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“One moment, sir.”
“White House.”
“This is the U.S. embassy, Budapest,” the male voice said. “Please confirm we are on a secure line.”
“Confirm line is secure.”
“Go ahead, Mr. Castillo,” the communications room man said.
“C. G. Castillo. Can you patch me through to Ambassador Montvale, please?”
“Colonel, Secretary Hall wishes to speak with you.”
Colonel? Boy, that news got around quick, didn’t it?
“Secretary Hall first, please. On a secure line, please.”
“One moment, sir.”
“Secretary Hall’s secure line. Isaacson.”
“Hey, Joel. Charley. Is the boss around?”
“Oh, he is indeed, Colonel,” Isaacson said. “Hold on.”
Charley faintly heard “Charley for you, boss,” then Hall’s reply, also faint, “Finally.”
And then the Honorable Matthew Hall, secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, came clearly on the line.
“Hello, Charley. Where are you?”
“Budapest, sir.”
“You didn’t go to Berlin, I gather?”
He knows about that?
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
Oh, I don’t want to answer that.
How the hell can I say “Because I didn’t want Montvale ordering me around” without sounding as if I am very impressed with myself?
Hall, sensing Castillo’s hesitation, added: “I understand you had a couple of sips at the Army-Navy Club to celebrate your promotion.”
Obviously, Naylor told Hall about that.
Thank God!
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“He’s been on the phone several times…”
He who? Naylor or Montvale?
“…the first time to tell me the two of you had come to an understanding…”
