“You have a name, you said, Allan?” General Stevens asked.
“Yes, sir. The next of kin are the pilot’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Juan Fernando Castillo.”
“Let me have that again?”
“The name I have for the next of kin is Castillo. Mr. and Mrs. Juan Fernando.”
“This gets better and better. Or worse and worse. I shudder to think what interesting fact may next pop out of your mouth,” General Stevens said.
“Sir?”
“Wally, go get Mrs. Stevens’s phone book. The pink one. It’s on her desk in the study.”
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Wallace said.
“You know these people, sir?” Naylor asked.
“And the alleged father of this out-of-wedlock German child is Jorge Alejandro Castillo, am I right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yeah, Allan, I know them,” General Stevens said. “They own most of downtown San Antonio. Plus large chunks of the land outside the city. Plus a large ranch near Midland, under which is the Permian basin. And I don’t really think Don Fernando . . .”
“Juan Fernando, sir,” Naylor corrected him.
“I see Freddy has corrupted you, Allan. You too are too ready to correct your superiors when you make a snap judgment they’re wrong. In the culture of which the Castillos are part, Mr. Juan Fernando Castillo is addressed as ‘Don’ Fernando as a mark of respect; much like they call upper-class Englishmen Sir John. Get it?”
“Yes, sir. Sorry.”
Sergeant Wallace returned with a pink telephone book.
General Stevens sat down at the table and looked through it. Then he held up his hand. Sergeant Wallace took the handset of a wall telephone and put it in his hand. General Stevens punched in the number.
“Good morning,” he said. “This is General Stevens, from Fort Sam. I apologize for calling at this hour. Would it be possible for me to speak with Don Fernando? It’s a matter of some importance.”
There was a reply, and then General Stevens went on.
“Perhaps Doña Alicia might be available? This is really important.”
There was another reply, and then General Stevens went on again.
“Thank you very much, but no message. I’ll call again. Thank you.”
He broke the connection with his finger and held the telephone over his shoulder. Sergeant Wallace took it from him and hung it up.
“Don Fernando is ‘out of town,’ ” Stevens said. “That may mean he’s at their ranch, or it may mean he’s in Dallas, New York, or Timbuktu. Doña Alicia is at the Alamo; she likes to get there early.”
“The Alamo, sir?”
“You’ve heard of the Alamo, haven’t you, Allan? John Wayne died there, defending it against the overwhelming forces o
f the Mexican General Santa Anna.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Being a general, Allan, as your father may have told you, is something like being an aviator. Long days and hours of utter boredom punctuated by moments of terror. I am now forced to make a decision whether to wait until I can meet with Don Fernando or to go over to the Alamo before he gets back and dump this in Doña Alicia’s lap. No matter which decision I make it is likely to be the wrong one.”
He paused, and then went on. “After two full seconds of thought, I have decided to go with my cowardly instincts and go to Doña Alicia. Her temper is not nearly as terrible as that of her husband.”