The shooters

VIII

[ONE] 7200 West Boulevard Drive

Alexandria, Virginia 1115 7 September 2005 Castillo walked into the living room with Max on his heels and, following the dog, an enormous, very black man in a three-button black suit-all buttons buttoned-a crisp white shirt, and a black tie.

Colonel Jake Torine was sitting with Edgar Delchamps at the battered coffee table. They both had their feet up on it, and Delchamps was reaching into the box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts on the table between them.

Special Agent David W. Yung of the FBI and Sergeant Major John Davidson were sprawled in the red leather armchairs, with their own Krispy Kreme box between them on a footstool.

Torine was wearing a blue polo shirt and khaki pants. Yung, Davidson, and Delchamps wore single-breasted nearly black suits. Yung's and Davidson's suits looked as if they were fresh from a Brooks Brothers box. Delchamps's suit looked as if it had been at least six months since it had received any attention from a dry cleaning establishment.

"Welcome home," Torine said, taking a bite of his doughnut. They all looked curiously at the black man.

"Colin," Castillo said. "This is Colonel Torine, Mr. Yung, Mr. Delchamps, and Mr. Davidson."

"Gentlemen," the black man said in a very deep, very Southern voice.

"Every nice house in suburbia needs a butler," Castillo said. "So I got us one. Say something in butler, Colin."

"Yah, suh," the black man said in an even thicker Southern accent. "Can I fix you gentlemen a small Sazerac as a li'l wake-me-up?"

Delchamps's eyebrows rose. A smile crossed Davidson's face. Yung looked baffled. Torine looked confused, and then recognition came.

"I'll be damned," he said, getting to his feet and putting out his hand. "I didn't recognize you in that undertaker's suit. How the hell are you, Sergeant Major?"

"You are speaking, sir," the black man said, now sounding as if he was from Chicago or somewhere else in the Midwest, "to Chief Warrant Officer Five Leverette."

"When did that happen?"

"I took the warrant a couple of years ago when some moron decided they needed two officers on an A-Team and they wanted to make an instructor out of me," Leverette said. "It's good to see you, too, Colonel. Charley said they gave you an eagle. When did you get that?"

"About four years ago. Where did Charley find you?"

"He found me," Castillo said. "I was having my breakfast yesterday at Rucker when in he walked. I thought he was a Bible salesman until he demanded to know what I intended to do with his team."

"You're in on this operation with us, Colin?" Davidson asked.

Leverette nodded. "Somebody's going to have to keep Charley out of trouble, right?"

"Oddly enough, I was just talking to somebody else about that," Torine said. He looked at Castillo. "We need to talk about that, Charley."

"I also need a few minutes of your valuable time, Ace," Delchamps said.

Max walked to Torine and put out his paw.

"Can he have a doughnut?" Torine asked. "I'm not sure he's giving me his paw because he likes me."

"As long as it's not chocolate covered," Castillo said.

"The offer of a Sazerac is still on the table," Leverette said. "Any takers?"

"I thought you couldn't get one outside New Orleans," Delchamps said.

"Today, you can't get one in New Orleans. It's under water, as you may have heard." He reached into his jacket pocket and came out with a small paper-wrapped bottle about the size of a Tabasco bottle. "But here you can."

"What's that?" Yung asked.

"What's this, or what's a Sazerac?"

"Two-Gun has led a sheltered life, Colin," Delchamps said. "I accept your kind offer."

"'Two-Gun'?" Leverette parroted, and then said, "This, Two-Gun, is Peychaud's Bitters. I never leave home without it. It is the essential ingredient in a Sazerac cocktail, which I regard as New Orleans's greatest contribution to the general all-around happiness of mankind."

"There's the booze," Torine said, pointing to an array of bottles. "I know there's rye, bourbon, and Pernod. But you need powdered sugar, too, right?" When Leverette nodded, he added: "I saw some in the kitchen, thanks to the ever-efficient Corporal Bradley. I'll go get it." Torine started for the kitchen, then stopped and turned, and added: "About whom we also have to talk, Charley."

Leverette carried bottles of spirits to the table, then began to construct a cocktail shaker full of Sazerac with all the care and precision of a chemist dealing with deadly substances.

