"Don Juan arriving."
Fernando chuckled. Castillo gave him the finger. He wondered, now that he had been given a hell of a lot of power, if it would be enough to have the Secret Service change the code name Joel Isaacson had given him when he'd gone to work for Secretary Hall.
The Secret Service agent led them to the elevator bank, waved them inside, and then said, "Fifth floor, Mr. Castillo. We'll be right here."
A tall, stocky woman-visibly some kind of Latin- was standing in the lobby of the fifth floor when the elevator door opened. Her hair was drawn tight against her skull, and Castillo could see the flesh-colored speaker in her ear. He could also see a bulge on her left hip that was almost certainly a handgun.
"This way, please, Mr. Castillo. Special Agent Schneider has been put in five-twenty-seven."
"Muchas gracias," Castillo said. "Muy amable de su parte."
It wasn't hard to find room 527. There were two law enforcement officers sitting in folding chairs on either side of the door. One was wearing the motorcyclist's boots and other special uniform items of the Philadelphia Police Department's elite highway patrol. The other was a large and burly man in civilian clothing with the telltale ear speaker of the Secret Service in his ear.
As Castillo got close to the room, both of them stood.
Castillo glanced to his left and saw a glass-walled waiting room. There were more than a half dozen people in it. Castillo recognized three of them as Philadelphia police officers: Chief Inspector Fritz Kramer, the commander of the counterterrorism bureau; Captain Frank O'Brien, who headed the intelligence and organized crime unit and for whom Betty Schneider had worked as a sergeant; and Lieutenant Frank Schneider of the highway patrol, who was Betty's big and, it could be reasonably argued, somewhat overprotective brother.
There were also a couple who Castillo decided were Betty's parents, a clergyman, and several other people.
Well, what the hell did you expect? That it would be just the two of you?
He had what he realized was the vain hope that no one in the waiting room would see him.
The Secret Service agent at the door said, "Special Agent Schneider is in X-ray, Mr. Castillo. She should be back any moment. There's a waiting room…" He pointed.
"Any reason we can't wait in there?"
"No, sir."
Castillo and Fernando entered the room. The bed was mussed, but Castillo could see no other sign that Betty had been in the room.
And I didn't see Jack Britton in that waiting room. Where the hell is he?
He walked to the window and looked out into an interior courtyard, and turned only when he sensed the door to the room was opening.
Betty was wheeled in on a gurney. She didn't see Castillo until the technicians had moved her from the gurney onto the bed and moved out of the way.
Then she raised her hand and almost moaned, "Oh, Charley!" through her wired-shut jaws.
Castillo went to the bed and took her raised hand, and kissed it, and then bent over and kissed her very gently on the forehead. Then they just looked at each other.
Thirty seconds or so later, he took a chance that his voice would work.
"Wiener schnitzel, baby," he said.
Betty smiled at him.
"If you don't mind, Costello, our mother wants to see her!" Lieutenant Frank Schneider said behind him.
Castillo turned.
Standing behind Betty's brother was the couple Charley presumed were the parents. Behind them were the clergyman and another man.
"What's the matter with you, Francis?" Betty's mother snapped. "Can't you see the way she's looking at him?"
"I'm sorry," Castillo said.
Reluctantly, Betty let go of his hand.
Betty's mother touched Castillo's cheek, and stepped around him to the bed.
Betty's father eyed him icily.
Castillo walked out of the room, followed by Fernando, and a moment later by Lieutenant Schneider.
Did he leave because he wanted his mother and father and the minister to be alone with Betty? Or did his mother tell him to get out?
"Costello!" Lieutenant Schneider said.
Castillo turned. Schneider walked very close to him and asked, "You remember one time I promised to break both your legs?"
Both the highway patrolman and the Secret Service agent guarding Betty's door were now on their feet.
"The name is Castillo," Charley said evenly. "And, yes, I seem to remember something like that."
"I knew you were bad news the minute I laid eyes on you," Schneider said. "She's in there because of you."
Castillo nodded slightly. "Guilty."
"If you ever show your face around her again, I swear I'll break both your legs and then tear off your arms and shove them up your ass!"
Castillo didn't reply.
Fernando took a couple of steps closer. "Let me tell you something, Shorty," he said, aware that "Shorty" was relative. Lieutenant Schneider, at six-feet-one, was at least two inches shorter-and maybe forty pounds lighter-than Fernando Lopez.
"Butt out, lardass!" Lieutenant Schneider said.
"That's enough, Lieutenant!" Chief Inspector Kramer barked. "Back off! Now!"
"What I was about to tell the lieutenant," Fernando said, matter-of-factly, "is that the way it is in our family, anyone wanting to get at Charley has to get past me first."
"Don't pour gas on a fire," Chief Inspector Kramer said. "Ask any fireman. Both of you shut up."
Castillo chuckled.
"You open your mouth once more, Schneider, and I'll order you out of here. Capische?"
Schneider nodded.
"Say 'Yes, sir,' Lieutenant!"
"Yes, sir," Schneider said, reluctantly.
"Charley, I need to talk to you," Kramer said. "And O'Brien wants to know what's going on, too. If I order our gorilla to wait at that end of the corridor"-he pointed-"can you get your gorilla to wait down there?" He pointed in the other direction.
Castillo looked at Frank Schneider. "I think you have a right to hear what I'm going to tell the chief," he said. "Can you behave?"
Lieutenant Schneider nodded curtly.
"Say 'yes' or 'no,' goddammit, Schneider," Kramer snapped.
"Okay, okay," Lieutenant Schneider said.
"We can use the waiting room," Kramer said, and pushed the door open. "Well, Frank, what do you think?" Chief Inspector Kramer inquired of Captain O'Brien when Castillo had finished.
"A lot of cocaine comes here from Argentina," O'Brien said.
"I didn't know that," Fernando said.
"They fly it from Colombia to Bolivia or Paraguay- sometimes direct to Paraguay-and then get it into Argentina," O'Brien explained. "And then they mule it to Miami from Buenos Aires. The Argentine drug cops- they call them SIDE-are smart. Instead of arresting the critters, they let them get on a plane, and then call our DEA guys down there. The DEA in Miami meets the airplane. That way the cocaine gets stopped, and we have to pay to try the critters and the cost of keeping them in the slam for fifteen to twenty."
"SIDE does more than drugs, Captain," Castillo said. "It's the Argentine FBI, CIA, and DEA under one roof."
"I didn't know that," O'Brien said. "What I'm thinking is that the drug guys-here, there, everywhere-do this kind of casual whacking. Anybody they think might be in the way of anything, anybody they think may have seen or heard something, gets whacked. Including members of their family."
"I'm not saying you're wrong," Castillo said. "But that didn't come up down there, either from a DEA guy I know, who would have told me, or from the head of SIDE." "What did they think was going on?"
"They had no idea," Castillo said. "All we know-and I didn't know this in Argentina-is that somebody wants to get their hands on Jean-Paul Lorimer, and is perfectly willing to kill anybody to do that."
"We had a job here in Philadelphia a couple of years ago," Kramer said. "Drugs shipped from… where, Frank?"