By Order of the President (Presidential Agent 1)

Naylor, who didn’t know what to say, said nothing. “Wally, get on the horn and call the office and say I won’t be in until I get there, and the only messages I want on the radio are from the chief of staff or an Operational Immediate saying Russian bombers are over San Antone.”

“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Wallace said and went to the wall telephone.

“Please tell me, Allan, that you haven’t burned my bacon and eggs.”

“I have not burned your bacon and eggs, sir.”

[EIGHT]

Alamo Plaza San Antonio, Texas 0835 12 March 1981

“Doña Alicia’s office is in the Daughters of the Republic of Texas library,” General Stevens said, pointing to the building. “And before we go in there, I think a little historical background is in order.”

“Yes, sir,” Major Naylor said.

“Contrary to what most people think, the Alamo is not owned by the federal government, or Texas, but is the property of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas. That organization is not unlike the Order of the Cincinnati, membership in which—I’m sure you know, since you and your father are members—is limited to direct lineal descendants of George Washington’s officers. Membership in the Daughters of the Republic of Texas is limited to ladies who can claim to be direct descendants of men and women who rendered service to the Republic of Texas, before the republic struck a deal with Washington and joined the Union. It helps if your ancestor or ancestors died at the Alamo, but the battle of San Jacinto will also get you in if other ladies like you. With me so far?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Doña Alicia Castillo has twice been president of this august organization, and it is reliably rumored that the Castillo family over the years has contributed a hell of a lot of money to keeping up the Alamo, and the San Jacinto Battlefield, and other historical things important to Texas. Getting the picture? ”

“Yes, sir.”

“I really don’t know how she’s going to react to the news that she has an illegitimate grandson in Germany. I suspect she’s not going to be overwhelmed with joy.”

“I understand, sir.”

“I think the best plan of action is for me to do the talking, and for you to say no more than ‘Yes, ma’am,’ or ‘No, ma’am.’ ”

“Yes, sir.”

“In these circumstances, it seems to me—since Freddy and Netty Lustrous believe the mother . . .”

“Elaine and I do, too, sir,” Naylor interrupted. “And we have the results of the blood test.”

General Stevens gave him a frosty look and went on:

“. . . that we have an obligation to see the boy gets what he’s entitled to as the fruit of the loins of a fellow officer who was awarded the Medal of Honor. Among other things, the boy gets a pass into West Point, if he so desires. We cannot permit the Castillos to sweep this kid back under the rug, even if that means they are going to suffer some embarrassment. ”

“I understand, sir.”

“So put a cork in your mouth when we get in there and let me do the talking.”

“Yes, sir.”

Doña Alicia Castillo, a trim woman who appeared to be in her late fifties, and whose jet-black hair, drawn tight in a bun, showed traces of gray, came to the door of her office when her secretary told her over the intercom that General Stevens, who did not have an appointment, was asking for a few minutes of her time.

“What an unexpected pleasure, General,” she said, smiling and offering her hand. “Please, come in.”

She turned and went into her office. Stevens and Naylor followed.

“Marjorie’s well, I trust?” she said as she settled herself behind her desk. “I saw her last week at the United Fund luncheon.”

“She’s fine, Doña Alicia. She’s visiting her mother.”

“Please give her my regards,” Doña Alicia said, and added, “Please sit down, and tell me what I can do for you.”

“Doña Alicia,” General Stevens said, “may I introduce my godson, Major Allan Naylor? His father and I were roommates at West Point.”