Torine returned from the kitchen with a box of confectioner's sugar, a lemon, and a paring knife in one hand, and five glasses in the other.

"Pay attention, Two-Gun," Davidson said. "You will see a master at work."

"It's not even lunchtime," Yung protested.

"They don't drink in the morning in the FBI, Colin," Delchamps said.

"How sad," Leverette said.

"Charley," Torine said. "Where's Jamie and his suitcase?"

"I left him in Rucker. Things went so smoothly down there that any second now the other shoe is sure to drop, and I want to be the first to know what's going wrong. I'm going to need another communicator right about now."

"Does it have to be a communicator?" Torine asked. He stopped, looked down, and saw that Max was again offering his paw. He reached into the Krispy Kreme box and handed Max another doughnut. Then he saw the look of confusion on Castillo's face and added: "I mean a Delta Force guy?"

"Where else would I get one?"

"Lester," Torine said. "He already knows how to work the satellite radio."

"He ask you?" Castillo said.

"No. This is what I wanted to talk to you about. What happened was he went to Davidson and asked him how he thought you would feel about sending him back to the Marine Corps."

He gestured for Davidson to pick up the story.

"I finally pulled it out of him," Davidson said, "that one of the Secret Service drivers asked him one time too many to be a good kid and go get him a cup of coffee."

"You mean one of the Secret Service guys asked him too many times, or they all have been mistaking him for an errand boy?"

"Many of them, probably most have. You can't blame them, but Lester is pissed." He looked at Leverette. "The colonel tell you about the Pride of the Marine Corps?"

Leverette shook his head.

"Wait till you see him," Davidson said. "He makes Rambo look like a pansy."

"Well, sending him back to the Marines is out of the question," Castillo said, a touch of impatience in his voice. "We can't afford that. He knows too much, and a lot of jarheads would like to know where he's been and what he's been doing. And then wish they'd gone, and that would just make the goddamn story circulate wider."

"That's just about what I told him," Davidson said. "I also had a quiet word with a couple of the Secret Service guys."

"Okay. As soon as I have my Sazerac and thus the strength to get off of this couch, I will inform Corporal Bradley that he is now my official communicator."

"Gentlemen," Leverette said, "our libation is ready. You may pick your glasses up, slowly and reverently."

They did so.

"Absent companions," Leverette said, and started to touch glasses.

Yung looked as if he wasn't sure whether he was witnessing some kind of solemn special operator's ritual or his leg was being pulled.

Castillo saw on Leverette's face that he had picked up on Yung's uncertainty and was about to crack wise.

"Two-Gun's one of us, Colin," Castillo said simply. "He was on the operation where Sy Kranz bought the farm."

"I could tell just by looking at him that he was a warrior," Leverette said. "He's bowlegged, wears glasses, and he talks funny."

"I think I like this guy," Delchamps said.

"Sorry, Two-Gun," Leverette said. "I didn't know who the hell you were."

Yung smiled and made a deprecating gesture.

"So was Corporal Bradley," Torine said. "And he probably deserves a medal-for marksmanship, if nothing else-for taking out two of the bad guys with two head shots. But I don't think we ought to call him in here and give him one of these. God, this looks good, Colin!"

"Mud in your eye, Seymour," Castillo said, and took a swallow.

The others followed suit.

Castillo put his glass on the table and exhaled audibly.

"You look beat, Charley," Torine said.

Castillo nodded.

"So beat," he said, "that I forgot that I have to call the secretary of State and tell her I couldn't talk Lorimer-Ambassador Lorimer-out of riding out the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in Uruguay. I should have done that before I had this."

He held up the Sazerac glass.

Torine shrugged. "Well, what the hell, you tried. Miller told me you went to Mississippi just to see him."

"What's bad about it, Jake, is that I'm going to have to lie to her, or at least not tell her the truth, the whole truth, etcetera. And I don't like lying to her."

"Lie to her about what?" Delchamps asked.

"Did Miller tell you I went to see General McNab?"

Delchamps nodded. "But he didn't say why."

"We're going to send two A-Teams-one of them Colin's-to Argentina, a couple of shooters at a time. Then we're going to put four H-model Hueys into Argentina black. Can you guess where we're going to refuel them after they fly off the USS Ronald Reagan a hundred miles off the Uruguayan coast before they fly on to I-don't-yet-know-where Argentina?"

