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No. What you're trying to do is see whether I am immediately passed in, which would mean I'm known here, or whether I'm being subjected to this rent-a-cop bullshit because they don't know me.
He smiled and waved cheerfully, and the Mercedes started to move.
"If you will come with me, please, senor?" the rent-a-cop wh
o had been on the telephone said in English.
Castillo turned and saw that the revolving barrier was moving. He went through it, and the security cop was waiting for him.
"Do you have a cellular telephone or other electronic device, sir?"
"I have a cellular," Castillo said in Spanish.
"You'll have to leave it with me, sir. It will be returned when you leave."
"We will talk to the Marine guard about that," Castillo snapped in Spanish, and started walking to the embassy building.
After a moment's hesitation, the security guard walked after him.
There were maybe fifteen people standing outside the glass entrance walls. They were all smoking.
I doubt the you-can't-smoke-in-a-U.S.-government-building zealots have ever wondered how much time is lost by all these people taking a smoke break. What's that cost the taxpayer?
Okay, Charley. Tantrum time is over. Be nice.
Inside the lobby there was a row of chrome-and-leather benches-like the seats in an airport-against the wall, portraits of the President, the Vice President, and the secretary of state on the walls, and, behind a glass-walled counter, a Marine guard-a sergeant-wearing a khaki shirt, dress blue trousers, and a white Sam Browne belt.
"May I help you, sir?" the Marine guard asked.
Charley handed him the credentials folder, which the sergeant examined carefully.
"I'm here to see Mr. Santini."
"He has a cellular," the security guard accused.
The sergeant picked up a telephone and punched a button.
"Sergeant Volkmann at Post One," he said. "There's a Mr. Castillo to see you, sir." There was a pause, and then the sergeant said, "Yes, sir," and looked at Castillo.
"Mr. Santini will be right down, sir," the Marine sergeant said. "Please have a seat."
He pointed to the benches.
"He has a cellular," the security guard said again.
"Excuse me, sir," the Marine sergeant said.
Castillo looked at him.
"Are you armed, sir?" the Marine sergeant asked, pointing to a metal-detector arch in front of the door leading inside.
Castillo shook his head.
"Thank you, sir."
Castillo sat down on one of the benches.
The secretary of state, unsmiling, looked down at him from the wall.
