V
[ONE]
The Daiquiri Lounge
The Army and Navy Club
901 Seventeenth Street NW
Washington, D.C.
2105 4 August 2005
Ambassador Montvale was waiting for them in the lobby. They all walked up the stairs to the second floor, then into the Daiquiri Lounge, taking a table in the bar where Castillo knew he and General Naylor could smoke cigars.
It immediately became apparent that before their conversation could begin, they were going to have to deal with other guests in the lounge.
The commander in chief of Central Command was not only known to—that is to say, a friend of—half a dozen officers and their wives having after-dinner drinks there but, as one of the most powerful officers in the Army, was someone to whom it was necessary to “make manners.”
Once the first old friend walked over to shake General Naylor’s hand, everyone else decided that it was not only all right for them to do so but expected of them.
Each visit—however brief—required that both Ambassador Montvale and Lieutenant Colonel Castillo be introduced. And Lieutenant Colonel Castillo was not used to—and thus made a little uncomfortable by—being addressed by his new title.
Finally, it was over, and the waiter, who had hovered in the background awaiting its end, came to the table.
“Gentlemen, what can I get for you?”
“I’m a scotch drinker,” Montvale answered, looking at Naylor. “Nothing fancy, no single malt. Something like Chivas Regal. That okay with you?”
“Fine,” Naylor said.
What is he trying to do, establish the pecking order by telling Naylor what to drink?
And why did Naylor go along?
Castillo looked at the waiter. “Yes, please,” he said.
When the waiter had left, Montvale asked, “What are you going to do in Paris?”
“Sir, I’m still looking for the people who murdered Mr. Masterson,” Castillo said.
“That’s what you wanted to talk to me about?”
“No, sir.”
“Maybe you should. Maybe there’s something I could do to help.”
Castillo didn’t reply.
“Well,” Montvale continued, “if you didn’t want my help, then what is it that you wish to talk about?”
“Mr. Ellsworth, sir.”
“Truman Ellsworth. A good man. What about him?”
“I’m sure he is, but I don’t want a liaison officer.”
“Oh! Right to the bottom line!”