"Boy, you have been the busy special operator, haven't you?" Delchamps said. "Does Montvale know about this?"

"No. Not about the Ronald Reagan. That idea came from a bird colonel who works for McNab…Kingston?"

Delchamps shook his head. Torine and Davidson nodded.

"Tom Kingston," Torine said. "Good guy, Edgar."

"Amen," Leverette said.

"And McNab said he would set that up. If it's possible."

"It's possible," Torine said. "After some admiral tells him not only no, but hell no, he will be told to ask the secretary of the Navy, who will tell him that he's been told by the secretary of Defense that the President told him you're to have whatever you think you need. They call that the chain of command."

Castillo chuckled.

"With that in mind," Castillo said, "and since I couldn't talk him out of going down there, I confided in the ambassador what we want to do with his estancia. He's on board. Good guy. That raised the question of an advance party at Shangri-La, which we damn sure need. One that might have a chance of escaping the attention of Chief Inspector Ordonez."

"How are you going to handle that? With Two-Gun?" Delchamps asked.

"What Two-Gun is going to do is show up at the embassy in Montevideo and introduce Ambassador Lorimer's butler…"

"I wondered what that Colin-the-Butler business was all about," Torine said, smiling and shaking his head.

"…to Ambassador McGrory," Castillo went on. "Explaining that Colin came down to see what has to be done to Shangri-La before Ambassador and Mrs. Lorimer can use it-which he has decided against advice to do-because his home in New Orleans was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina."

"That just might work, Charley," Torine said.

"Edgar?"

"Why not?" Delchamps said.

"David?" Castillo asked.

"McGrory, like most stupid men in positions of power, is dangerous," Yung said.

"I agree with that, too," Delchamps interjected. "I presume he's to be kept in the dark?"

Castillo nodded. "As is Secretary Cohen, who certainly is not stupid. But there are people around her who might find out, and might tip off McGrory. That's what I meant about having to lie to her. I'm going to tell her Lorimer's going, period."

"She's liable to cable or telephone McGrory and tell him to take care of Lorimer," Yung said.

"I thought about asking her to do just that," Castillo said. "But since I'm not going to tell her about Colin, that would really be lying to her, deceiving her. And I don't want to do that."

"And you're not going to tell Montvale either?" Yung asked.

"More smoke and mirrors, David," Castillo said. "I'm going to tell him that two A-Teams and the Hueys are being sent-but no other details-and that as soon as I firm up the operation, I'll tell him all about it."

The reaction of just about everybody to that was almost identical: Their faces wrinkled in thought, and then there were shrugs.

"Speaking of the director of National Intelligence," Torine said, "or at least his Number Two, I had an interesting chat yesterday with Truman Ellsworth. He even bought me a drink."

Delchamps raised an eyebrow and offered: "And I had one with the DCI, who didn't buy me a drink, but about which we have to talk."

"Ellsworth called you, Jake?" Castillo said.

"I called him."

"Why?"

"What did you think of the crew on Montvale's Gulfstream?"

"'He asked, going off at a tangent,'" Castillo said.

Torine said reasonably: "I'd really like you to answer the question, Charley."

Castillo grinned. "Well, they were Air Force, so I was pleasantly surprised when they got it up and down three times in a row without bending it."

Delchamps chuckled.

"Screw you, Colonel," Torine said. "What about the copilot?"

"Nice young man. Academy type. I had the feeling he'd rather be flying a fighter."

"Cutting to the chase, that nice young man was naturally curious what a doggie light bird was doing running around in Montvale's personal Gulfstream V. Diligent snooping around revealed that the doggie light bird was doing something clandestine for that Air Force Legend in His Own Time, Colonel Jacob Torine. He found that interesting, because said Colonel Torine was the ring knocker who talked him out of turning in his suit and going to fly airliners. So he called OOA at the Nebraska Complex, finally got Miller on the horn, and Miller transferred the call here."

"What did he want?" Castillo said.

"A transfer to do anything at all for his mentor," Torine said, "so long as it gets him out of flying the right seat in Montvale's Gulfstream."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I'd get back to him. That's when I called Ellsworth to ask him how the ambassador would feel about letting us have him."

