"And (b) to ensure their safe return to the United States; and you are (c) directed and empowered to assume responsibility for the investigation of the kidnapping of Mrs. Elizabeth Masterson and the murder of Mr. Masterson." He paused. "You understand me so far?"
"Yes, sir."
"The U.S. ambassador in Buenos Aires has been advised of this Presidential Directive and directed to provide you with whatever you feel you need to accomplish your duties. The directors of the CIA and the FBI have similarly been notified of this directive and directed to furnish you with whatever support you feel you may need to carry out your duties."
"My God!"
"I told you he went ballistic. It began with him banging his fist on the desk and declaring, 'The assassination of a U.S. embassy official will not stand,' and got more heated from there. I don't think I've seen him so angry since we were under fire in 'Nam."
"Sir, you know I'm not qualified to do anything like this."
"The President apparently feels you are."
"From what I've seen, everybody from the ambassador on down has done everything possible… and is still doing everything possible."
"Apparently, the President doesn't think so. This is not open to debate, Charley. That's another quote."
"Yes, sir."
"To assist you in the accomplishment of your duties, the DCI has notified the CIA station chief that he is to place himself under your orders, and the director of the FBI has been ordered to send a team of FBI experts down there to assist you in your investigation, and the commander in chief CentCom has been ordered to dispatch an aircraft, together with adequate security personnel, to return the remains of Mr. Masterson, and his family, to the United States. I understand from General Naylor that that aircraft will be wheels-up within the hour-which means it's probably already in the air- and the senior officer aboard has been placed under your orders."
"Sir-"
"What part of 'this is not open to debate' did you miss, Charley?"
"I understand, sir."
"The only thing I need to hear from you-in addition to 'timely reports of any and all developments,' of course-is what assistance you think you need."
Castillo exhaled audibly.
"How are the FBI experts going to come down here? On the Air Force transport?"
"They have their own plane."
"Is there any chance you could send Jack Britton and Betty Schneider down here on either airplane?"
"Odd that you should ask, Charley. Just after the fireworks started, Joel told me that since he thought they were both spinning their wheels in the training academy, he had asked the superintendent of the school if he could get them out early to come here and take over your reading of the daily intel reports. I don't suppose you knew anything about this?"
"No, sir, I did not."
"The objections the superintendent had were twofold. It would set a bad precedent, and he had planned to ask for both to serve as instructors."
"Sir, I really-"
"By now both have been sworn in, issued credentials, and are probably already on their way here, if they haven't landed already. Joel can be very persuasive, if you hadn't noticed."
"I've noticed, sir."
"Why do you want them down there?"
"Because they're both cops, and I'm not, and Betty's a woman, and I'm not, and Jack is black, and I'm not."
"'Welcome to the Secret Service. Don't unpack; go back to the airport, where an FBI plane is waiting for you. Castillo will explain everything when you get to Argentina.'"
"Can you do that, sir?"
"The truth is, Charley, that I can't not do it. I don't want to explain to the President why I didn't give you something you asked for."
"Sir, how about getting Dick Miller out of the hospital and having him vet the daily intel reports?"
"Charley, you know as well as I do that he just had yet another operation on his knee."
"Sir, he told me that just as soon as he can get out of bed, he's going on recuperative leave."
"And instead you want him to come over here with his knee in a cast and go through the daily intels?"
"I think he'd rather do that than lie in a bed at Walter Reed or go home."
"I'll see what I can find out, but refusing you that would be something I might be able to justify to the President. Even in his present state of mind, I think he might be sympathetic to my explanation, 'Sir, Major Miller is in Walter Reed, recovering from an operation on his knee.'"
"Yes, sir."
"I'll call you when I have ETAs on both planes."
"Thank you, sir."
"Charley, did you ever hear that 'no good deed goes unpunished'?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm almost sorry-operative word almost-that you found the goddamn 727."
"Yes, sir." [TWO] "Doctor," the secretary of Homeland Security said into the phone to the chief, orthopedic surgery division, the Walter Reed Army Medical Center, at the other end of the line, "let me be sure I understand you. Presuming he keeps his leg as immobile as reasonably possible, there is no reason Major Miller has to stay in Walter Reed while waiting for his cast to be removed, and that will not be for fifteen days?
"And you have advised him of this and that he's free to go on recuperative leave?"
Hall looked at Joel Isaacson sitting in an office chair on the other side of the desk as Hall parroted the doctor:
"You have strongly recommended personally that he go home and get TLC from his mother, whom you have known all of Major Miller's life.
"And you think I should know that Major Miller is at least as stubborn and hardheaded as his father, whom you have known even longer than you have his mother, as he has declined to take the recuperative leave despite your strong personal recommendation."
Isaacson smiled and shook his head.
"With your permission, Doctor, I'm going to ask Major Miller if he would like to perform some limited duty-administrative-in my office. If he agrees, I have a place-with room service-for him to stay, and can get a Yukon to haul him back and forth-
"Just keep him off his leg? I can do that, sir." "Joel, you call him," Secretary Hall directed. "If I call, he'll consider it an order."
Isaacson nodded and reached for Hall's telephone. Hall slid a yellow stick-'em note with the Walter Reed telephone number on it, and Isaacson punched it in.
"Put it on the speakerphone," Hall ordered. "Dick, Joel Isaacson. Am I calling at a good time?"
"A good time for what?"
"For you to tell me how you're doing, for example?"
"I'm up to my ass, literally, in about thirty pounds of plaster of paris."
"How do you feel?"
"How would you feel, Joel, if you were up to your ass, literally, in thirty pounds of plaster of paris?"
"I thought they might let you go home on recuperative leave."
"They are trying to make me go home on recuperative leave."
"You don't want to go?"
"Tell me, Joel, if you were up to your ass in thirty pounds of plaster of paris, would you want to spend your days taking the correspondence courses offered by the Command and General Staff College?"
"I don't follow you."
"That is what Major General Miller has in mind for his beloved son to do. He has this thing about using one's time profitably, and never wasting a second."
"So what are you doing with your time?"
"Watching reruns of Hollywood Squares and M*A*S*H on the tube. I haven't been too successful in enticing any of the nurses to hop in bed with me."
"We need some help in the office. Couple of hours a day. Interested?"
"Joel, when was the last time you were kissed by a six-foot-two black man? When do you want me?"
"You didn't even ask what we need you to do."
"Quoting Clark Gable in Gone With the Wind, which I have seen two more times since I have been in here, 'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!'"
"What if I came over in the morning and picked you up? You're still welcome in Charley's apartment, I guess?"
"What if you come over right now and pick me up? And where is that sonofabitch? He was supposed to bring me a bottle the day before yesterday and never showed up."