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"Anything else, Charley?"
"Get your filthy rotten smelly cast off my desk."
"Go fuck yourself. I say that with all possible respect. Watch your back, buddy."
"I will. Break it down, please."
"After eavesdropping on your conversation, Mr. Castillo," the ambassador said, "I don't really know much more about what you're doing than I did before, except I now have no question about your right to use my secure voice link."
"Thank you very much for the use of it, sir."
"It should go without saying that I really hope you can find whoever murdered Jack Masterson. Is there anything I can do, anything at all?"
"I can't think of anything, sir," Castillo said. "Except one thing. Who was the American officer whose statue is across the street?"
The ambassador chuckled. "You saw that, did you?" he asked, rhetorically. "Brigadier General Harry Hill Bandholtz was sent here in 1919 to be the American on the Inter-Allied Control Commission which was supervising the disengagement of Romanian troops from Hungary.
"The Romanians thought disengagement meant they could help themselves to the Transylvanian treasures in the National Museum. General Bandholtz didn't think that was right. So, on October 5, 1919, he showed up at the museum, alone, and armed only with his riding crop, ran the Romanians off like Christ chasing the money-lenders out of the temple. He must have been one hell of a man."
"Obviously."
"And when they asked him why, he said something to the effect that he was only obeying his orders as he understood them as an officer and a gentleman. You don't hear that phrase much anymore, do you, 'an officer and a gentleman'?"
"Mr. Ambassador," Torine said, "oddly enough, I heard it earlier today."
"Said seriously, or mockingly?"
"Very seriously, sir," Tori
ne said. "Spoken by an officer and a gentleman."
"The Hungarians loved Bandholtz and had the statue cast," the ambassador went on. "They set it up in 1936. The Hungarian fascists and the Nazis didn't bother it, but when the Russians were here, right after the war- before they let us reopen the embassy-they took it down and away 'for repair.' We heard about it, of course, from the Swiss, who were supposed to be guarding the embassy property. We were actually in the process of having another made when we learned that the Hungarians had stolen it from the scrap yard, and were concealing it so it could be put back up when the Russians left. The Russians left, and General Bandholtz is back on his pedestal."
"Mr. Ambassador, that's a great story, and I'm really glad I asked. But now, sir, with our profound thanks, we won't take any more of your time," Castillo said.
"Where are you going now, to the airport?"
"First to the Karpatia, sir, then to the Gellert to check out, and then to the airport."
"I'll get you one of our cars," the ambassador said, and reached for a telephone. "Then I can tell myself I at least did something to help." [THREE] Karpatia Ferenciek tere, 7-8 Budapest, Hungary 1215 28 July 2005 Otto Goerner and Eric Kocian were already mostly through what looked like liter-sized glasses of beer when Castillo and the others came into the restaurant. And the moment they sat down, a plump waiter with a luxuriant mustache showed up with a tray full of the enormous beer glasses.
"None for those two, thank you just the same," Castillo said in Hungarian, pointing to Torine and Fernando. "They're driving."
Goerner and Kocian chuckled.
"Are you going to tell us what you just said about us?" Fernando challenged.
"No booze, you're flying," Castillo said.
"And what about you?"
"I'll be doing the flight planning. I can do that with a little beer in my system."
"I'll do the flight planning, thank you just the same, Major," Torine said, and slid Castillo's beer away from him, picked it up, took a healthy swallow, sighed appreciatively, and added, "As an officer and a gentleman, I'm sure you're aware that Rank Hath Its Privileges."
"Well, in that case, I guess there's nothing for me to do but eat," Castillo said. "What do you recommend, Herr Kocian?"
Kocian reached into his pocket and handed Castillo a business-sized envelope. It was stuffed with paper.
