As the first Yukon reached the house, the triple garage doors opened one by one. The Secret Service driver of Castillo's Yukon drove inside the garage and the other two followed suit. The doors began to close.
The garage ran all the way under the house. There was room for three more Yukons. And some other vehicles. The walls were lined with shelves, and on them were old cans of paint, coils of water hose, and other things that people stored in garages.
Well, Miller told me that the kids of the people who owned this place had removed the valuable stuff.
Paint cans and water hoses don't count as valuable stuff.
There were two familiar faces standing at the foot of an extraordinarily wide basement-to-house stairway. One of them, a large, red-haired Irishman, was Secret Service Supervisory Special Agent Thomas McGuire, who had joined the Office of Organizational Analysis at its beginning. The other was Mrs. Agnes Forbison, a gray-haired, getting-just-a-little-chubby lady in her late forties who had been one of then-Secretary of Homeland Security Matt Hall's executive assistants and who also had joined OOA at its beginning. Her title now was OOA's deputy chief for administration.
Well, the Buick is probably Agnes's and the Yukon Tom's.
So where is the ambassador?
Castillo got out of the Yukon and walked to them.
He and McGuire shook hands. Agnes kissed his cheek.
"Montvale?" Castillo asked.
"I expect he'll be here shortly," Agnes said, and then, "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"
Max and Madchen had been freed from one of the other Yukons and made right for them.
"This is Max and his lady friend, Madchen," Castillo explained.
Agnes squatted and rubbed Max's ears.
"Pretty puppy," she said.
Madchen shouldered Max out of the way.
"And you, too, sweetheart!" Agnes added, now rubbing Madchen's ears.
Tom McGuire eyed both animals warily.
"Montvale's meeting us here," Castillo said.
"You didn't think he would be waiting for you, did you, Chief?" Agnes said, looking up at him, and then added, "We bought everything we could think of. Except, of course, dog food."
"If you bought a rib roast, that'd do," Castillo said.
Agnes stood up.
"You want a look around before the ambassador gets here?" she asked.
"Please," Castillo said. "How many beds do we have?"
"How many do you need?"
"That many," Castillo said, pointing to the others, who were now standing around the Yukons. "Less Doherty, who'll probably go home."
Agnes used her index finger to count Colonel Jake Torine, USAF; First Lieutenant Edmund Lorimer, USA; Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC; Sergeant Major John K. Davidson, USA; Colonel Alfredo Munz; Edgar Delchamps; Special Agent David W. Yung of the FBI; Sandor Tor; and Eric Kocian.
"Not counting Inspector Doherty," she computed aloud, "that's nine, plus you and Dick. That's a total of eleven. No problem. There's six bedrooms all with double beds. One of you will actually be alone."
"That would be me, madam," Eric Kocian announced, advancing on her. "The sacrifices I am willing to make to contribute to this enterprise do not include sharing a bedroom."
"Mrs. Forbison, Eric Kocian," Castillo said.
"I am charmed, madam," Kocian said, taking the hand Agnes extended and raising it to his lips.
From the look on her face-the pleased look-I think it's been some time since she has had her hand kissed.
"I hope you will not take offense, madam," Kocian went on, "if I say I have urgent need of a restroom, preferably one inside?"
"We'll put you in my room, Billy," Castillo said. "I'll bunk with Miller."
"Splendid!" Kocian said.
"Has this place got a fenced backyard?" Castillo asked.
"Uh-huh," Agnes said.
"If you'll show me that, I'll put Max and Madchen out, and Tom can show the old gentleman to his quarters-"
"Old gentleman!" Kocian snorted.
"-and then we can get everybody settled in before we have to face the dragon."
Agnes's tour of the house ended in a small study. Bookcases lined three of its walls. A stuffed mallard and two stuffed fish-a trout and a king mackerel-were mounted on the remaining wall. There were a few books scattered on the shelves, mostly ten-year-old and older novels. Windows opened to the left and rear. Through it, Castillo saw that floodlights around a decent-sized swimming pool had been turned on. Max was happily paddling about in the pool while Madchen stood on the side and barked at him.
The study was furnished with a small desk, a well-worn blue leather judge's chair, and a soiled, well-worn chaise lounge, none of which had obviously struck the heirs as worth taking.
There was a telephone on the desk, but Castillo didn't pay much attention to it until it buzzed and a red light began to flash on its base. Then he saw the thick cord that identified it as a secure telephone.
Agnes picked it up.
"C. G. Castillo's line," she said, then, "Yes, the colonel is available for Ambassador Montvale," and handed him the phone.
"Castillo."
"Charles Montvale, Colonel. We will be at your door in approximately five minutes."
"I'm looking forward to it, sir," Castillo replied, and then, when a click told him that Montvale had hung up, added, "about as much as I would visiting an Afghan dentist with a foot-powered drill."
Agnes looked at him.
"I gather you're speaking from experience?"
"Painful experience," Castillo said. "With both."
"How do you want to handle this?"
"I will receive the ambassador in here, where he will find me carefully studying my computer, which I will close when he enters. Have everybody but Kocian, Tor, Bradley, and, of course, Lieutenant Lorimer in the living room. We'll have to bring chairs from the kitchen or someplace else for them, I guess."
The living room had a beamed ceiling, a brick fireplace, and hardwood floors. There were two small and rather battered carpets that the children of the former owner also had apparently decided were not of value to them. Marks on the floor showed where the valuable carpets had lain, and marks on the wall showed where picture frames had hung.
There were four red leather armchairs and a matching couch that also had apparently missed the cut, although they looked fine to Castillo. Another stuffed trout was mounted above the fireplace, and there was some kind of animal hoof-maybe an elk's, Castillo guessed-converted into an ashtray that sat on a heavy and battered coffee table scarred with whiskey glass rings and cigarette burns.
Castillo had decided he probably would have liked the former owners. He was already feeling comfortable in their house.
"Ambassador Montvale, Colonel," Agnes announced from the study door five minutes later.
Castillo closed the lid of his laptop and stood up.
"Please come in, Mr. Ambassador," he said.
Montvale wordlessly shook his hand.
"I haven't had a chance to make this place homey," Castillo said. "The chaise lounge all right? Or would you rather sit in that?"
He pointed to the judge's chair.
"This'll be fine, thank you," Montvale said, and sat at the foot of the chaise lounge.
It was a very low chaise lounge. Montvale's knees were now higher than his buttocks.
"Getting right to it, Charley," Montvale said. "How bad is the compromise situation?"
"I think it's under control."
"I'd be happier if you said you're confident it's under control."
"Think is the best I can do for now. Sorry."
"Tell me what's happened, and then I'll tell you why it's so dangerous."
"We were all watching Hurricane Katrina on the television when Corporal Bradley marched in with a guy at gunpoint, a guy Max had caught coming through the fence-"
"Max?" Montvale interrupted. "Who the hell is Max?"
Castillo walked to the window and pointed.
Less than gracefully, Montvale got to his feet, joined him at the window, and looked out.
Max had tired of his swim, climbed out of the pool, and in the moment Montvale looked out, was shaking himself dry.