on the goddamned horn, or down here, and right goddamn now!”
An Army lieutenant colonel appeared.
“Colonel Torine?” he asked.
“Right.”
“I’m Lieutenant Colonel Martín, sir. I’m the Army attaché. May I see your identification, please, sir?”
Torine produced his identification again.
“How may I help you, Colonel?”
“We would like to see either the ambassador or the chief of mission,” Torine said.
“May I ask why?”
“No, goddammit, you may not!” Torine exploded.
“Jake!” Castillo said, warningly. “Colonel, what we need to do is get into the White House switchboard on a secure line.”
“And you are, sir?”
“My name is Castillo. I’m with the Secret Service.”
He showed Lieutenant Colonel Martín his credentials.
“This is very unusual,” Lieutenant Colonel Martín said.
“I’m prepared to explain it to the ambassador or the chief of mission,” Castillo said.
“One moment, please,” Lieutenant Colonel Martín said, and motioned for the Marine guard to slide him the telephone. He punched in a number. “This is Colonel Martín. We have an Air Force colonel here, I’ve checked his ID, who wants to be connected to the White House switchboard. Can we do that?”
There was a reply.
Lieutenant Colonel Martín turned to Colonel Torine.
“He said that you have to be authorized to connect to the White House switchboard. Do you have that authorization?”
“I do,” Torine said.
“Excuse me, sir. But how do I know that?”
Torine threw up his hands in disgust.
“That was your commo room?” Castillo asked.
Lieutenant Colonel Martín nodded.
“Is it tied into the White House switchboard?”
“To the State Department switchboard.”
“Tell him to get the State Department switchboard operator. Tell her, or him, as the case may be, that C. G. Castillo wants to talk to the secretary of state, and that if she is not available, to be connected to the White House switchboard.”
“You want to talk to the secretary of state, Mr. Costello?”
“It’s Castillo. See that you get that right when you call.”
“Sir, it’s four o’clock in the morning in Washington.”
“So I have been told.”
“Just one moment, please,” Lieutenant Colonel Martín said, and took his hand off the mouthpiece of the telephone. “Mr. Costello—”
“Castillo. Castillo. With an ‘a’ and an ‘i,’” Castillo said.
“Mr. Castello wonders if it would be possible for you to contact the State Department switchboard and ask . . . see if they will take his call for the secretary of state.” Martín turned to Charley. “The office of the secretary, Mr. Castello, or Secretary Cohen personally?”
“Castillo with an ‘i,’” Castillo responded. “Secretary Cohen personally.”
“Secretary of State Cohen personally,” Lieutenant Colonel Martín parroted. He put his hand over the mouthpiece again. “It’ll be just a moment.”
A moment later, he announced: “They will take your call, Mr. Castillo, but Secretary Cohen is not available. She’s in Singapore.”
“What time is it in Singapore, Seymour?”
“Jesus, Major, I don’t know,” Sergeant Kranz confessed.
It was apparent to Castillo that Lieutenant Colonel Martín had picked up on Seymour’s use of his rank.
“I don’t think this is a secure line, is it, Colonel?” Castillo said. “I need a secure line.”
“Yes, of course,” Lieutenant Colonel Martín said, and thought that over. “If you’ll give the sergeant your identity documents, gentlemen, he’ll give you a visitor’s badge and I’ll escort you to a room with a secure telephone.”
They were in the process of handing over their documents when a tall, rather distinguished-looking man walked through the door, smiled, and said, “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Ambassador,” Lieutenant Colonel Martín said.
“You’re the ambassador?” Castillo asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” the ambassador said. “And you are?”
“He’s from the Secret Service, Mr. Ambassador,” Lieutenant Colonel Martín offered helpfully.
“Really?”
“And he wants to talk to the secretary of state, sir, personally.”
“Indeed?” the ambassador said, and went to the counter and examined the identification documents.
“You did tell Mr. Castillo that the secretary of state isn’t here, didn’t you, Colonel?” the ambassador asked.
“Actually, she’s in Singapore,” Castillo said.
“Is she indeed?” the ambassador said. “Would you mind telling me what this is about, Mr. Castillo?”
“I will tell you, sir. But I suggest this isn’t the place to do that, sir.”
“Well, then, why don’t we go to my office and we’ll see if we can get to the bottom of this.”
“Thank you very much, sir,” Castillo said.
“I knew Jack Masterson,” the ambassador said. “He was a good man.”
“Yes, sir, he was.”
“You’re in Budapest, so there’s obviously a Hungarian connection. Are you going to tell me what that is?”
“I was running down a source of information, sir. There is no Hungarian connection I know of to Mr. Masterson’s murder.”
The ambassador considered that a moment, then pointed at a telephone on his desk. “Help yourself,