Roscoe Danton,” Bob corrected her. “And there’s the President’s press secretary.”
“Ex-press secretary,” Herb said. “He got canned last week.”
“That’s right, isn’t it? What did he do?”
Bob shrugged. “Or didn’t do. It sounded like incompetence.”
“Well, I will be damned,” Herb said. “That was them, sure as Christ made little apples.”
“I wonder who the other ones are,” Delores said as the men disappeared into an elevator.
Bob and Herb shrugged.
“I wonder what they’re doing here?” Delores went on.
“They probably came to see Monica Lewinsky,” Herb said with a straight face.
“That’s right!” Delores said. “This is that place, isn’t it?”
“That’s how they get away with charging so much for the rooms,” Herb said.
What happened next, three minutes later, was even more exciting.
Four large and muscular men strode purposefully into the lobby, looked around suspiciously-including at Herb, Bob, Kate, and Delores-and then took up positions along the corridor. One of them stood in the door of an elevator so that the door would remain open.
Then another five men entered the lobby from the street and headed for the elevators, two in front of and two behind the Vice President of the United States. They all got in the open elevator.
“I will be damned,” Herb said. “Vice President Montvale.”
“He probably wants to see ol’ Monica, too,” Bob said, grinning at his own joke.
“Will you stop that?” Delores said. “That’s the Vice President.”
And the parade of bigwigs was not over.
Four people-two of them women-strode purposefully into the lobby and did just about what the members of the Vice President’s protection detail had done.
After looking carefully at Delores, Kate, Bob, and Herb, the men and one of the women took up positions in the lobby, beside the protection detail men already there. The second woman stood in an elevator door and kept it from closing.
Next, five people marched into the lobby, two men and two women surrounding a third, much smaller woman. They marched to the elevator and got on.
“My God, that was the secretary of State!” Kate said. “What’s her name?”
“Something Cohen,” Bob furnished, and then added, “Natalie Cohen. That’s her name, Natalie Cohen.”
“I’d really love to know what’s going on up there,” Delores said.
TWO
Suite 1002 The Mayflower Hotel 1127 Connecticut Avenue, N.W. Washington, D.C. 1010 15 April 2007
Suite 1002-which consisted of a sitting room, two bedrooms, and a small kitchen-was registered to Herr Karl Wilhelm von und zu Gossinger, the Washington correspondent of the Tages Zeitung newspaper chain, and billed on a monthly basis to Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H., of Fulda, Germany, which owned the Tages Zeitung chain and a good deal more.
When Herr Gossinger-who was also known as Carlos Guillermo Castillo, Lieutenant Colonel, Special Forces, U.S. Army, Retired-had called the general manager of the Mayflower the day before to announce that he not only would be checking in later that day but would require in-room late-afternoon cocktails with finger food for probably fifteen or twenty people, and possibly in-room dinner for that many people later, the GM had told Herr von und zu Gossinger not to worry, that he personally would take care of everything.
When Castillo, Lester Bradley, and Major Dick Miller arrived at about 1700, they found that the general manager-who appreciated guests who not only did not question prices but also paid promptly-had obligingly made the suite adjacent to 1002 available. The suites were identical. Hotel staff had opened the double door between the two suites and converted the sitting room of 1004 into a dining room with bar.
When the door chimes bonged, Castillo pulled the door open.
A large, middle-aged Irishman stood there.
“You’re welcome here, Tom, even if I suspect you’re here officially,” Castillo greeted him. “Come on in. You want some coffee?”
“The Vice President’s sixty seconds behind me, Charley,” Supervisory Secret Service Special Agent Thomas McGuire, chief of the Vice Presidential Protection Detail, said.
“Why do I suspect I’m not going to like what he wants to tell me?” Castillo asked.
McGuire did not reply directly, instead saying: “When we heard you were in Washington, we went to the house in Alexandria. They told us you were here.”
“Did you ask personally, Tom? Or in your official capacity?”
McGuire looked uncomfortable.
“Charley, I work for him,” he said.
“Yeah, I heard.”
The chime bonged again.
Castillo gestured for McGuire to open the door, and he did so.
The Vice President of the United States walked into the room and looked around. He saw Roscoe J. Danton, John David Parker, Lester Bradley, Colonel Jake Torine, Major Richard Miller, and CWO5 Colin Leverette, all of whom he knew, and in the sitting room and dining room maybe ten more men he didn’t know. No one was wearing a uniform, but Montvale correctly intuited they were all soldiers.
What the hell did Castillo do, Montvale thought, bring half of Gray Fox up here?
“Now that I think of it, Mr. Vice President,” Castillo said, “I do seem to recall telling you that if you were in the neighborhood anytime, you should feel free to drop in. So welcome, welcome!”
“What the hell is going on here, Castillo?”
“Actually, we’re getting ready to go to the interment of a friend. You may have heard. .”
“What I would like to know is how you heard. Did that goddamn McNab tell you?”
“I have not had any contact with General McNab-to whom I presume you refer-for some time, now. You can ask him yourself; I presume he’ll be at Arlington.”
“Then how the hell-”
The chime bonged again.
“I wonder who else might be calling?” Castillo said. “Mr. McGuire, if you’d be so kind?”
McGuire opened the door. The secretary of State stood there.
“May I come in?” Natalie Cohen asked.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s always a pleasure to see you,” Castillo said.
She took a quick look around the room and smiled at the few people she knew.
“Let me get right to the point, Charley,” she said. “You’re not thinking of going out to Arlington, are you?”
“I’m going,” Castillo said, and gestured around the suite. “We’re all going.”
“That wouldn’t be a wise thing to do, Charley,” she said. “Have you considered that?”
“Are you and Vice President Montvale here to try to talk me out of going to my friend Mr. Salazar’s interment?”