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"None that I saw, sir."
Castillo looked around to make sure no one was watching, then put the medal in his trousers pocket.
"I'll see that Mrs. Masterson gets this. Thank you."
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant said, saluted again, did a crisp about-face movement, and marched back up the ramp.
Castillo watched as he went. The difference between me and that natty young officer-when I was out of Hudson High as long as he's been out-was that I had already fallen under the mentorship-General Naylor called it "the corrupting influence"-of General Bruce J. McNab, and had already acquired at least some of his contempt for the spit-and-polish Army and a devout belief in the Scotty McNab Definition of an Officer's Duty: Get the job done and take care of your men, and if the rules get in the way, screw the rules.
Ambassador Silvio, Alex Darby, and their wives came back through the fuselage.
Darby wordlessly offered his hand, and then, after the wives had done the same, started to help the high-heeled women down the ramp. Ambassador Silvio put out his hand.
"I expect we'll be seeing more of one another?" he asked.
"Yes, sir, I'm sure we will," Castillo said, and then remembered something. "I won't be needing this anymore, sir. Thank you."
He took the 9mm Beretta from the small of his back, cleared its action, and handed it to the ambassador, who matter-of-factly stuck it in his waistband.
"Muchas gracias, mi amigo," Silvio said. "And I don't mean only for the pistol."
Then he touched Castillo's shoulder and walked quickly down the ramp. The moment he had cleared it, the Air Commandos who had been on perimeter guard came trotting up to it. The moment the last of them had cleared the door, there was the whine of an electric motor and the ramp started to retract.
Castillo saw Chief Master Sergeant Dotterman with his hand on the ramp control, and then a moment later heard his voice on the headset.
"All aboard and closing the door, Colonel."
"Roger that," Torine's voice came over the headset. "Starting Number Three."
Five seconds after that, Dotterman reported. "All closed, Colonel."
"Roger that. Starting Number Two."
Castillo looked at Dotterman.
Dotterman, smiling, was bowing him into the fuselage in an "After you, Gaston!" gesture.
Castillo smiled back.
What I should do now is give Mrs. Masterson her husband's medal.
Fuck it. I don't want to see her right now.
Castillo sat down in the nearest aluminum pipe-framed nylon seat, next to one of the Air Commandos, and fastened the seat harness. Then he moved the switch on the headseat to the RADIO position.
"Ezeiza, U.S. Air Force Zero-Three-Eight-One," Torine's voice called. "Ready to taxi."
Ten seconds later, the Globemaster III began to move. They were still climbing to cruise altitude when Castillo unfastened his harness and made his way through the fuselage and up the stairs to the airliner seats. He stopped, took the Grand Cross of the Great Liberator from his pocket, folded the silk ribbon as best he could, and then walked to Mrs. Elizabeth Masterson.
"Mrs. Masterson," he said, extending it to her. "The officer in charge of the honor guard unpinned this from the colors and asked me to give it to you."
She took it from him, looked at it for a long moment, softly said, "Thank you," then put the medal in her purse.
When she looked up again, Castillo had moved to the head of the stairs.
"Mr. Castillo!" she called.
He stopped. When she realized that he was not going to come to her, she unfastened her seat belt and walked to him.
