"I am ready and willing to sign autographs," Castillo said.
Max had already discovered the Masterson children, and they him.
"Where'd you get the dog, Colonel?" J. Winslow Masterson III asked, as he shook Max's paw. "He's awesome!"
"My grandmother told me that since I didn't have a family, I should get a dog. And I always do what my grandmother says."
"Pay attention," Mrs. Winslow Masterson said.
"And speaking of grandparents," Betsy Masterson said. "Dad, Mother, this is Charley Castillo, who took such great care of us in Argentina, and brought us home."
"My wife and I are very grateful to you, Colonel," Philippe Lorimer said. He was a very small, very black man with closely cropped white hair and large intelligent eyes. If there was visible evidence of his heart condition, Castillo couldn't see it.
"How do you do, sir? Ma'am? Mr. Ambassador, the secretary of State sends her best regards to you and Mrs. Lorimer."
"That's very kind of her," Lorimer said. "But why do I suspect that's not all she sent?"
"Sir, in fact, the secretary hopes that you'll be willing to have a private minute or two with me. Perhaps out of this heat?"
"Of course. But why do I suspect that's going to take a lot longer than a minute or two?"
Castillo was aware that General Wilson was taking all this in but had absolutely no idea what anyone was talking about.
Ambassador Lorimer looked at Jamie Neidermeyer, then at Castillo.
"I'm surprised that someone like you, Colonel, needs a bodyguard," Lorimer said.
"Dad!" Betsy Masterson protested.
"The one advantage to being an old and retired ambassador, sweetie," he said, "is that after a lifetime of subtlety, evasion, and innuendo, you can just say whatever pops into your mind."
"The same thing is true of being a retired general, Mr. Ambassador," General Wilson said.
"Actually, sir, Jamie is my communicator," Castillo said. "They keep me on a short leash to make sure I don't say whatever pops into my mind."
Lorimer laughed.
"He's got one of those satellite telephones in that suitcase?"
"Yes, sir."
"With which you have direct contact with the secretary of State?"
"Yes, sir, if you'd like to."
"Don't plug it in yet, young man," Lorimer ordered. "I don't wish to speak to Secretary Cohen until after the colonel and I have had our two-minute chat."
"You have a beautiful home," General Wilson said when they were in the foyer of the house.
Castillo thought the house made Tara, of Gone With the Wind, look like a Holiday Inn. Off of the foyer, a curved double stairway rose to the second floor. It was not hard to picture Clark Gable carrying Whatshername, the English actress, up the steps to work his wicked way on her.
"Thank you," Mrs. Masterson said. "It's been here a very long time, and God spared it."
"I told her that was God's reward for her unrelenting battle against the gambling hells of the Mississippi Gulf Coast," Masterson said.
"Don't mock me, Winslow!" she said. "But you'll notice what did happen to the casinos."
"Faulty argument, darling. Katrina also wiped out Jefferson Davis's home, and you know that he was a God-fearing gentleman always battling the devil and all his wicked works."
"That's right," General Wilson said. "I'd forgotten that. My wife and I went to his home twice when I was at Fort Rucker. That was damaged?"
"Wiped out," Masterson said. "Utterly destroyed."
"Then you were very lucky here," Wilson said.
"Yes, we were," Masterson said. "And thanks more to the charm of the salesman than any wise planning on my part, there were diesel emergency generators in place to kick in as they were supposed to when the electricity went off. When my cousin Philip flew in with emergency rations-that's his Bonanza in the hangar-he found us with Betsy and the Lorimers watching the aftermath of the disaster on television."
Wilson shook his head.
"You were very lucky," he said.
"You're an admirer of Jefferson Davis, General?" Masterson asked, changing the subject.
"We went to the same school," Wilson said. "At different times, of course." Then he added, very seriously, "Yes, I am."
"That's the right thing to say in this house," Masterson said. "From which my ancestors marched forth to do battle for Southern rights."
"And just as soon as the history lesson is over," Ambassador Lorimer said, "I'm sure Colonel Castillo would like to have our little chat."
"Why don't you take the colonel into the library, Philippe?" Masterson said, smiling tolerantly. "I'll send Sophie in with coffee and croissants."
"This way, Colonel, if you please," Lorimer said.
The library, too, would have been at home in Tara, except that an enormous flat-screen television had been mounted against one of the book-lined walls and half a dozen red leather armchairs had been arranged to face it.
And there was an array of bottles and glasses above a wet bar set in another wall of books.
Ambassador Lorimer headed right for it.
"May I offer you a little morning pick-me-up from Winslow's ample stock?" he asked.
"No, thank you, sir. I'm flying."
"One of the few advantages of having a heart condition like mine is that spirits, in moderation of course, are medically indicated," Lorimer said as he poured cognac into a snifter.
"Churchill did that," Castillo said. "He began the day with a little cognac."
"From what I hear, it was a healthy belt. And he was a great man, wasn't he? Who saved England from the Boche?"
"Yes, sir, he was."
"In large part, in my judgment, because he put Franklin Roosevelt in his pocket."
"Yes, sir, I suppose that's true."
Lorimer waved Castillo into one of the armchairs and sat in the adjacent one.
A middle-aged maid wearing a crisp white apron and cap came in a moment later with a coffee service and a plate of croissants. Lorimer waited for her to leave before speaking.
"I was trained to be a soldier, Colonel," he said. "Are you familiar with Norwich University?"
"Yes, sir, I am."
"It was one of the few places in the old days where a black man had a reasonable chance to get a regular Army commission. So I went there with that intention. Just before graduation, however, I was offered a chance to join the foreign service, and took it primarily, I think, because I thought someone of my stature looked absurd in a uniform."
"I have a number of friends who are Norwich, sir."
"I remember a pithy saying I learned as a Rook at Norwich: 'Never try to bullshit a bullshitter.' Keeping that and the fact that I spent thirty-six years as a diplomat in mind, why don't you tell me why Secretary Cohen is trying to put me in her pocket?"
"I'm not sure I know what you mean, Mr. Ambassador."
"I think you do, Colonel. Let's start with why she doesn't want me to go to my late son's… estancia… in Uruguay."
"The secretary believes that would be ill-advised, sir," Castillo said. "She asked me to tell you that."
He nodded. "She sent the same message to me through others. What I want to know is: why? I'm old, but not brain-dead. I don't think it has a thing to do with my physical condition, or for that matter do I swallow whole the idea that the secretary, as gracious a lady as I know she is, is deeply concerned for Poor Old Lorimer. Why doesn't she want me to go down there?"
Castillo didn't reply immediately as he tried to gather his thoughts.
Lorimer went on:
"I have my own sources of information, Colonel. Let me tell you what I've learned. It is the belief of our ambassador there, a man named McGrory, who is not known for his dazzling ambassadorial ability, and that of the Uruguayan government, that my son died as the result of a drug deal gone wrong. I'm having trouble accepting that."
"I don't know what to say, Mr. Ambassador," Castillo said.