The Hostage

by Griffin, W. E. B.

  Then the President said into the phone, “Sweetheart, Charley Castillo just walked in the door. I’ll have to call you later.”

  With a little bit of difficulty, the President replaced the handset in a wall rack, then stood up and walked to Castillo. As Castillo started to get up, the President waved his right hand to order him to stay seated, and then offered the hand to him.

  “Good to see you, Charley,” he said, and then turned to Torine. “And you, too, Colonel. I was a little surprised to hear you’d flown the Globemaster down there, but then I realized I shouldn’t have been. You and Charley are sort of a team, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. I suppose we are.”

  “Is it still hot outside?” the President asked, as he walked to the head of the conference table and sat down.

  “Hot and humid, sir,” Torine said.

  “Wise people don’t come to Mississippi in the middle of the summer,” the President lightly proclaimed, “or go to Minnesota in the middle of the winter. Wise people go to South Carolina during any season and never leave.”

  There was dutiful laughter.

  “Two things are going to happen right away,” the President quickly said next, his tone now serious. “The first, because I simply can’t stay here for the funeral as much as I would like to, is that we’re making a photo-op ceremony of taking Mr. Masterson’s casket from the airplane. Including a band. They’re setting that up now. I understand we’ll have about fifteen minutes. Which is time enough to set the second thing that’s going to happen in motion.”

  He reached under the table and came up with a well-worn leather attaché case. He opened it and took out two sheets of paper and handed them to General Naylor.

  “Would you please read that aloud, General?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Naylor took the sheets of paper, glanced at them a moment, then began to read.

  “Top Secret-Presidential.

  “The White House, Washington, D.C. July 25, 2005.

  “Presidential Finding.

  “It has been found that the assassination of J. Winslow Masterson, chief of mission of the United States embassy in Buenos Aires, Argentina; the abduction of Mr. Masterson’s wife, Mrs. Elizabeth Lorimer Masterson; the assassination of Sergeant Roger Markham, USMC; and the attempted assassination of Secret Service Special Agent Elizabeth T. Schneider indicate beyond any reasonable doubt the existence of a continuing plot or plots by terrorists, or terrorist organizations, to cause serious damage to the interests of the United States, its diplomatic officers, and its citizens, and that this situation cannot be tolerated.

  “It is further found that the efforts and actions taken and to be taken by the several branches of the United States government to detect and apprehend those individuals who committed the terrorist acts previously described, and to prevent similar such acts in the future, are being and will be hampered and rendered less effective by strict adherence to applicable laws and regulations.

  “It is therefore found that clandestine and covert action under the sole supervision of the President is necessary.

  “It is directed and ordered that there be immediately established a clandestine and covert organization with the mission of determining the identity of the terrorists involved in the assassinations, abduction, and attempted assassination previously described and to render them harmless. And to perform such other covert and clandestine activities as the President may elect to assign.

  “For purposes of concealment, the aforementioned clandestine and covert organization will be known as the Office of Organizational Analysis, within the Department of Homeland Security. Funding will initially be from discretional funds of the office of the President. The manning of the organization will be decided by the President acting on the advice of the chief, Office of Organizational Analysis.

  “Major Carlos G. Castillo, Special Forces, U.S. Army, is herewith appointed chief, Office of Organizational Analysis, with immediate effect.”

  General Naylor stopped reading and looked at the President.

  “The finding is witnessed by Miss Cohen as secretary of state, Mr. President.”

  The only sound in the room was that of cold air flowing through ports in the ceiling.

  “That deafening silence we’re hearing, Major Castillo,” the President said softly, after a moment, “suggests to me that everyone is trying to come up with good and solid reasons why I should tear that finding up, and how these objections can be brought diplomatically to my attention. So let me save everybody the effort. This finding is not open for debate.”

  The President looked around the table as he let that sink in, then continued:

  “I not only want the bastards who murdered Masterson and Sergeant Markham brought down, but I want to send a message to whoever is behind them, and to anyone else who thinks they can get away with murdering an American diplomat, that this President will be as ruthless as necessary to keep this from ever happening again, and this is how I’ve decided is the best way to do that.”

  “Mr. President,” Ambassador Montvale asked, “may I ask what my relationship to the major will be?”

  “I’m glad you asked, Charles,” the President said. “Let’s make sure everyone understands this. It also applies to Natalie and Tom, of course, and to the other secretariesand the attorney general. You, and they, will provide to him whatever he feels is necessary to carry out the mission I have given to him. But he answers only to me. Everyone clear on that?”

  “There are some potential problems that immediately come—”

  “Charles, you can discuss those with Major Castillo,” the President interrupted. “You did hear me say, didn’t you, that this is not open for debate?”

