"Watch your back."

Castillo got off the floor, stood by the bed, looked down at Special Agent Schneider for a long minute. Then he put his back to the wall, slid down, and punched another long series of numbers into the cellular.

Supervisory Special Agent Thomas McGuire of the United States Secret Service answered on the second ring: "Four-Zero-Seven-Seven."

"Tom?"

"Is that you, Charley?"

"Yeah."

"How's Schneider?"

"She's out of surgery. She's going to be all right. But she was pretty badly hurt. As soon as she can travel- tomorrow or the next day-I'm going to send her to Philadelphia. On that Air Force Gulfstream. That's one of the reasons I'm calling."

"Before we get into that-how are you?"

"I'm all right."

"What do you need?"

"Can you arrange for somebody to meet the airplane? The surgeon who treated her-"

"Hey, Charley. She's Secret Service. We take care of our own." He paused, and then asked, incredulously, "You're not sending her alone?"

"Jack Britton will be with her. And a doctor and a nurse. The surgeon who treated her here has a packet of records-X-rays, her pharmacology, et cetera. Jack will have that. I want to make sure he's able to get it to-"

"There will be people at the airport. They'll do whatever has to be done. Have the pilot send an in-flight advisory as soon as he enters American airs.p.a.ce. Okay?"

"I've got the name of a doctor at the University of Pennsylvania who's supposed to be very good."

"Give me his name. I'll check him out."

"William Rieger, M.D."

"What does Schneider need?"

"She took a nine-millimeter bullet in the jaw. Plus two others in the body. But the problem is the jaw. The medical specialty is-you better write this down."

"Ballpoint in hand."

"I don't even know how to say this. She needs an orthognathicist. I'll spell that." He did.

"Got it. Anything else?"

"A plastic reconstructive surgeon and an orthodontist," Castillo finished.

"She'll have them."

"Thanks."

"What happened, Charley? All we got is that she was shot and her driver got killed."

"They ambushed my car. . . ." In the back of his mind, he heard Jack Britton's warning: "If you keep up this 'it's all my fault' bulls.h.i.t somebody important's going to hear you and they'll keep you off the investigation." "If you keep up this 'it's all my fault' bulls.h.i.t somebody important's going to hear you and they'll keep you off the investigation." Castillo stopped himself. Castillo stopped himself.

"And?" McGuire pursued.

Castillo stuck to the basics. "It was stopped at a traffic circle near Masterson's house. Somebody got the driver to lower his window, stuck a Madsen in it, and emptied the magazine. The driver, a Marine sergeant named Markham, took at least two hits in the head as he was trying to back off. The doctor thinks what hit Schneider were ricochets off the bulletproof gla.s.s."

Did that sound professionally dispa.s.sionate enough? Or is McGuire going to see right through it?

"It's 'projectile resistant,' not 'bulletproof,'" McGuire corrected him absently. "You said it was your car. You think they were trying to get you?"

"I don't know, Tom."

"Just an ordinary 'let's whack an American, any American' a.s.sa.s.sination? I don't think so. These people are obviously professionals. Why would they risk something like this going sour for them just to take out a Secret Service agent? Unless maybe (a) they expected you to be in the car, and (b) they know that you're not just a Secret Service agent but the President's agent. That would put you in the same category as Masterson, somebody important enough to whack-for whatever reason."

"That brings us back to: Why did they kill Masterson? And not Mrs. Masterson when they had the chance?"

McGuire didn't reply for a moment, then he said, mockingly solemn, "If you would be interested in the opinion of a lowly but old, balding, and wise Secret Service agent, there is something rotten in the state of Denmark. I just wish to h.e.l.l I knew what it is."

"Me, too, Tom."

"What else can I do for you?"

"Two things. Ask d.i.c.k Miller to take my Officer's Model .45-which is cleverly concealed behind the books on the bookshelf behind my bed-and put it and enough summer clothes for a couple of days in Mississippi into one of the carry-on bags in the closet and somehow get it down to me in Mississippi."

"I'll get it for you, Charley. Joel and I are going down there on Air Force One with the boss."

"Thanks."

"Anything else?"

"I asked my cousin Fernando to bring his airplane to Keesler. I'm not sure they'll let him land there. Can you fix it?"