"Jesus, Jake, we could really use-we really need-another Gulfstream pilot," Castillo said.

"Especially since one of three we have has gone home to wife and kiddies, and the second can count his Gulfstream landings on his fingers."

"Really? I thought you had more landings than that," Castillo said, as if genuinely surprised.

Leverette smiled and shook his head.

Torine gave Castillo the finger.

"So what did Ellsworth say?" Castillo asked.

"He was charm personified. He said he really couldn't talk to me then because he had to meet someone at the Willard, that that would take about an hour, and would I be free to meet him in the Round Robin after his meeting, as he would really like to buy me a drink?"

The Round Robin is the ground-floor bar of the Willard InterContinental Hotel. It usually has two or more lobbyists in it feeding expensive intoxicants to members of Congress as an expression of their admiration.

"And you went?" Castillo asked.

"I even put on a clean shirt and tie. I was prepared to make any sacrifice for the OOA. In the end, I was glad I went. Mr. Ellsworth said all kinds of nice things to me."

"Such as?"

"He told me-in confidence, of course-how happy Ambassador Montvale and he are that I'm in OOA, where I can serve as a wise and calming influence on the brilliant but somewhat impetuous C. Castillo. After all, he said, we all have the same responsibility to make sure the President is never embarrassed."

"That sonofabitch!" Castillo grunted, but there was more admiration in his voice than anger.

"I did admit to having concerns about your impetuousness," Torine said. "And then he told me-as if the thought had just come to him-that 'if something like that came up,' perhaps if he and the ambassador knew about it…"

"And you of course agreed to call him?"

"I was reluctant at first. He didn't push. What he did say was that he thought OOA was going to not only be around for a while, but grow in size and importance. And that being true, it would need someone more senior than a junior lieutenant colonel…"

"An impetuous junior lieutenant colonel?"

Torine nodded. "…to run it. A brigadier general, for example. And wasn't I eligible for promotion?"

"And then you blushed modestly?"

"Uh-huh. And I think we parted with him thinking I thought he and I had an understanding."

"I don't know if I'm amused or disgusted," Castillo said. "But his job is to protect his boss, who, like us, has an obligation to keep the President from being embarrassed. And I am a junior lieutenant colonel. An impetuous one. He really would be happier if you had this job."

"Moot point, Charley. You were there when the President-before the Finding-asked me if I would have any trouble working for you. I didn't have any problem working for you then, and I don't have one now. Most important, your name is on the Finding setting up OOA, not mine. The commander-in-chief has spoken."

Castillo met his eyes for a moment, but said nothing at first. Then he asked, "So did you get us this Gulfstream jockey you talked into staying in the Air Force?"

"He'll be here at three. I told him to bring a toothbrush, as you would probably want to go somewhere."

"As hard as it may be for any of you to believe, there are several minor but as yet unresolved little problems with my grand master plan. For one thing, I don't know where Special Agent Timmons is being held. Or by who. And once I get the H-models into Uruguay, I don't know what to do with them. And I can't keep them in Shangri-La long. Chief Inspector Ordonez, I'm sure, has the local cops keeping an eye on it. Which means that I'm going to have to get Munz to get his pal Ordonez to look the other way, briefly. Even if-big 'if'-Ordonez is willing to do that, he won't do it for long. Which means I will have to get the choppers out of Uruguay quickly. Pevsner has at least one estancia in Argentina. Maybe more than one. If I can find him-another big 'if'-maybe that'll be the answer.

"And then there's this small problem I have with the agency."

"An old problem," Torine said, "or a new one?"

"The new one. Didn't Miller tell you?"

"Delchamps did. If you're talking about this Weiss guy coming here?"

Castillo nodded.

He went on: "I don't believe for a second, of course, that the agency would even think of fucking up something I'm doing to protect something that they're doing."

"Perish the thought," Torine said in agreement. "What the hell is that all about, Edgar?"

"Which brings us to my little tete-a-tete with the DCI," Delchamps said. "The bottom line of which is that he's either a much better liar than I think he is, or he doesn't know what Weiss and Company are up to in Paraguay."

"How did you come to have a little tete-a-tete with the DCI?" Castillo said.

