“Fernando’s not going back to San Antonio,” Fernando interrupted. “Fernando’s always wanted to go to Paris in the middle of the summer. Somebody once told Fernando you can’t find a Frenchman in Paris in July. Just think, all that beauty and no Frenchmen.”
Masterson chuckled. “You sound like my son, Mr. Lopez.” He turned to Castillo. “I really wish you would spend the night at the plantation, if for no other reason than I think Betsy will be pleased to see that I share her confidence in you.”
Jesus H. Christ!
“I can only hope, sir, that her, and your, confidence in me is justified.”
Which almost certainly won’t be.
[TWO]
Pope Air Force Base, North Carolina 0715 26 July 2005
“Pope approach control, Lear Five-Zero-Seven-Five,” Colonel Jake Torine called into his throat mike.
“Lear Five-Zero-Seven-Five, Pope.”
“Pope, Seven-Five. Do you have us on radar?”
“Affirmative, Seven-Five.”
“Estimate Pope in seven minutes. Approach and landing clearance, please.”
“Lear Five-Zero-Seven-Five, be advised Pope is closed to civilian traffic.”
Colonel Torine turned to Major C. G. Castillo, who was in the left seat.
“What now, O Captain, my captain?” he asked.
“I thought we’d be cleared,” Castillo said.
“Always check,” Torine said. “Write that down, Charley.”
“You guys aren’t very good at things like this, are you?” Fernando Lopez, who was kneeling between the seats, asked innocently, earning him the finger from Major Castillo.
Colonel Torine switched to TRANSMIT.
“Pope, Seven-Five has been cleared to land at Pope. Verify by contacting Lieutenant General McNab at Special Operations Command.”
“Seven-Five, we have no record of clearance—”
“And while you’re doing that, give us approach and landing clearance, please. This is Colonel Jacob Torine, USAF. Acknowledge.”
It proved impossible for the airfield officer of the day, Major Peter Dennis, USAF, to immediately find anyone at the Air Force base who could confirm or deny that Lear Five-Zero-Seven-Five had permission to land. Neither could he immediately establish contact with General McNab.
With great reluctance, but seeing no other alternative, Major Dennis telephoned Major General Oscar J. Winters, USAF, Pope’s commanding general, at his quarters, where the general was having his breakfast, and explained what had happened.
Major General Winters was fully aware that paragraph one of the mission statement of Pope Air Force Base stated in effect that Pope was there to provide support to Fort Bragg and the major Army units stationed thereon. Furthermore, he knew that Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab, U.S. Army, was wearing the hats of both the commanding general, XVIII Airborne Corps, and the commanding general, U.S. Army Special Operations Command, and thus also had command control of the 82nd Airborne Division (which was under XVIII Airborne Corps) and the U.S. Army Special Warfare School (which was under the Special Operations Command).
He was also aware of General “Scotty” McNab’s well-earned reputation for unorthodoxy, and of his legendary temper. And there was, General Winters knew, an Air Force officer, a colonel, named Jacob Torine. Why Torine would be flying a civilian Bombardier/Learjet 45XR Winters had no idea, except that Torine had spent much of his career as an Air Commando, and Air Commandos were about as well known for unorthodoxy as were members of the Army’s Special Forces.
Wise major generals, Air Force or Army, make every effort not to unreasonably antagonize lieutenant generals of their own or any other service.
General Winters instructed Major Dennis to grant Lear Five-Zero-Seven-Five permission to land, but with the caveat that it be ordered to hold on the taxiway, where two Security Forces Humvees armed with .50 caliber machine guns should meet it prepared to take it under fire in case the sleek and glistening white civilian jet should turn out to be some sort of flying Trojan horse.
“I’ll be right there, Major,” General Winters said.
On the way to Base Operations in his Air Force blue Dodge Caravan, General Winters managed to get General McNab on his cellular phone.
“General McNab,” he said, “we have just learned that a civilian Learjet is about to land at Pope, piloted by someone who says he is Colonel Jacob Torine, USAF, and that you can verify he has permission to land. I am on my way to the field.”
General McNab’s reply was succinct: “Well, I guess I better do the same. Thank you, Oscar. See you there.”