"I don't think it'll be a problem. If there is, I'll call him and tell him where to take it."

"Thanks again."

"Charley, would you take some straight advice from the old Irishman?"

"I'm all ears for anything you have to say."

"One scenario that came to my mind is that we're dealing with a lunatic or lunatics-not necessarily rag-heads; maybe even American-who get off by whacking important people. Masterson qualified as a diplomat and as Jack the Stack. That may explain both why they kidnapped the wife and why they didn't kill her. They just used her to get to him."

Castillo grunted.

"And it may explain why they tried to whack you. The President's agent is in the same league as a diplomat. Maybe even more important. How much of a secret is that down there?"

"Somebody tipped the New York Times New York Times that there is a Presidential Agent. And some other members of the press. I don't think my name came out." that there is a Presidential Agent. And some other members of the press. I don't think my name came out."

"Well, that might explain the ambush. Do you know who had the big mouth?"

"I've got my suspicions."

"Have you got a name?"

"I'm not sure about this, Tom."

"When people are trying to whack you, Charley, an overdose of decency can be lethal."

"There's an FBI agent down here who I think made me."

"Made you how?"

"Do you think-despite the President personally ordering the director to lay off Pevsner-that they still have a 'locate but do not detain' out on me?"

"It would be stupid of them, but it wouldn't surprise me. They really want Kennedy."

"This guy's name is Yung. He's attached to the emba.s.sy in Montevideo, supposedly working on money laundering."

"Supposedly?"

"I ran into Howard Kennedy-"

"He's down there?" McGuire interrupted. His surprise was evident in his voice.

"He was."

"Doing what?"

"He said he had brought an airplane load of objets d'art objets d'art to the King Faisal Islamic Center and was going to take a load of polo ponies back to Arabia." to the King Faisal Islamic Center and was going to take a load of polo ponies back to Arabia."

"Oddly enough, that sounds legitimate."

"I think that's what he was doing. Anyway, he's gone, and I don't think he or Pevsner has anything to do with this. Pevsner wants to be invisible, what Kennedy wants is what Pevsner wants, and whacking an American diplomat does not seem to be a good way to be invisible."

"With Pevsner, you never know."

"Anyway, Kennedy said he knows this guy Yung, says that he's a hotshot, and whatever Yung's doing in Montevideo has nothing to do with money laundering."

"That's interesting. Let me see what I can find out about this guy."

"Thanks again, Tom."

"I was about to offer you some serious advice."

"Shoot."

"Tell me it's okay for me to call Tony Santini and tell him to sit on you until you get out of there."

"Tony's with the Mastersons. I think he should stay there. And I have a Marine bodyguard who won't let me out of his sight."

"Your call, Charley. But the more I think about it, I think these people are trying to whack you, so be careful."

"I will."

"I just had another thought," McGuire said. "Off the wall."

"Let's hear it."

"The whackers-of Schneider, if they weren't specifically after you-are sending a message."

"What kind of a message?"

"I haven't figured that out yet. But part of it could be, 'We can get to you if we want to, Secret Service protection or not.'"

"I don't know, Tom."

"I said it was off the wall," McGuire said. "That doesn't mean it's not possible."

"It brings up something else, Tom. What about protection for the Mastersons in Mississippi?"

"Charley, the President's going to be in Mississippi. The Secret Service will be all over Keesler. And the head of the protection detail has to know how p.i.s.sed off he is about Masterson getting whacked."

"The President's not going to stay in Mississippi."

"Good point. I'll talk to Joel and see what he says. Anything else?"

"Can't think of anything."

"Okay, I'll see you down there."

Castillo called Amba.s.sador Silvio and told him that Betty was out of the operating room but still unconscious, and that her doctor had said she could travel either the next day or the day following.

Then he got off the floor and looked down at Betty again. She was still out.

Castillo turned to the heavyset nurse.

"How long will she be like this?" he asked.

"Probably for at least an hour, senor."

"If she wakes before I get back, tell her I'll be back," Castillo ordered.

"I will."

Castillo unplugged the cellular from the charger, saw that he now had enough battery remaining to get to the Four Seasons, then unplugged the charger from the wall and put both devices in his pocket. Then he walked out of the room.