"Well, there I was rooting around in the bowels of the palace in Langley, and all of a sudden I looked up and there he was.

"'Ed Delchamps, right?' he asked, and put out his hand. 'I'm Jack Powell.' I picked up right away on that. Here was John Powell, the director of Central Intelligence, wanting to make kissy-kissy with a dinosaur-slash-pariah, which I found interesting.

"So I enthusiastically pumped his hand and told him I was really pleased to meet him, Mr. Director, sir."

Leverette chuckled deep in his throat.

"So Jack asked me if I had time for a cup of coffee, and I said, 'I always have time for you, Mr. Director, sir,' or words to that effect, thinking we would then take the elevator to his office, where I would either be charmed or terminated.

"Wrong. He takes me to a little room in the bowels, furnished with chrome-and-plastic tables and chairs, and a row of machines offering candy bars, snacks, Coke, and coffee dispensed in plastic cups. It is where the filing cabinet moles go to rest from their labors.

"One look at who had just dropped in and the room emptied of file clerks in thirty seconds flat. There we are alone, holding plastic cups of lukewarm, undrinkable coffee, two pals-slash-coworkers in the noble, never-ending effort to develop intel against our enemies."

"And he told you how happy he was that you were in a position to restrain the impetuosity of our Charley?" Torine asked.

Delchamps took a sip of his drink, then said: "No. I expected something like that, but that's not what happened. What he said was that he understood there had been problems and disagreements in the past, and that he wasn't going to pretend he wished I hadn't changed my mind about retiring, or that he was happy I was 'in the building with an any-area, any-time pass hanging around my neck, but that's what's happened. More important, that's what Montvale ordered…'"

Delchamps stopped and after a moment went on, "He was even honest about that. He said something about Montvale having ordered him to let me in only because the President had told him to, and that Montvale probably didn't like it any more than he did. Then he said, 'But the point is the President gave that order, and I have taken an oath to obey the orders of those appointed over me, and I don't intend to violate that oath.'"

Delchamps looked at Leverette.

"You don't know me, Uncle Remus, but these guys do. They'll tell you that I am inexperienced in the wicked ways of the world; I have no experience in guessing who's lying to me or not; I believe in the good fairy and in the honesty of all politicians and public servants. They will therefore not be surprised that-in my well-known, all-around naivete-I believed my new friend Jack.

"And my new friend Jack said that the reason he had come to see me was to personally ensure the President's order was being carried out, that there were those in the company who sometimes decide which orders they will obey and which they won't, justifying their actions on the basis that obedience is sometimes not good for the company. 'I want to make sure that's not happening here and now with you.'"

"Jesus!" Castillo said.

"He asked me if I had even a suspicion that I was being stiffed by anyone, if I suspected that anyone was not being completely forthcoming.

"I could have given him a two-page list, but the truth was that I had modestly decided that no one had kept me-they'd tried, of course-from looking at whatever I wanted to see. And, in their shoes, I probably would have done the same thing. But nothing, I decided, was to be gained by being the class snitch.

"So I took a chance. I said, 'Mr. Director, I have been led to believe you're aware that the President has tasked Colonel Castillo with rescuing a DEA agent who has been kidnapped in Paraguay?' "To which he replied, 'I'd rather you called me Jack.'"

"Giving him time to think?" Yung asked.

"I don't think so, Two-Gun," Delchamps said. "Could be, but I don't think so. The next thing he said, almost immediately, after he nodded, was 'I also hear the mayor of Chicago was kind enough to send a detective along with him to help him do so.'"

"I'd love to know how the hell he found that out," Castillo said.

"The point is, Ace, he knew about Paraguay. I wasn't springing it on him."

"The point there?" Castillo asked.

"I said, 'Jack, what I'm really concerned about is that Castillo's going to go down there like John Wayne and get this guy back, and in the process upset one of your apple carts.' "And he looked surprised, and asked, 'One of ours?' and I nodded and he said, 'I don't know of anything we have going on down there that could possibly have a connection with Colonel Castillo's operation.' "And then I guess he saw the look on my face, which he could have interpreted as surprise or disbelief. He stabbed himself in the chest with his index finger…"-he demonstrated-"…and then he said, 'I'm in the coffee shop on level three. Please join me.' "Two minutes later, in walks A. Franklin Lammelle, the deputy DCI for operations. 'Frank, Edgar here wonders if we have any operation going in Paraguay or Argentina that in any way could bear on the OOA operation to free the DEA agent. Or, the other way around, can you think of anything Colonel Castillo could do that would in any way interfere with anything we're doing down there?' "A. Franklin thinks this over very carefully and says, 'Aside from getting caught getting the DEA agent back, no, sir.' And, being the naive and trusting soul I am, I believed him, too."