The Bombardier/Learjet 45XR had been sitting on the taxiway near the threshold of the active runway for about ten minutes when both Lieutenant General McNab and Major General Winters personally appeared there.
General McNab led the way, standing up in the front seat of an Army Humvee. He was a small, muscular, ruddy-faced man sporting a flowing red mustache. He was wearing a desert camouflage uniform, aviator sunglasses, and a green beret. General Winters followed in his Caravan. He was wearing a class A uniform.
When the Humvee stopped thirty feet from the Lear, General McNab jumped nimbly to the ground and walked up to the Lear, where he, hands on hips, looked up at the cockpit with all the arrogant confidence of General George S. Patton. A very large and muscular captain, similarly uniformed, got out of the Humvee and took up a position immediately behind General McNab.
Major General Winters and Major Dennis got out of the Caravan and walked up beside Lieutenant General McNab and the Green Beret captain.
The Lear’s door unfolded, and Colonel Torine and Major Castillo, each wearing a suit and tie, deplaned. Both saluted crisply, which reassured Major Dennis, who reasoned if they weren’t military they would not have done so.
“Good morning, sir,” Torine and Castillo said, almost in concert.
General Winters returned the salute crisply. General McNab returned it with a casual gesture in the direction of his head.
“I must confess, Oscar,” General McNab said, “that these two are well known to me, and that the really ugly one is indeed Colonel Jake Torine.”
McNab looked at Torine, and said, “I knew they wouldn’t let an old man like you fly big airplanes much longer.” He looked at Castillo. “And Major Castillo, daring to show his face at my door again.”
General McNab turned to General Winters.
“Whenever I think that Captain Walsh is the worst aide-de-camp I have ever had, Oscar, I think of Major Castillo in that role and realize I am wrong. Castillo earned that appellation in perpetuity.”
Captain Walsh smiled, and shook his head.
“As to why there is no record of their aircraft being granted permission to land here, I have no idea. I was notified by CentCom that they were coming. I am forced to conclude that either CentCom or the Air Force fucked things up again, as both are lamentably famous for doing.”
“I’ll look into it, General,” Winters said.
“If I may offer advice without giving offense, Oscar, let sleeping dogs lie.”
“No offense taken, General.”
“Would it be possible for you to drag that airplane somewhere where it will be more convenient for them to get back in it after we’ve had some breakfast?”
“Certainly, sir. Colonel, do you need fuel?”
“No, sir. We’re all right,” Torine said.
“Castillo, once again demonstrating his remarkable ability to arrive at the wrong time, did so by arriving here just as Walsh and I finished our wake-up five-mile trot around Smoke Bomb Hill,” General McNab said. “I require sustenance immediately after my morning five-miler. Otherwise, my wife accuses, I become ill-mannered.”
“I understand, General,” Winters said.
Fernando appeared at the Lear’s door.
“Can I get off now without being blown away?” he asked.
“Aha,” McNab said. “Unless I err, the owner of the airplane. You may not believe this, Oscar,
but he was once a fairly competent captain of armor.”
“How are you, General?” Fernando asked.
“Very well, Fernando, for an old man, with all these terrible responsibilities heavily weighing upon my overburdened shoulders. Could you use some sustenance?”
“Yes, sir, I could.”
“I’ll have it towed to Base Ops,” General Winters said.
“Thank you, sir,” Torine said.
“Thank you, Oscar,” General McNab said, and gestured to Castillo, Torine, and Lopez that they should get into the Humvee.
There was still a small line waiting to be fed at what the Army now called the “dining facility”—formerly “mess hall”—of the 1st Battalion, 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment when McNab’s Humvee pulled up outside. Everyone in the Humvee piled out and went to the end of the line.
One of the principles of leadership Castillo had learned while he had been Second Lieutenant Castillo, aide-de-camp to Brigadier General McNab, was that the quality of food served was one of the most important factors in troop morale, and that a very good way to ensure that high-quality food was served at all times was for senior officers to drop in unannounced at a randomly selected mess hall and eat what was being served to the privates.
General McNab took out his wallet and paid for breakfast for everybody but his driver, an unmarried sergeant living in barracks who was not drawing a rations and quarters allowance, and they went through the line watched by a visibly nervous mess sergeant, who was aware both of McNab’s legendary temper and that it was often triggered when food did not measure up to his expectations.
