The Shooters (Presidential Agent 4)

Wilson got quickly off the couch and walked to the wet bar.

"He speaks English, right?" he asked softly.

"It might be better if you spoke slowly, sir," Castillo said, and handed him the phone.

"Oh, Jesus, Charley," Miller said. "You have a dangerous sense of humor."

"I remember," Captain Prentiss said.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Castillo," General Wilson said, carefully pronouncing each syllable. "My name is Harold Wilson, and I had the privilege of serving with your son Hor-hay."

There was a reply, which caused General Wilson to shake his head and flash Lieutenant Castillo a dirty look.

Castillo smiled and poured more scotch into his glass.

After a minute or so, Wilson handed Castillo the telephone and there followed another conversation in Spanish. Finally, Castillo put the handset back in the base.

"Like father, like son, right, Castillo?" General Wilson said, smiling. "You like pulling people's chains? Your grandfather speaks English like a Harvard lawyer."

"I guess I shouldn't have done that, sir," Castillo said. "I have an awful problem resisting temptation."

"That, sir," Miller said, "is what is known as a monumental understatement."

"Your grandfather and grandmother are coming here tomorrow, I guess he told you," Wilson said. "I'm presuming he'll call you back with the details when he's made his reservations."

"He has a plane, sir. He said they'll leave right after breakfast. That should put them in here about noon. What I've got to do now is arrange permission for them to land at Cairns and get them some place to stay. I think I can probably get them in here."

"They will stay in the VIP quarters," General Wilson said. "And I'll arrange for permission for his plane to land at Cairns. Or Tom will. Right, Tom?"

"Yes, sir," Prentiss said, then looked at Castillo as he took a notebook from his shirt pocket. "What kind of a plane is it?"

"A Learjet."

"Got the tail number?" Prentiss asked.

Castillo gave it to him.

"Your grandfather has a Learjet?" General Wilson asked.

"Yes, sir. And until a year ago, when my grandmother made him stop, he used to fly it himself. My cousin Fernando will be flying it tomorrow."

"Your father painted a very colorful picture of his life as a wetback," Wilson said. "The benefits of a serape and sandals; how to make tortillas and refry beans. He said he played the trumpet in a mariachi band. And until just now I believed every word."

"Sir, according to my grandfather, what my father did before he joined the Army-he was booted out of Texas A amp;M and was one step ahead of his draft board-was fly Sikorskys, the civilian version of the H-19, ferrying people and supplies to oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico."

"Can I get you another one of those, sir?" Miller asked, nodding at the general's empty glass.

"Yes, please," General Wilson said. "This time, put a little water and some ice in it, please."

"Yes, sir," Miller said.

"General, may I ask a favor?" Castillo asked.

"Absolutely."

"Sir, I stood still for that picture because I was ordered to. My general is not a great believer in publicity. I don't know how he'll react when he sees that story-but I do know that he will. My grandfather is much the same way, sir; he doesn't like his name in the newspapers. Is there some way you can turn the IO off?"

Wilson nodded. "Okay, he's off. I understand how you feel." He paused and then smiled. "I guess you really can't cast in bronze 'Get the fuck out, Harry,' can you?"