the bed.
“Oh, Jesus!” Castillo breathed.
With some difficulty—his eyes were watering—Castillo rewrapped the intimate apparel and put it in his laptop briefcase, in the space beside the extendable handle.
Then he swallowed hard, breathed deeply, and picked up his bag and the briefcase and went into the sitting room.
“Okay, Major,” he said. “All done. Let’s go.”
[FOUR]
Room 677 The German Hospital Avenida Pueyrredón Buenos Aires, Argentina 2340 24 July 2005
Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC, was visibly relieved to see Castillo when he got off the elevator.
“All packed, Corporal?” Castillo asked.
“Yes, sir,” Bradley replied. “Sir, the gunny said, in case he misses you tomorrow, to tell you thanks.”
“For what?”
“For sending me with Sergeant Markham.”
Castillo nodded but didn’t reply. He turned to Jack Britton. “The hotel’s moved your stuff and Betty’s to my room, Jack. The bill’s taken care of. Tom McGuire said to tell you to send an in-flight advisory as soon as the Gulfstream enters American airspace, giving your ETA in Philadelphia. The Secret Service will meet the plane.”
Britton nodded. “Send it to who?”
Shit! Castillo thought. He said, “That little detail got overlooked. Send it to Philadelphia Approach Control, with a copy to the office of the secretary of Homeland Security, personal attention Secretary Hall. That ought to get their attention. You’re also probably going to refuel at MacDill Air Force Base. There’s Secret Service people there. Find them, and tell them.”
“Got it.”
Castillo nodded and then slowly opened the door to room 677.
There wasn’t much light, just a small lamp on the bedside table, over which the stout nurse had draped a blue cloth.
“Did she wake up?” Castillo asked softly.
“She’s starting to,” the nurse said.
Castillo walked to the bed and looked down at Betty.
She looked gray.
The stout nurse tugged at his arm, and he turned to look at her.
She had a cheap white stackable plastic chair in her hands. Charley had heard—he didn’t know if it was true—that they were molded from the recycled plastic of milk cartons and Coke bottles.
“You can’t just stand there until she wakes up, señor,” the nurse said. “Sit down, put your feet on this, and try to get a little sleep.”
How the hell am I going to be able to sleep?
“Muchas gracias.”
He sat in the folding chair, put his feet on the plastic chair, and when he was reasonably sure the nurse wasn’t watching, put his hand up so that he could touch Betty’s shoulder.
Castillo opened his eyes.
Jack Britton was standing beside him, extending a coffee mug.
Castillo took the mug as a reflex action.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Quarter to nine,” Britton said. “Time for you to change shirts, shave, and head for the cathedral.”
“Jesus Christ! I should be in San Isidro. Why the hell didn’t you wake me?”
“All you were going to do, Charley, was get in the way in San Isidro,” Britton said. “I talked to Santini. He said to let you sleep.”
Castillo got up, knocking the plastic chair over as he did.
“Your electric razor and a clean shirt’s in the bathroom,” Britton said, and walked out of the room.
Castillo looked down at Betty.
Her eyes were open, and she was pale but no longer gray.
“Hello, baby,” Castillo said.
Betty made a grunt that could have meant, “Hi.”
“How do you feel?”
Betty rolled her eyes, and then touched the bandages on her face and then made grunting sounds that after a moment he understood meant, “Can’t talk.”
“Sweetheart, you’re going to be all right.”
Betty pointed to the chair and grunted. When he looked confused, she repeated the grunts.
“I snore?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I love you,” Charley said.
Betty nodded.
He bent over her and very gently kissed her on the lips.
More grunts, but this time he easily made the translation: “Wiener schnitzel.”
“You took three hits,” Castillo said. “You’re going to be all right. Either tomorrow or the next day, you’re goingto Philadelphia on the Gulfstream. Jack will be with you.”
She nodded, then grunted, “Roger?”
“He didn’t make it, baby. He went out quick.”
Tears ran down her cheeks into the bandages.
Betty pointed to herself, then mimed firing a pistol, and grunted, “Get bastards?”
He shook his head.
She grunted, “Damn!”
“I have to go with the Mastersons,” Charley said.
She nodded.
“I don’t want to leave you.”
She nodded again, then mimed something that after a moment he understood was shaving.
She’s telling me to go shave.
He nodded, and walked to the bathroom. As he started to pull the door closed, she made a loud sound, and he quickly turned and looked at her.
She shook her head and pointed to her eyes.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. As he shaved, he