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There were four other people in the passenger compartment. One of them was nattily dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant of the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services. The other three were heavily armed and dressed in black jumpsuits, on the breasts of which were badges of officers of the U.S. Customs and Border Protection service.
One of the Customs officers, an enormous, swarthy man, held an Uzi in the position that caused Castillo to speak rudely to him.
“Point that goddamned muzzle at the floor!” Castillo barked, in English.
“Gringo,” Lopez said, cautiously.
The officer moved the Uzi toward Castillo.
“You don’t speak English?” Castillo snapped, in Spanish. “Don’t point that thing at me!”
“Take it easy, sir,” the Citizenship and Immigration Services lieutenant said.
The lieutenant looked at the big guy holding the Uzi and ordered, “Lower that muzzle.”
“Better…” Castillo said, still furious.
“Carlos,” Lopez said, “these gentlemen wish to search the aircraft and our luggage. Torine thought you might wish to discuss that with them.”
“We are going to search the aircraft, understand that!” the enormous swarthy man announced, not at all pleasantly.
Castillo locked eyes with him. “Then might I, sir, with all respect and humility, suggest that you begin your thorough inspection of our luggage with my briefcase?” he asked, sarcastically. “It’s right there on the floor.”
“What’s in the briefcase?” the enormous man asked.
“My credentials,” Castillo said. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Castillo of the Secret Service.”
The swarthy man considered that a moment, then said, “Get it.”
“That’s what he is all right,” the swarthy man said, visibly cowed by the credentials. But that didn’t last long. “We are still going to search your luggage and the aircraft. That’s regulations!”
“Search away,” Castillo said. “I simply wanted to identify myself before you saw the weapons we have aboard.” He turned to the immigration lieutenant. “How do we get through immigration?”
“There’s a van outside that’ll carry you to the commercial side of the airport.”
“And bring us back?”
The lieutenant nodded.
“Ladies,” Castillo said, “leave everything on board but your purses. We have to go through the immigration process. On behalf of the United States of America, I apologize for this rude reception.”
“Thanks for everything, Fernando,” Castillo said when they were back at the Gulfstream. “When you get home, blame everything on me.”
“Maria will do that anyway,” Lopez said.
He picked Castillo off the ground in a bear hug.
“If you need me for anything, forget it,” Lopez said.
“You got it.”
“I didn’t mean that, Gringo, and you know it.”
“What I want you to do is make sure Abuela doesn’t go anywhere near Midland.”
“I will. Believe me.”
“I’ll find someplace else for the Munzes just as soon as I can.”
