"Jean-Paul resigned from the foreign service and joined the United Nations and was assigned to Paris. Where he found Jack and Betsy in the apartment on the Quai Anatole France."
"Wow!" Castillo said.
"That said, Mr. Castillo," Masterson went on, "I cannot believe that Jean-Paul could possibly have anything to do with Jack's murder. Nor can I imagine Jean-Paul being involved in anything illegal. He is one of those people who go through life trying to bend the rules to their advantage, but who simply don't have the courage, if that's the word, to break them."
"Maybe drugs are involved?" Fernando said. "That's a murderous business."
"I find that impossible to accept, even as a remote possibility, Mr. Lopez," Masterson said. "Might it have something to do with our involvement in Iraq?"
"I don't think that's likely, sir," Castillo said.
"Giving my imagination free rein," Masterson asked, "could it be that Jean-Paul has somehow annoyed the Israelis? Their intelligence agency… Mossad? Something like that?"
"Mossad," Castillo confirmed. "Formally, the Institute for Intelligence and Special Tasks."
"Mossad has a certain reputation for ruthlessness," Masterson finished.
"Maybe," Castillo blurted. He collected his thoughts. "All the shooters-of Mr. Masterson, Sergeant Markham, and Special Agent Schneider-were firing Israeli-manufactured nine-millimeter ammunition."
He heard himself. Jesus, motormouth, why did you say that?
"I shouldn't have said that," he said quickly. "My brain isn't functioning. All that proves is that Israel manufactures a lot of ammunition. It's unlikely that Mossad Special Task shooters would use traceable ammunition on a job like this."
"Probably not," Masterson agreed. "But now that I think about it, I don't think that Israeli involvement in this should be dismissed out of hand."
"On the other hand," Castillo went on thoughtfully, "since so much Israeli ammo is around, so readily available, maybe Mossad would use it. Why not?"
"Which appears to point right back to Jean-Paul Lorimer and his connections with the French," Masterson said, "as the key to this."
"Yes, sir, it looks that way. With a little bit of luck, I should be in Paris before our embassy closes tomorrow. Not that the embassy being close
d matters. The CIA station chief will just have to give up his cinq a sept."
Masterson chuckled. "You have been in Paris, haven't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"What the hell is a sank… whatever you said?" Fernando asked.
"You could call it 'recreation on the way home from the office,'" Castillo said, and Masterson chuckled again. "It means five to seven. Something like a noonie in the United States."
Fernando shook his head. Masterson chuckled again.
"How well did you know my son, Mr. Castillo?"
"Not well," Castillo said. "But I liked what I saw."
"And that explains your enthusiasm to find these people?"
"That's part of it, sir. The other part is personal. I also really want to find the people who shot Special Agent Schneider and Sergeant Markham."
"Do you think the rest of the government is going to share your enthusiasm? Or will this just fade into memory?"
"I can't speak to enthusiasm, sir, but I expect cooperation."
"I thought perhaps other, higher priorities might be involved," Masterson said. "Or perhaps that when you turn over the rock, there will be worms some might wish had remained concealed. Perhaps in the national interest."
"When I was on Air Force One with the President just now, Mr. Masterson, he ordered Ambassador Montvale, the director of national intelligence, and the secretary of state to give me anything I asked for, and I intend to ask the CIA for everything they have on Lorimer. And I'm going to ask the FBI and the DIA and the DEA, the state department's bureau of intelligence and research, and the post office and the department of agriculture and anybody else I think might possibly have a line on him."