there,” Winslow Masterson said, and started again for the stairs.
Castillo looked at D’Allessando. “You have wheels, Vic?”
“Not to spare, Charley.”
“You have the Secret Service guy on your radio?”
D’Allessando nodded.
“Tell him that I need a Yukon here, right now, for I don’t know how long.”
“You can do that?”
“You can do that and we’ll see what happens.”
D’Allessando tilted his head slightly.
“You on, Ogilvie?” he said.
Mrs. Masterson looked at him with great curiosity.
“He’s got a radio under there,” Castillo explained.
“Mr. Castillo wants a Yukon at the Globemaster right now,” D’Allessando said. There was a pause. “All he told me was to tell you he wants a Yukon here, now.”
D’Allessando straightened up and announced, “On the way, Charley.”
“Now tell them to find Fernando Lopez—he’s my cousin, he’s in the VIP section, and they know it—and bring him here.”
D’Allessando bent his head again and repeated the order, and then said, “They’ll do it.”
Betsy Masterson’s eyes met Castillo’s.
“My father-in-law is just like Jack, isn’t he?”
“Yes, ma’am, I was thinking the same thing.”
“I guess it’s the genes,” she said.
[FIVE]
Estancia Shangri-La Tacuarembó Province República Oriental del Uruguay 2355 25 July 2005
Jean-Paul Bertrand watched the ceremonies taking place at Keesler Air Force Base on CNN.
They are really making a show of it, he thought, with somewhat grudging admiration. And then he thought, That’s precisely what it is, a show. Jack gets himself shot, and they’re acting as if he were the secretary of state, and all he was was chief of mission in a third-rate embassy.
The President arranged the show for his own agenda.
Jean-Paul got to watch not only Betsy and the kids this time but his father and mother as well. There was a camera long shot of the family walking behind the casket as it was slowly marched off the airplane.
Daddy looks fine, old but fine; not as one would expect of someone who nearly died of a heart attack. Mom must have her hands full with him. Jack’s father looks just like Jack. And so does the older boy. What the hell is his name? Do they call him “Junior” or “the Third”?
The cameras were trained, too, on the reviewing stand as the family took their places beside the President. The President not only kissed Betsy but put his arms around her in a compassionate hug.
If that’s not for the purpose of putting the ignorant masses who voted for him in a receptive state of mind for what he’s going to say, then what is it for?
The secretary of state also embraced Betsy and kissed her, then did the same to Ambassador and Mrs. Lorimer and then the kids.
Daddy at least had the dignity to look a little offended. God, how I loathe that arrogant little bitch! She’s nearly as bad as the President!
“My fellow Americans,” the President began, and Jean-Paul Bertrand almost switched the television off then, but curiosity stayed his hand.
“I come here tonight bearing two messages.
“One is from you.
“The American people offer their profound condolences to the families of J. Winslow Masterson and Sergeant Roger Markham, USMC, who gave their lives in the service of the United States.
“The second message is from me,” the President went on. “It is to those who committed the cowardly murders of these two good men.
“I say to you that this outrage will not go unpunished. I have ordered . . .”
Jean-Paul Bertrand switched off the television.
It would have been nice to see more of the family, but if the price to do that is looking at that man while he mouths such nonsense, it is simply too high.
XIII
[ONE]
Penthouse C The Belle Vista Casino & Resort U.S. Highway 90 (“The Magic Mile”) Biloxi, Mississippi 2230 25 July 2005
When the dark blue, nearly black, GMC Yukon XL pulled up in the brilliantly lit drive of the hotel, the driver’s door was opened by a doorman in what looked like the uniform of an admiral in the Imperial Russian Navy.
“Welcome to the Belle Vista Casino and Resort,” he announced. “How may I be of service?”
“You can tell me where I can park this thing,” the driver said.
“We have valet parking, sir.”
“No,” the driver said, and showed the doorman his Secret Service credentials. “I keep control of the vehicle. And I need it close, in case it’s required in a hurry.”
“Oh,” the doorman said. “Is one of you gentlemen Mr. Costello?”
“My name is Castillo,” Charley said, from the backseat.
“And you are Mr. Masterson’s guest, sir?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Welcome to the Belle Vista Casino and Resort, Mr. Castillo,” the doorman said and opened the rear