"Thanks," Castillo said to Torine.
The President looked at his watch.
"Well, we're out of time. I've got to change my shirt. While I'm doing that, you can finish your shopping list."
He walked out of the conference room.
Castillo felt Montvale's cold eyes on him.
"So what else can we do for you, Major?" he asked, with emphasis on the "Major."
Castillo looked at the secretary of state.
"I'm going to need some help with my passports, ma'am."
"Passports, plural?" Montvale asked.
"I went to Argentina on my German passport-"
"I beg your pardon?" Montvale interrupted.
"Major Castillo has dual citizenship, Mr. Ambassador," General Naylor said, suddenly and pointedly. "Sometimes, he uses his German nationality-very effectively-when he's on a covert assignment."
Did he come to my aid as loving Uncle Allan?
Or because Montvale's attitude toward me got under his skin?
Maybe, probably both. In one of his many lectures before I went to West Point, he told me to never forget that being given rank does not carry with it the right to jump on those of junior rank, especially in the presence of others.
Which of course I did when I gave that Old Guard lieutenant hell with Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC, standing there with both ears open.
Which proves of course that I am not nearly as good an officer as I like to pretend I am.
"Go on, please, Major," Naylor said.
"General, Gossinger is on Argentine immigration records-"
"Gossinger?" Montvale interrupted. "Who's Gossinger?"
This time the secretary of state came to Castillo's aid.
"Charles," she said, "perhaps we could let Major Castillo finish at least one sentence before we start asking questions?"
Montvale, for a second, glared at her. But then he apparently considered that Natalie Cohen, as secretary of state, was not only the most senior officer of the Presidential Cabinet-and thus the presiding officer of this ad hoc meeting of members of the cabinet-but a close personal friend of the President, and therefore was not to be crossed.
"Pardon me, Major," Montvale said. "Please continue."
"The Argentines have a record of Gossinger entering the country, Dr. Cohen," Castillo said. "There was no immigration check as we left. Which was lucky for me, since I didn't have to produce an American passport, which didn't have an entry stamp, or the German passport, which would have blown that cover. So, according to the books, Gossinger is still in Argentina, and I'd like to get him out."
"I get the picture," she said. "I suggest we issue you a new American passport, which will obviously have no immigration stamps in it at all, and then have the CIA put an exit stamp on your German passport. Their documents section is very good at that sort of thing." She looked at Montvale. "Wouldn't you agree, Charles?"
"That would seem to be the solution," Montvale said.
"We'll need a passport photo," Dr. Cohen said.
"There's some in my desk in the Nebraska complex," Castillo said.
"Charley, if you'll give me both passports before we leave here," Secretary Hall said, "I'll have Joel Isaacson pick up the passport photo, and then run everything through Foggy Bottom and Langley. He knows all the right people in both places." He turned to Montvale. "That sound all right to you, Charles?"
"Whatever is the most efficient means of accomplishing what has to be done, of course."
"Would you like me to call DCI Powell, Charles, and tell him what we need, or would you prefer to do that yourself?" Natalie Cohen asked.
"I'll call him," Montvale said.
"Anything else, Charley?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am, one more thing. There's an FBI agent attached to the embassy in Montevideo. David William Yung, Jr. He was sent to Buenos Aires when Mrs. Masterson was abducted as someone with kidnapping experience."
"What about him?" Montvale asked.
"He seemed to be unusually interested in me, for one thing," Castillo said.
"I would be, too, if I were an FBI agent and a young Army major was placed in overall charge of a situation like that," Montvale said.
Castillo looked at both Cohen and Hall and saw in their eyes that they had taken his meaning.
"And second," Castillo went on, "a usually reliable source, a former senior FBI official, who knows Special Agent Yung, told me he doesn't believe Yung is really doing what he says he's doing, looking into money laundering."
"In my experience, the FBI does not confide in outsiders," Montvale said. "Just who told you-"
The door opened.
Joel Isaacson put his head in.
"Excuse me," he said. "The President would like Mr. Castillo to join him."
"And I would like to know what Yung is really doing," Charley said, very quickly.
The secretary of state nodded at him. The secretary of Homeland Security gave him a thumbs-up.
Castillo got up quickly and started for the door.
"Charley," Hall called. "Your source is your friend from Vienna, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, he has proven reliable in the past, hasn't he?" Hall said.
"Yes, sir, he has," Castillo said, and went through the door.
Isaacson pulled the door closed.
"He didn't answer my question, did he?" Montvale said.
"The President sent for him, Charles," Hall said.
"I'm not accustomed to having junior officers not answering questions I put to them, and, frankly, I don't like it," Montvale said.
"Charles," the secretary of state said. "May I say something?"
"Of course."
"The impression this meeting left on me is that the President made it clear that he places in Major Castillo a trust that you and I might not share-"
"I picked up on that," Montvale said, just a bit righteously sarcastic.
"The impression this meeting left on me, Charles," Secretary Hall said, "is that the President made it absolutelyclear that Charley Castillo is answerable only to him. Or did I get that wrong?"
Montvale looked at the secretary of state for help. When it was not forthcoming, he stood up.
"I'd like to freshen up before we go to the ceremony. God alone knows how long we'll be standing out there in the heat and humidity for that." [TWO] The Presidential Suite Aboard Air Force One Keesler Air Force Base Biloxi, Mississippi 2105 25 July 2005 "Charley," Supervisory Special Agent Isaacson said, as he put his hand on the door to the presidential suite, "Tom McGuire brought a bag for you."
"Containing, I desperately hope, some summer clothes."
"It does. And a.45. I had to clear the bag aboard, which meant I had to see what was in it."
"Where is it?"
"In there," Isaacson said, pointing to a door next to the entrance to the presidential suite. "It's the medical office. If the president lets you go in time, you could probably get out of those winter clothes. It's going to be hot as hell in that hangar."
"You will get your reward in heaven, Joel Isaacson."
Isaacson smiled, then opened the door to the presidential suite.
Castillo could see what was obviously the President's private office. It contained an angled desk with a high-backed red leather chair bearing the presidential seal in gold facing aft, two armchairs facing the desk, and a credenza behind the desk.
"Mr. President," Isaacson called. "Major Castillo is here."
"Come on in, Charley," the President called. "I'm in the bedroom. Straight through to the front."
When Charley made his way all the way forward, he found the President of the United States supporting himself with one hand on a chest of drawers as he fed his right leg through his trousers. There were two single beds in the small area, on one of which lay the suit the President had just taken off, and on the other, the jacket to the suit he was now putting on.
"God, you're going to be hot in that," the President said, as he stuffed his shirt in his trousers.
"Tom McGuire brought a summer suit for me, sir."
"Well, as soon as we're finished here, you better put it on. Quickly. God and the presidential protection detail wait for no man, including the President."