"Which means?" Torine asked.

Castillo said: "Weiss told us-right, Edgar?-that the station agent down there is not as intellectually challenged as people think he is. The implication being that's on purpose?"

Delchamps nodded.

"And that disinformation," Delchamps said, "could not have been put in place without a very good reason to do it, or without the knowledge and permission of the DCI and/or A. Franklin Lammelle."

"Which means he is either really intellectually challenged, or was set up by somebody in Langley who didn't think the DCI had to know."

"It smells, Ace," Delchamps said. "And the odor is not coming from my new friend Jack or Lammelle."

Castillo raised his eyebrows, then asked, "So what should we do?"

"I want to have a long talk with Alex Darby and the other social pariahs down there. And their contacts."

"You mean, you want to go down there?"

Delchamps nodded.

"When?"

"Jake," Delchamps said, "what time did you say our new pilot gets here?"

[TWO]

Headquarters Fort Rucker and the Army Aviation Center Fort Rucker, Alabama 1105 8 September 2005 "You're not planning to take that animal in there with you, are you?" Lieutenant Colonel Randolph Richardson III inquired of Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo as Castillo slid open the side door of the van to let out Max.

"I can't leave him in the van in this heat," Castillo said. "And General Crenshaw likes him."

Castillo was more than a little pleased when they marched into Crenshaw's office and saluted. General Crenshaw returned the salute, said, "Stand at ease, gentlemen," then clapped his hands together, bent over, and called, "Hey, Max! C'mere, boy!"

Max walked up to him, sat down, offered his paw, then allowed for his ears to be scratched.

"That's one hell of a dog, Castillo," General Crenshaw said, then added, "Please sit down, gentlemen. Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

"No, thank you, sir," Colonel Richardson said.

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, sir," Colonel Castillo said.

General Crenshaw raised his voice. "Two coffees, please. Black, right, Castillo?"

"Yes, sir."

"Both black."

Castillo thought, Righteous, you ass-kissing sonofabitch, you're actually wondering if it's too late to change your mind about the coffee.

If the general is having some, it's obviously the thing for you to do.

"Okay," General Crenshaw said. "What can I do for you this morning, Castillo?"

"Sir, I'm here to make my manners. I'm moving down the road, and it's likely I won't be back. I just wanted to express my thanks for all your support…"

Crenshaw waved deprecatingly.

"…and especially, sir, to let you know how much I appreciate everything Colonel Richardson has done for us. He's really done a first-class job."

That's true, even if he took elaborate precautions to cover his ass every time he did anything.

Crenshaw's secretary delivered two china mugs of coffee.

"You'll notice, Colonel Castillo, that I am not asking how things are going," Crenshaw said, "only if they are going the way you want them to."

"Exactly the way I hoped they would, sir. Colonel Davies sent his S-4 down here yesterday to get the H-models off your books and onto those of the 160th-"

"From which they will drop into the sea, never to be seen again?" Crenshaw asked, jokingly, then quickly added, "I probably shouldn't have said that."

"Into the sea"?

Jesus Christ! Where did he get that?

If he knows about the Ronald Reagan, we're compromised before we get started.

Easy, Castillo!

That was a figure of speech, nothing more. He doesn't know about the Ronald Reagan.

"I don't know about them dropping into the sea, sir, but they might wind up on eBay."

Crenshaw laughed.

"I don't mean to pry, Castillo," he said. "Yes, I guess I do. But I understand the ground rules."

"Sir, I regret that…"

Crenshaw held up his hand to shut him off.

"You're obeying your orders, Colonel, I understand that."

"Thank you, sir."

"What's going to happen now, sir," Castillo went on, "is that the choppers and their crews will stay here until the word comes for them to move."

"Will that come through me or…?"

