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"Maybe because I like you, and maybe because I think he'd learn something working for you. If he doesn't work out, you can send him back." Major Carlos Guillermo Castillo, Special Forces, had shown up at the Nebraska Complex three days later. In uniform, which displayed an impressive row of decorations and I-Was-There ribbons, plus a Combat Infantry Badge and a set of Senior Army Aviator wings. The latter surprised Hall, as Naylor hadn't mentioned that Castillo was a pilot.
He was also surprised at his appearance. He didn't look Latin. He was blue-eyed, fair-skinned, and Hall suspected his light brown hair had once been blond.
Hall, who had a CIB of his own, liked what he saw.
"Major, would it offend you if I called you 'Carlos'?"
"Not at all, sir. But I'd prefer 'Charley,' sir."
"'Charley' it is. And-so people don't start asking 'who's that Army officer working for Hall?'-I'd like you to wear civvies. A suit, or a sports coat with a shirt and tie. Is that going to pose a problem?"
"No, sir."
Hall had stopped himself just in time from saying, "Don't go out and spend a lot of money on civvies; this may not work out."
Instead, he asked, "You're going to try to get in the BOQ at Fort Myer?"
"Sir, I'm on per diem, and I've spent more than my fair share of time in BOQs. I thought I'd look for a hotel, or an apartment."
"Up to you," Hall had said, "but-frankly, this may not work out for either of us-I wouldn't sign a lease on an apartment right away."
"Yes, sir. A hotel."
"If such a thing exists, try to find a reasonably priced hotel near the White House-you might try the Hotel Washington. I spend most of my time in the OEOB, which means you will, too."
"Yes, sir."
Hall had risen and put out his hand.
"Welcome aboard, Charley. You come recommended by General Naylor, and with that in mind, and from what I've seen, I think you're going to fit in very well around here. Get yourself settled-take your time, do it right- and when you're finished, come to work."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." When Hall went to his OEOB office at nine the next morning, Castillo was there, waiting for him. In a gray suit, black wingtip shoes, a crisp white button-down shirt, and a red-striped necktie, none of which, Hall knew, had come off the racks at Sears, Roebuck.
Good, he looks like a typical bureaucrat, Hall thought, and then changed that assessment. No. Like a successful Capitol Hill lobbyist or lawyer.
Castillo said he'd found a hotel not far from the White House and the OEOB.
"One you can afford?" Hall asked, with a smile.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, then, if you're ready to go to work, I'll have Mrs. Kensington show you how we throw away the taxpayers' money."
Three days later, when Hall was dictating to Mary-Ellen, Castillo appeared at the door and said he had a little problem.
"What's that?"
"I need some kind of a title, sir. I got the feeling you didn't want the military connection, so I don't say 'Major. ' When somebody asks me what I do here, I've been saying, 'I work in Secretary Hall's office.' "
"That makes you sound like a clerk," Mary-Ellen said. "Nobody will pay any attention to you."
Hall smiled at her. He had noticed that Mary-Ellen had liked Charley from the first day.
"Okay, Mary-Ellen, what do you suggest?"
"Executive assistant," Executive Assistant Kensington replied immediately. "That has a certain je ne sais quoi in the upper echelons of the Washington bureaucracy."
"But he's not an executive assistant," Hall had protested.
