The Hostage - By W. E. B. Griffin Page 0,108

will, Mr. Montvale,” Hall said, and then, when there was no response from Montvale, went on: “Okay, Charley, go on.”

“Sir, Ambassador Silvio is with me. We’re in his office in the embassy. The call is on the speakerphone.”

“Good evening, Mr. Ambassador,” Hall said. “You’ve heard what’s been said so far?”

“Yes, I have, Mr. Secretary,” Silvio said.

“Do you know the director of national intelligence, Mr. Montvale?”

“Yes, sir. I know the ambassador. Good evening, sir.”

“How are you, Silvio?”

“Very well, sir. Thank you.”

“I attempted to call you, Silvio, earlier, when the President brought me in on this. You were not available.”

“When was that, sir?”

“Forty-five minutes ago, an hour. I’m curious why you weren’t available.”

“I was with Mrs. Masterson at that time, sir.”

“And they didn’t tell you I was calling?”

“I left instructions that I was not to be disturbed when I was with her, Mr. Montvale.”

“Even for a call from me?”

“From anyone, sir. It was my intention, sir, to return your call when Mr. Castillo had completed his call to Secretary Hall.”

“I must say that’s an odd priority. But why don’t you tell me about Mrs. Masterson? The President is deeply concerned.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Montvale,” Hall said. “May I respectfully suggest that you telephone Ambassador Silvio when Major Castillo has finished his report to me?”

“You don’t seem to understand, do you, Hall, that I am acting at the orders of the President?”

“From the tone of your voice, Charles, and if I didn’t know better, I might think that two of my most senior staff are having a little tiff over turf,” the President of the United States said. “You fellows don’t mind if I join the conversation, do you?”

“Of course not, Mr. President,” Montvale said.

“Good evening, sir,” Hall said.

“You on here, Charley?” the President asked.

“Yes, sir,” Castillo replied. “And so is Ambassador Silvio, sir.”

“How much did I miss? I hate to make you go over it all again, but I just couldn’t get the goddamn . . . get my distinguished visitor to leave.”

“I was just about to start, Mr. President.”

“Start with the condition of the female agent,” the President said.

“Yes, sir. Special Agent Schneider is in surgery. She suffered three gunshot wounds from a nine-millimeter Madsen submachine gun. . . .”

It took Castillo perhaps five minutes to report what had happened, and what was planned. The President had interrupted him three times, once to ask where the Argentine police were when the embassy car had been attacked, a second time to ask what Castillo thought about the quality of the medical treatment Special Agent Schneider was getting, and a third time to ask what had been done about notifying Schneider’s family, and that of Sergeant Roger Markham.

“That’s about it, sir,” Castillo concluded.

There was a ten-second silence, and then the President said: “You haven’t had much to say, Mr. Ambassador.Can I take that to mean you and Charley are on the same page?”

“Yes, sir,” Silvio said, simply. “We pretty much see things the same way.”

“And would you tell me if you didn’t?”

“Yes, sir, I would,” Silvio said.

There was another long pause, and then the President said, “You ever hear that story about the people who went to President Lincoln to tell him General Grant was a drunk? Lincoln was pretty fed up with people around him bickering, and history tells us he had one hell of a temper. But this time he kept it in check. What President Lincoln said was, ‘Well, find out what General Grant is drinking and I’ll see that my other generals get some of it.’ ”

The President paused. “Now, Mr. Ambassador, changing the subject, I wonder if you would be good enough to send me, via Major Castillo, a bottle of whatever you two have been drinking? I’ll share it with Secretary Hall and Director Montvale.”

“It would be my pleasure, Mr. President,” Silvio said, a smile in his voice.

“Just idle curiosity,” the President asked, “what will it be?”

“Major Castillo, sir, shares my appreciation of a local wine, a cabernet sauvignon from the Sentenir bodega in Mendoza.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” the President said. “Maybe two bottles would be better than one. Better yet, make it a case.”

“Yes, sir.”

“One more thing,” the President said. “Charley, are you watching your back?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I guess what I really meant to ask is who’s helping you watch your back?”

“Sir, as we speak, my Marine bodyguard is standing outside the ambassador’s door.”

“Well, do what he says, Charley. Too many people are getting shot down there.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

“Unless someone has something else, that would seem to

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