"Directly, sir. I have a communicator here, as you know-"

"The man from DirecTV."

"Yes, sir. The execute order will pass through him to Major Ward, the senior pilot. And then they will leave, taking everything with them, and leaving nothing behind but their thanks and the hope that nobody even knew they were here."

"Is there going to be a problem with that, Richardson?" General Crenshaw asked. "Has anyone been extra curious about what's going on in the Hanchey hangar?"

"I don't anticipate any problems in that area, General," Richardson said.

Crenshaw looked at Castillo and asked, "What about my putting out a discreet word that no one is to gossip about what's going on at Hanchey?"

"Sir, I appreciate the offer, but I suggest it would be counterproductive; it might call attention to the Hanchey hangar. We have put out the disinformation-when the question 'What are you guys doing here?' comes up at Happy Hour-that the choppers are being prepared for use as Opposing Force aircraft at the National Training Center at Fort Irwin. We think that's credible."

Crenshaw nodded his agreement.

"You think of everything, don't you, Castillo?"

"Sir, I think of a lot, but there's always something important that gets right past me."

Crenshaw bent over again, and Max gave him his paw again.

"So long, Max," Crenshaw said. "Meeting you has been an experience…"-he stood up as he glanced at Castillo-"…and so has been meeting your boss."

Castillo put his virtually untouched coffee mug down and stood up.

Crenshaw put out his hand to him. "Good luck in whatever you're up to, Colonel."

"Thank you very much, sir. Permission to withdraw, sir?"

Crenshaw nodded.

Castillo and Richardson came to attention and saluted, Crenshaw returned it, then Castillo and Richardson marched out of his office. Max followed.

[THREE]

Aboard Gulfstream III N379LT 33,000 Feet Above the Atlantic Ocean Approximately 100 Nautical Miles East of Cancun, Mexico 1630 8 September 2005 Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo couldn't move his legs. He was up to his knees in some kind of muck.

Where the hell am I? What's going on?

He opened his eyes and found himself sitting in the rear-facing seat against the right bulkhead separating the cockpit from the passenger compartment. And saw the reason he had the nightmare in which he couldn't move his legs.

Max was having a little snooze, too, and had chosen to take it in the space between the rear-facing seat and the forward-facing seat, and to rest his weary head on Castillo's feet.

"You big bastard, how did you get in there?"

Max raised his head just enough to look at Castillo-and for Castillo to free his feet-and then laid it down again.

Castillo swung his feet into the aisle, unfastened his seat belt, stood up, and walked down the aisle to meet the call of nature.

He saw that he and Max were not the only ones having a little snooze. Davidson was sitting in the rear-facing seat across the aisle, snoring softly. Delchamps and Leverette were stretched out on the couches, sound asleep.

Yung and Neidermeyer were awake, talking softly, in two of the aisle-facing seats, and Bradley was in one of the forward-facing seats in the rear of the fuselage, looking as if sleep was just around the corner.

When he came out of the toilet, he thought-as he often did-of the fat lady on a transatlantic flight whose rear end had made a perfect seal around the toilet seat, something she found out when she flushed the device, and the vacuum evacuation system kept her glued to it for several hours.

He laughed, then helped himself to a cup of coffee and carried it up the aisle to the cockpit.

"How's it going?" Castillo said to the pilots.

"Our leader is awake," Torine said. "Look busy, Captain!"

Captain Richard M. Sparkman, USAF, glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Castillo, then pointed to a GPS screen in the instrument panel.

"There we are," he said. "About a hundred miles off Cancun. We should make Quito in four-fifteen, give or take."

"There's one of those mounted on the bulkhead in the cabin," Castillo said. "Our benefactor knowing that your revered leader likes to keep an eye on the pilots."

Torine gave him the finger.

Castillo smiled, then did the mental math.

That'll put us in Quito just before eleven. Figure an hour for the fuel, a piss stop, and a sandwich, giving us wheels-up out of there at midnight. And then another five-thirty or six to Buenos Aires, putting us in there about half past five, or six in the morning. Which will be half past three-or four-local time.

Then he had another thought:

Which means there will be almost nothing doing at Jorge Newbery when we land.

