“You’re Jorge’s mother?”
“Yes, I am. My name is Alicia.”
Frau Erika put out her hand and Doña Alicia took it.
“I am so sorry I didn’t know about you and the boy,” Alicia said.
Tears ran down Frau Erika’s cheeks and she began to sob. Alicia put her arms around her.
V
SPRING 2005
[ONE]
Over the Atlantic Ocean Offshore, Savannah, Georgia 1520 29 May 2005
Five minutes out of the helipad at the Carolina White House, shortly after they had reached cruising altitude, Sergeant First Class DeLaney took a headset from a hook by the door and handed it to Major C. G. Castillo, who was now sitting down and properly strapped in.
Castillo put it on, found the mike button, and said, “Thanks, Sergeant.”
“Major Castillo,” a female voice said, adding jokingly, “this is your pilot speaking.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Castillo, I was just thinking,” Lieutenant Colonel Messinger said. “I’m going off-duty when we get to Hunter. I could give you a ride into Fort Stewart, if you’d like, and grease you through the process of getting into the field-grade BOQ. I live there.”
Major Castillo had an unkind and perhaps less than modest thought: For female officers, keeping one’s indiscretions a hundred miles from the flagpole was even more important than it was for male officers. For unmarried female officers —and if Lieutenant Colonel Messinger lived in the field-grade BOQ she was more than likely unmarried—it was even more difficult to be discreet. If they didn’t opt for the chastity option, they had to be very careful. Castillo knew that every brother—and sister—officer wondered, not always privately, whom Lieutenant Colonel Messinger was banging.
Banging outside the bounds of holy matrimony was Conduct Unbecoming an Officer and Gentlelady. Banging a fellow officer, especially a married one, was bad. Banging a subordinate was even worse, a 6 or 7 on the Conduct Unbecoming Scale, and banging a married subordinate was a 10.
Helping a visiting fellow field-grade aviator, who was not wearing a wedding ring, through the often maddening process of getting into visiting officer quarters, after which he would naturally suggest having a drink and dinner, after which they would go to the BOQ together, was something else. No more than a 2 on the scale, or even a 1. Providing, of course, that loud cries suggesting intense carnal union were not later heard all over the BOQ.
“That’s very kind of you, Colonel,” Castillo said. “But someone’s meeting me at Savannah International.”
“Really? Then what you really need is a ride there?”
“Yes, ma’am. But I’ll catch a cab or something.”
“I’ll take you to Savannah. Not a problem. The terminal or the private aviation side of the field?”
“The private aviation side, please.”
“No problem, Major.”
“I’ll be coming out here again, Colonel,” Castillo said. “Can I have a raincheck?”
“I’m in the book: Messinger,” she said. “Call me.”
“Thank you, I will.”
There was no further communication between the pilot and Major Castillo while they were in the air.
But when she settled the Huey on its skids on the business aviation tarmac, Major Castillo went to the cockpit window and offered her his hand.
“Thanks for the ride, Colonel,” Castillo said.
“My pleasure,” she said, “and it’s Anne.”