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"So what happens now?" he asked.
"We get her and the children out of Argentina just as soon as we can get her on your airplane. Have you got approach charts for Keesler Air Force Base?"
"Of course. Why Keesler?"
"Mrs. Masterson wants him buried in Mississippi. That's where he's from. The Mississippi Gulf Coast."
"General Naylor told me the President wants Mr. Masterson buried in Arlington."
"It's her call, isn't it?"
"Obviously. When do you think she'll be ready to leave?"
"I think-think, don't know-that they're going to release her from the hospital this morning. If I had my way, she'd go directly from the hospital to the airport. But I doubt that's going to happen. Maybe late tonight, which would put us into Keesler in the morning. But probably sometime tomorrow."
"The defense attache told me the Argentines want to put the casket in the Catedral Metropolitana, so they can pay their respects," Torine said. "What's that?"
"I hadn't heard that," Castillo replied. "And I have no idea."
"It's like their national cathedral," Sergeant Roger Markham furnished. "Not far from the Casa Rosada, which is like their White House. Except it's pink. The Casa Rosada, I mean. The cathedral looks like what the Parthenon must have looked like before it fell down. Marble, I think."
"The Marines to the rescue," Castillo said. "Keep going, Roger."
"Well, it's their big-time church. San Martin-that general they call 'the Great Liberator'? He was a pal of Thomas Jefferson. Avenida Libertador is really named after him, like if we named Washington Square 'Father of Our Country Square.'"
"Fascinating," Colonel Torine said, managing to keep a straight face.
"They guard his tomb inside like we do the Unknown Soldier, twenty-four/seven. If they want to put Mr. Masterson's body in there, it's really an honor."
"You're right, Roger. And I can see why they'd want to do it, but I don't know how that's going to go down with Mrs. Masterson, not to mention my orders to get her and the kids out of here as quickly as possible."
He looked at Torine.
"What we're going to do now is go to the hospital and introduce Betty and Jack to her. I told you, she's frightened. It might be useful if you went along, if you'd be willing. Tell her the travel plans, you know, whatever might make her feel better."
"You don't have to ask, Charley," Colonel Torine said. "About that or anything else. General Naylor didn't like it much, I don't think, but he made it very clear that you're running this exercise."
"I hear a cell phone ringing," Betty announced.
Castillo patted his clothing as he remembered his was in the bedroom, then quickly got up and went to get it. That took some time, as it was in the pocket of the pants he had been wearing when Betty had come looking for her lost handkerchief, and had been kicked out of sight when Jack Britton had rung the door chimes.
As had, Castillo learned when he reached under the bed for them, Betty's brassiere and underpants.
That means when she walked out of here, she wasn't wearing anything under her blue jeans and sweater!
A series of mental images flooded his mind.
Goddammit, what's the matter with you? Answer the goddamn cellular!
By the time he'd gotten the telephone from his pocket, it was too late.
The phone, however, had captured the caller's number. He pushed the MISSED CALL key, then the DIAL key.
"Sylvia Grunblatt."
The embassy public information officer. What the hell does she want?
"C. G. Castillo, Ms. Grunblatt. Were you trying to reach me?"