  “Yes, I did, Mr. President.”

  “Okay, this is Ground Zero,” the President said. “What I would like now is for Major Castillo to tell us where he believes we are, and where he’s going from here.” He looked at Castillo. “Okay, Charley, go ahead.”

  Castillo realized that he was sitting erectly on the edge of the armchair seat, like any other junior determined not to miss a word of what would be said by the President or any of the others so vastly senior to a major.

  As a Pavlovian reflex he started to stand up as a mark of respect and subordination to those seniors.

  Wait a minute!

  If I do that, it will signal that a lowly major is delivering a report to his seniors that they can consider with their greater wisdom and accept or reject.

  I don’t think the President wants me to do that.

  Instead of standing up he slumped back in the chair and crossed his interlocked hands on his chest, as if gathering his thoughts, which happened to be true.

  He saw that General Naylor and Colonel Torine were looking at him incredulously.

  Well, let’s see if I can get away with this.

  “Mr. President,” he began, sitting up, “when Mrs. Masterson was being interviewed at the German Hospital by Mr. Darby, who is the CIA station chief in Argentina and was a close friend of the Mastersons, she professed to know absolutely nothing about her abductors. I thought she was lying—”

  “You decided, Major, that she was lying?” Montvale interrupted incredulously.

  “Yes, Ambassador Montvale, I did,” Charley said, meeting his eyes. “And later, both Mr. Darby and Ambassador Silvio agreed with that judgment.”

  “Lying about what, Charley?” the President asked.

  “More of an omission, sir, than a mistruth. She said she could recall no details whatever of her abduction. I didn’t believe that.”

  “The woman,” Montvale said, “was obviously under the most severe—”

  The President held up his hand to silence Montvale.

  Castillo looked at the President, then continued: “Just before we took off from Ezeiza—the Buenos Aires airport—I gave Mrs. Masterson the medal, the Grand Cross of the Great Liberator, which had been pinned to the colors on Mr. Masterson’s casket by the President of A
rgentina. She expressed to me her regret for Sergeant Markham’s death and the wounds suffered by Special Agent Schneider. I’m afraid I was less than gracious to her. I had just come from the hospital, where Special Agent Schneider was lying in pain with her jaw wired shut, and sixty seconds before, I had walked past Sergeant Markham’s casket.

  “What I said to her, in effect, was that if she had been truthful, I thought Markham would still be alive and Schneider would not have been wounded.”

  “You called her a liar to her face, Charley?” Natalie Cohen asked in sad disbelief.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid I did.”

  “And what was her reaction?” the President asked, softly.

  “Not much at the time, sir, but just now, just before we came here, she came to me again, and said that now that she was in the United States, she could talk. She told me that her abductors wanted her to tell them where her brother is—”

  “Her brother?” the President asked.

  “Jean-Paul Lorimer, sir. He works for the United Nations in Paris. Mrs. Masterson said her abductors threatened to kill her children if she didn’t tell them, and to kill the children and her family if she revealed any of this. And they murdered Mr. Masterson to prove they meant what they were saying.”

  “Sonofabitch!” the President of the United States said.

  “Mr. President,” Natalie Cohen said, “we’ve been trying to find Mr. Lorimer for several days without success. All we know is that he’s not in his apartment and hasn’t been in his office.”

  “Mrs. Masterson said she had no idea where her brother is,” Castillo said.

  “And why do you think, Major,” Montvale asked, “that Mrs. Masterson chose to confide in you, rather than in, say, Ambassador Silvio or her friend the CIA station chief?”

  “Probably because we had just landed in the United States,” Castillo said.

  “If I may, Mr. President?” Colonel Torine asked.

  The President waved his permission.

  “I was privy to the conversation between Major Castillo and Mrs. Masterson just now,” Torine said. “And the reason she gave for her going to Major Castillo was because she believed what Mr. Darby had told her about Major Castillo.”

  “And that was?” Montvale asked.

  “Apparently, sir,” Torine replied, “Mr. Darby told Mrs. Masterson that he believes that Major Castillo is— this is just about verbatim from Mrs. Masterson—‘one really tough sonofabitch, and just the guy you need in your corner when you’re really in trouble.’”

  The President cocked his head and smiled. “Well, for once I find myself in complete agreement with the opinion of a CIA station chief. That pretty much answer your question, Charles?”

  “Yes, it does, Mr. President.”

  Castillo saw that General Naylor was quietly coughing behind his hand. From long experience, Castillo knew he did this when he wanted to conceal a smile.

  When Castillo glanced at Secretary Hall, Hall winked at him and didn’t bother to try to conceal his smile.

