He extended the leather folder holding his Secret Service credentials to one of the guards.
"I'm here to see Mr. Santini," he said in English.
"This gate is for embassy personnel only," the security guard said, more than a little arrogantly, and pointed to the far side of the embassy.
You sonofabitch, you didn't even look at my credentials!
An Argentine rent-a-cop is denying a Secret Service agent access to an American embassy? No fucking way!
"You get on that goddamn telephone and tell the Marine guard that a United States Secret Service officer is here at the gate," Castillo snapped, in Spanish.
Looking a little surprised at the fluent Spanish, as well as the tone, the guard gestured for Castillo to show him his credentials again. Another security guard picked up the telephone.
Castillo turned his back on them.
That little display of anger was uncalled for. What the hell is the matter with me?
But on the other hand, I think that would have been the reaction of a bona fide Secret Service agent. Maybe not Joel, but Tom McGuire certainly would not put up with any crap from a rent-a-cop.
He saw the Mercedes had not moved.
Trying to see if I'm really going in, are you, Howard?
No. What you're trying to do is see whether I am immediately passed in, which would mean I'm known here, or whether I'm being subjected to this rent-a-cop bullshit because they don't know me.
He smiled and waved cheerfully, and the Mercedes started to move.
"If you will come with me, please, senor?" the rent-a-cop who had been on the telephone said in English.
Castillo turned and saw that the revolving barrier was moving. He went through it, and the security cop was waiting for him.
"Do you have a cellular telephone or other electronic device, sir?"
"I have a cellular," Castillo said in Spanish.
"You'll have to leave it with me, sir. It will be returned when you leave."
"We will talk to the Marine guard about that," Castillo snapped in Spanish, and started walking to the embassy building.
After a moment's hesitation, the security guard walked after him.
There were maybe fifteen people standing outside the glass entrance walls. They were all smoking.
I doubt the you-can't-smoke-in-a-U.S.-government-building zealots have ever wondered how much time is lost by all these people taking a smoke break. What's that cost the taxpayer?
Okay, Charley. Tantrum time is over. Be nice.
Inside the lobby there was a row of chrome-and-leather benches-like the seats in an airport-against the wall, portraits of the President, the Vice President, and the secretary of state on the walls, and, behind a glass-walled counter, a Marine guard-a sergeant-wearing a khaki shirt, dress blue trousers, and a white Sam Browne belt.
"May I help you, sir?" the Marine guard asked.
Charley handed him the credentials folder, which the sergeant examined carefully.
"I'm here to see Mr. Santini."
"He has a cellular," the security guard accused.
The sergeant picked up a telephone and punched a button.
"Sergeant Volkmann at Post One," he said. "There's a Mr. Castillo to see you, sir." There was a pause, and then the sergeant said, "Yes, sir," and looked at Castillo.
"Mr. Santini will be right down, sir," the Marine sergeant said. "Please have a seat."
He pointed to the benches.
"He has a cellular," the security guard said again.
"Excuse me, sir," the Marine sergeant said.
Castillo looked at him.
"Are you armed, sir?" the Marine sergeant asked, pointing to a metal-detector arch in front of the door leading inside.
Castillo shook his head.
"Thank you, sir."
Castillo sat down on one of the benches.
The secretary of state, unsmiling, looked down at him from the wall.
Natalie, I really wish you had been able to talk the President out of sending me down here.
The security guard flashed Castillo a dirty look as he walked out of the lobby.
Santini came through the metal detector arch a minute later.
"Good morning, sir," he said, putting out his hand. "I just learned that you were coming."
"How are you, Santini?" Castillo said as he shook the hand.
Santini turned to the Marine guard.
"Can I get Supervisory Special Agent Castillo a frequent visitor badge, or am I going to have to run that through Lowery?"
"Sorry, sir," the Marine said. "Mr. Lowery runs a tight ship."
"Well, then, give him a regular visitor badge."
"Yes, sir. I'll have to have his passport, Mr. Santini."
"Jesus Christ!" Castillo said, and then smiled at the sergeant as he handed him his passport. "Sergeant, that 'Jesus Christ' was directed at whoever made a dumb rule, not you."
"No problem, sir," the Marine said, with a hint of a smile.
He handed Castillo a plastic yellow visitor's pass on what looked like a dog tag chain, and pushed a clipboard to him.
"If you'll sign that, please, sir."
"And if you'll follow me, sir," Santini said, "we'll see if we can't straighten this out with Mr. Lowery."
"He the security guy?" Castillo asked.
"Yes, sir, he is."
Castillo hung the visitor's badge around his neck and followed Santini through the metal detector.
Inside, behind the Marine guard post enclosure, was a foyer. In the center of it were two elevator doors, one of them open. Santini waved Castillo through it and pushed a floor button.
"I would say that we are about to corner the security lion in his lair," Santini said, when the door had closed and they were alone, "except that he's more of a pussy-cat." The door from the third-floor corridor to the embassy security officer's office was open. Kenneth W. Lowery- he looks a hell of a lot like Howard Kennedy-was sitting at his desk, talking on the telephone.
When he saw Santini, he smiled and waved him in.
"I'll get back to you," Lowery said, and hung up the telephone.
"Good morning, Tony," he said.
"Say hello to Supervisory Secret Service Agent Castillo," Santini said. "He's in town to complain about my expense sheet."
"Having seen your lifestyle, I can see where that would be entirely possible," Lowery said, getting up and extending his hand across his desk. "Nice to meet you."
"How are you?" Castillo said.
"What are the chances of getting Mr. Castillo a frequent visitor badge? He's going to be in and out."
"How long are you going to be here, Mr. Castillo?"
"Call me 'Charley,' please," Castillo said. "As long as it takes to get Santini to admit he's been robbing the service blind. That shouldn't take more than a week or so."
"Could I see your credentials, please? And your travel orders?"
"Credentials, yes," Castillo said. "Travel orders, no."
"You don't have travel orders?" Lowery asked.
"Blanket," Castillo said.
Lowery examined the credentials carefully.
"I don't think I've ever met a supervisory special agent before," he said, making it a question.
How the hell do I respond to that?
"I wasn't notified that you were coming," Lowery said.
Another question, not a statement.
"That's why they call it the Secret Service," Santini said. "What we do is secret; we don't tell anyone."
Lowery did not find that amusing.
"Except for having a couple of chats with Santini, I have no business with the embassy," Castillo said. "If there's a problem with this frequent visitor badge he thinks I should have, forget it." He paused and added: "There's a number you can call to verify my bona fides on the back side of the photo ID."
"Oh, no. No problem at all," Lowery said quickly. "Can I borrow these for a moment? I'll have my secretary make up the badge."
"Sure," Castillo said.
Lowery went through a side door and came back a moment later.
"Take just a couple of minutes. She'll type it out and then plasticize it. I told her to make it out for two weeks. That be long enough?"