don’t you think it behooved you to acquire enough ammunition for your men so that they could at least defend themselves?”
The lieutenant didn’t reply.
“And possibly even be in a position to contribute to the defense of Mrs. Masterson and her children should that situation arise?”
The lieutenant colored but did not reply.
“To answer the unspoken question in your eyes, Lieutenant—to wit, ‘Who the fuck is this civilian questioning the behavior of a professional officer such as myself?’—I’m Major C. G. Castillo, U.S. Army, charged with the security of this operation.”
“Permission to speak, sir?”
“Granted.”
“Sir, I have been taking my direction from the defense attaché.”
“And?”
“Sir, I can only presume that if he wanted my men to have live ammunition, he would have issued live ammunition.”
“Lieutenant, I was a Boy Scout. Therefore, even before I was told by my tactical officer at that school on the Hudson River of which we are both graduates that the second great commandment for any officer—right after Take Care of Your Men—is that he be prepared for the unexpected, I knew that Be Prepared is a commendable philosophy to follow. Since you were apparently asleep when your tac officer tried to impart that philosophy to you, I suggest you write it down so you won’t forget it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Castillo heard the door to the alcove open, and turned.
Ambassador Silvio and Alex Darby came through the door.
Jesus! Castillo suddenly thought. What was that all about?
Why did I jump all over that guy?
Not that he didn’t deserve it.
Because you’re angry with the world, and want to vent it on somebody and he was there.
But it wasn’t smart.
“Good morning, sir,” Castillo said. “Alex.”
“The Mastersons are three minutes out,” the ambassador said. “We just got a call from Mr. Santini.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What I would like to do,” Silvio went on, “if it’s all right with you, is stay behind when the Mastersons go to Ezeiza, then go out there with the casket.”
“Anything you want to do, sir, is fine with me.”
“Tony needs to know, Charley, if you’re going to go out there with the Mastersons,” Darby said.
“Tony has more experience than I do,” Castillo said. “I don’t want to get in his way.”
“Then I’ll go with the family,” Darby said, “my wife and I will.”
“Fine. And I’ll go out there with the ambassador.”
“Okay,” the ambassador said. “Let’s go find our seats, Alex.”
A moment after they had left, Castillo decided he should be outside when the Mastersons arrived, and walked out of the alcove. Corporal Lester Bradley followed on his heels.
They found themselves standing alone in the narrow street outside the church.
I wonder where the hell the gendarmes are?
Then he saw. There were gendarmes at either end of the street. Some were blocking the street where it entered Plaza de Mayo. At the other end, a gendarme was making policeman-like traffic-control gestures, and a moment later a Peugeot sedan started backing into the street. An embassy BMW followed, then a GMC Yukon XL.
“I guess they’re backing the convoy in so they can get out quick,” Lester said.
“My thoughts exactly, Corporal Bradley.”
“Permission to speak, sir?”
“Granted.”
“You really ate that lieutenant a new asshole, didn’t you, sir?” Bradley said, admiringly.
“You weren’t supposed to hear that, Corporal.”
“Hear what, sir?”
Castillo smiled at him and shook his head.
Bradley pointed up the street.
Tony Santini and two other Americans whose faces Castillo recognized but whose names he didn’t know were walking quickly down the street to them. Both were wearing topcoats Castillo knew concealed submachine guns.
“How’s Schneider?” Santini greeted him.
“Awake and hurting. She was really unhappy that she didn’t hit one of the bastards with the one shot she got off. Britton and a DEA agent named Ricardo Solez are with her.”
“You checked inside?” Santini asked, nodding toward the cathedral.
Two embassy Yukons had now backed down the street to where they were standing. One of them discharged six Americans, three armed with M-16 rifles, two with Uzi submachine guns, and one with a Madsen. Santini motioned one of the men with an Uzi to them, and then looked at Castillo.
“You checked inside?” he repeated.
Castillo nodded. “Argentine VIPs, but neither the President nor the foreign minister is across the aisle.”
“They probably want to come in last, for the show,” Santini said.
“The ambassador and Darby and wives are here,” Castillo went on. “Darby and his wife want to go to Ezeiza with you and the Mastersons. The ambassador wants to go with the casket.”
“And you?”
“I thought that’s what I’d do.”
Santini nodded. “Scenario,” he said, “Masterson family convoy leaves. We head for Ezeiza via Avenida 9