  Up yours, Ambassador Montvale, you pompous sonofabitch! Charley thought, then caught himself.

  There you go again, stupid!

  If there’s anybody you should try to get along with, it’s Charles Montvale, the director of national intelligence.

  You haven’t been in his presence ten minutes and he’s already decided—probably with justification—that C. G. Castillo is one arrogant little sonofabitch who needs to be cut down to size as quickly as possible.

  The worst thing you can do to a guy like Montvale is humiliate him in the presence of his peers and the President of the United States. He’s not going to forget or forgive that.

  “Why do you think these people want the brother, Charley?” the President asked. “And who do you think they are?”

  “I have no idea, Mr. President,” Castillo confessed. “But I think talking to him—presuming I can find him— is the next thing I should do.”

  “And the UN says they don’t know where he is, Natalie?” the President asked.

  “We wanted to contact him when Mrs. Masterson was abducted, so that he could deal with the family, as their father, Ambassador Lorimer, has serious heart problems. Nothing. And all our embassy in Paris has been able to come up with is that his car is in his garage, his clothing is in his apartment, and it looks like he’s just taken a trip or something. Apparently, he’s pretty much his own boss, going wherever he wants, whenever he wants.”

  “These people have killed to show how much they want this fellow,” the President said. “So his life is in danger. Are you going to tell the UN that? Would that get them off the dime?”

  “Sir, I presume that the UN, in New York and Paris, knows of the Masterson murder.”

  “But not what Mrs. Masterson told Charley, right?”

  “No, sir. I’ll get on the horn right now to our UN ambassador and have him pass that on if you think I should.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t,” Castillo blurted.

  “Why not?” Natalie Cohen asked curiously, not offended.

  “I have a gut feeling it’s the wrong thing to do.”

  The secretary of state looked at the President. His face was thoughtful.

  “I’m about to make a point here, so pay attention,” the President said. “We’re going along with Castillo’s gut feeling, not because I necessarily agree with it, but because I don’t feel strongly enough about it to override him. And I am the only person who can—and from time to time will—override him. Okay?”

  “Yes, sir,” Dr. Cohen said.

  “What are you going to do about the missing brother, Charley?”

  “I’m going to go to Europe and see if I can find him.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as I’m sure Mrs. Masterson and the children are safe, sir. I gave her my word she will be protected.”

  “And she will be,” the President said. “Did you notice some of your Delta Force buddies out there, Charley?”

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “The attorney general agreed with me that in this situation the use of troops to protect the Mastersons was justified. Obviously, there’s a time limit. But for now, I’d say they’re safe.”

  “Mrs. Masterson asked Special Agent Schneider to find out about private security, sir. I’m going to see what I can do.”

  “That out of the way, you want to go to Europe as soon as possible?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You want to ride to Washington with us? I suspect that you can get to Europe quicker from Washington than you can from Biloxi.”

  “Sir, I asked my cousin to bring the family’s airplane here. I want to use that.”

  “Not an Air Force plane? A Gulfstream, maybe?”

  “I think a civilian airplane would be better, sir. Less conspicuous.”

  “And very expensive to operate. What about that? Who’s going to pay for that?”

  “Sir, the last time we used it—in the 727 operation, flying it to Mexico and Costa Rica—it was leased to the Secret Service. I was hoping that could be done again.”

  The President looked at Secretary Hall. The Secret Service had become part of the Department of Homeland Security.

  “Any problem there, Matt?”

  “No, sir,” Hall replied, and then added, “It’s here, Charley. Fernando is in the hangar where we’ll . . . hold the ceremony.”

  “Okay, then,” the President said. “Anything else you need right now? Equipment, people?”

  “It’s a long list, sir.”

  The President signaled him to continue.

  “I’d like to stop at Fort Bragg and pick up a Gray Fox satellite radio, and an operator, and take that with us. And I’d like another installed at the Nebraska Avenue complex, and a third to be sent to the embassy in Argentina with an operator.”

  “That will pose no problem, will it, General Naylor?” the President asked.

  “None, sir. I’ll get right on the horn to General McN
ab.”

  “Anything else, Charley?”

  “Yes, sir. I’d like to borrow one of Colonel Torine’s pilots, one with over-the-ocean experience. I’ve never flown across an ocean by myself.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem, should it, Colonel?”

  “Unfortunately it is, sir,” Torine said. “Until this moment, Mr. President, I had no idea Major Castillo was not entirely satisfied with my flying skills. I am crushed and humiliated beyond words.”

  “You mean you want to fly his airplane?” the President asked, smiling.

  “Very much, sir.”

  “So ordered,” the President said.

  “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.