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"He's here. What's going on, Charley?"
"Get him on, please. Listen in. If you can, record it, so that you can play it back for the boss."
"Give me thirty seconds," Mrs. Kensington said.
Twenty-one seconds later Mrs. Kensington announced, "This telecon at five-ten P.M. Washington time July twenty-four, 2005, between C. G. Castillo, H. R. Miller, and Mary-Ellen Kensington, all of the Office of the Secretary of Homeland Security, is being recorded with the permission and knowledge of all parties thereto."
Major H. Richard Miller, Jr., came on the line. "What's going on, Charley?"
"You remember telling me not to do anything stupid with Betty Schneider?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Well, I exceeded your expectations. I'm in a SIDE car on the outskirts of Buenos Aires, on my way to the German Hospital, to which Betty was medevaced suffering from multiple gunshot wounds to the head and body."
"Jesus H. Christ!" Major Miller said.
"Oh, my God!" Mrs. Kensington exclaimed.
"What the hell happened?" Miller asked.
"To spare Special Agent Schneider any possible embarrassment that might ensue from the hotshot in overall charge of this operation picking her up at work himself- people might get the idea she was emotionally involved with her boss, and we couldn't have that-her boss had himself dropped off at a bar, and sent his car and driver to pick up said Special Agent Schneider.
"As Sergeant Roger Markham, USMC, was navigating the Sante Fe traffic circle in San Isidro en route to the bar, where the hotshot in overall charge of this operation was sipping wine, the car was bushwhacked by parties unknown. The bastards managed to get a Madsen through Roger's window, and damned near emptied the magazine.
"Roger took several hits in the head, which just about exploded it, and the projectiles from the Madsen ricocheted off the bulletproof glass inside the car. At least three of them wound up in Betty."
"Jesus H. Christ!" Miller said.
"You already said that, Dick," Castillo said. "Now, while Mrs. K. is reporting this to the boss-tell him, please, Mrs. K., that Ambassador Silvio is going to get on a secure line to report this just as soon as he tells Mrs. Masterson about this, and sees what she wants to do about the medal ceremony tomorrow, and that I will do the same as soon as I can, which means after I find out about Betty."
"Of course," Mrs. Kensington said. "Oh, Charley, I'm so sorry-"
"You, Dick," Castillo interrupted her, "get on the horn to the police commissioner in Philadelphia. What's his name?"
"Kellogg," Miller furnished.
"Better yet, what was the name of the counterterrorismguy, the one that had been in the Tenth Special Forces Group? Fritz something?"
"Chief Inspector F. W. 'Fritz' Kramer," Miller furnished, softly.
"That's the guy. Call him. Give him a heads-up. Tell him you don't know much more than she has been hurt- don't tell him she was shot, just hurt-and that we're going to send her to Philadelphia just as soon as possible. Ask him to make the call whether to tell her family or not. Tell him as soon as you know more, you'll pass it on."
"Got it."
"And then get with Joel Isaacson and ask him what to do about Roger Markham…"
"He's the Marine driver who bought the farm?" Miller interrupted.
"Yeah. The ambassador's going to call the State Department, but I don't know what they'll do about notifying the Marine Corps, or the next of kin, and I don't want that fucked up… sorry, Mrs. K."
"I'll handle that, Charley," Mrs. Mary-Ellen Kensington said. "What about you? Are you all right? Safe?"
"I'm sitting next to the guy who runs SIDE. In Argentina, it don't get no safer than that."
"You will call when you know something about Betty?" Mrs. Kensington asked.
"I will. Now I have to break off. We're nearly at the hospital."