People will be curious…

"Jake, how about going into Ezeiza? Jorge Newbery will be deserted at half past three in the morning. Ezeiza starts getting the FedEx and UPS planes and some of the European arrivals very early. Maybe we can sort of not be noticed."

"You're right, but they expect us at Jorge Newbery."

"You are forgetting our new commo equipment."

"I stand corrected," Torine said. "And I will get on the horn just as soon as I'm sure they're all asleep. I don't see why Dick and I should be the only ones in this group awake all night."

"Fly carefully and smoothly, children," Castillo said. "Your leader is going to be sleeping."

Torine gave him the finger again.

Castillo went back to his seat, this time carefully lowering his feet onto Max's chest. Max opened his eyes for a moment, then closed them again.

Castillo sat for a moment, then said, "Oh, shit!"

He then gently tapped on Max with his feet. Max raised his head.

"Sorry, pal," Castillo said. "You have to get up."

Max didn't budge, although he continued to look at Castillo.

"Get up, damn it!"

Max didn't move.

Castillo swung his legs into the aisle, got up, and took a few steps down the cabin aisle.

"Come on, boy!"

No response.

Castillo clapped his hands together. Once. Twice. A third time.

Max, not without effort, got to his feet and backed into the aisle.

"Good boy!"

Castillo pushed Max backward up the aisle until he had access to the drawer under his seat. He bent over and pulled it open. Max took two steps and licked Castillo's face.

"Sonofabitch!" Castillo said, and, pushing at Max to back up, realized the dog probably thought he was playing.

Castillo reached into the drawer and pulled his laptop from it.

Max kissed him again.

"Aw, goddammit!"

"I think he likes you, Colonel," Sergeant Neidermeyer said.

Castillo looked up at Neidermeyer.

"This is one of those times when I wish I was not a field-grade officer," Castillo said.

"Sir?"

"If we were both sergeants, I could tell you to take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut," Castillo said.

"With all due respect, Colonel, sir, it is not the sergeant's fault that the animal seems to like you, sir."

"Does the sergeant have something on what is loosely known as his mind?"

"Yes, sir. The sergeant thought the colonel might be interested in some photographs the sergeant took in Louisiana, or, more precisely, Colonel, sir, as we were flying over Mississippi and Louisiana, sir."

He handed Castillo a large manila envelope.

Castillo took it from him and removed the photographs. There were twenty or more eight-by-ten-inch crisp color prints. Just about all of them were photographs of the hurricane damage they had seen from the air.

"Nice, Jamie," Castillo said. "What's the chances of getting a set of these?"

"I made those for you," Neidermeyer said.

"Thanks, Jamie," Castillo said. "I appreciate that."

He was now nearly at the end of the stack of photographs.

The one he had on top of the stack now was of him and the Richardson boy. They had both turned in their seats to look into the rear of the airplane-Neidermeyer must have done something, called something, to get us to turn and look at him-Castillo was turned in his seat to his right, and the Richardson boy to his left, the result being their heads were close together.

"Nice kid," Neidermeyer said. "If I didn't know better, I'd think he was yours."

"What?"

"He's got your eyes, Colonel," Neidermeyer said.

"I have so far been spared the joys of matrimony and-so far as I know-of parenthood."

"The eyes, Colonel. They're as blue as yours. That's what I mean."

No, he doesn't look like me.

I'm blond and fair-skinned.

This kid is olive-skinned. He could almost be Latin.

He looks like Fernando looked the first time I saw him. We were about as old then as this kid.

Holy Christ!

Calm down!

How could Richardson's kid possibly be mine?

Castillo suddenly felt a chill down his spine. He had goose bumps.

Dumb fucking question!

"Well, he's a nice kid. I wish he was mine. But he's not, obviously," Castillo said, and put the photographs back in the envelope. "Thanks, Jamie."

"Happy to do it, Colonel," Jamie Neidermeyer said, and walked back to his seat.

Castillo picked up his laptop from the seat, sat down, tucked the envelope of photographs under the laptop, and then opened the computer.

He clicked on a file titled CHKLIST.

A screen full of gibberish appeared.

Why did I bother to encrypt this? No one could make sense out of it if it was on a billboard.

He held down the CTRL key, typed "DEC," and the file decrypted.

The gibberish was replaced by a screen more or less in English. (1)