The food—and there was a wide array of choices— was good. McNab waited until they were through, poured himself another cup of coffee, and then handed Castillo a sheet of Teletype paper.
“If you have trouble with the big words, Charley, I will be happy to explain them to you,” he said.
Castillo took the message and read it.
TOP SECRET-PRESIDENTIAL
OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE
0205 27 JULY 2005
FROM: COMMANDER IN CHIEF
CENTCOM
MACDILL AF BASE
TAMPA FLA
TO: COMMANDING GENERAL
XVIII AIRBORNE CORPS/SPECIAL
OPERATIONS COMMAND
FORT BRAGG NC
EYES ONLY LT GEN B. J. MCNAB
COPIES TO:
SECDEFENSE WASHINGTON DC
EYES ONLY SEC BEIDERMAN
SECSTATE WASHINGTON DC
EYES ONLY SEC COHEN
SECHOMELANDSEC WASHINGTON DC
EYES ONLY SEC HALL
DIR OF NATIONAL INTEL
WASHINGTON DC
EYES ONLY DIR MONTVALE
CONFIRMING VERBAL ORDERS OF THE PRESIDENT TO THE UNDERSIGNED 26 JULY 2005 AND TELECON BETWEEN GEN NAYLOR AND LT GEN MCNAB 2305 26 JULY 2005.
BY DIRECTION OF THE PRESIDENT:
(A) COMMANDING GENERAL XVIII AIRBORNE CORPS/SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMMAND WILL IMMEDIATELY MAKE AVAILABLE SUCH PERSONNEL AND EQUIPMENT AS MAY BE REQUESTED BY C. G. CASTILLO, CHIEF, OFFICE OF ORGANIZATIONAL ANALYSIS, DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY.
(B) ANY INABILITY TO PROVIDE SUCH PERSONNEL OR EQUIPMENT WILL BE IMMEDIATELY REPORTED TO CINC CENTCOM EYES ONLY GEN NAYLOR BY THE MOST EXPEDITIOUS MEANS, PREFERABLY SECURE TELEPHONE.
NAYLOR, GENERAL, US ARMY
CINC CENTCOM
TOP SECRET-PRESIDENTIAL
Castillo handed the message to Torine, who read it and then handed it back to McNab, who folded it and put it in his pocket.
“So tell me, Chief,” McNab said, “what are you requesting besides the three radios, and operators therefor, that General Naylor mentioned last night?”
“That’s about it, sir,” Castillo replied.
“I have two more questions, Chief,” McNab said, “if I may dare to ask them.”
“Ask away, sir.”
“Thank you, Chief. One, when do I get Vic D’Allessando and my twenty-four shooters back from Mississippi? General Naylor said that decision is up to you.”
“Sir, just as soon as other security arrangements can be made to protect the Mastersons. I’m working on that now.”
“Will it count as another question, Chief, if I ask you where you’re going to get those security arrangements?”
“As soon as I get to Washington, sir, I’m going to call China Post and see who’s available.”
“What the hell is that?” Fernando asked.
“Some allege, Fernando,” McNab explained, “that China Post Number One in Exile of the American Legion—your cousin and I are members—functions as an employment bureau for former and/or retired special operators seeking more or less honest civilian employment.” He turned to Castillo. “If you’d like, Charley— excuse me, Chief—I’ll give China Post a heads-up call and tell them you’ll be calling.”
“That’d be great, sir. Thank you very much.”
“It would probably help if I could assure them the compensation would be in line with their skills.”
“Money is not a problem, sir.”
McNab nodded.
“Question two,” he went on. “What the hell is going on?”
“Yesterday, sir, immediately upon landing, Mrs. Masterson told me the villains who abducted her and murdered Mr. Masterson . . .”
“So you’re going to try to find this Lorimer fellow?” McNab asked, when Castillo had finished.
“Yes, sir. With a little bit of luck, we’ll be in Paris late this afternoon.”
McNab was silent for a moment, visibly thinking.
“You want to take two radios and operators with you, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Al?” McNab said to Captain Walsh.
“Sir, they’ll be at Base Ops by the time we get back over there,” Captain Walsh replied.
“The best we could do about the radio for Buenos Aires is to get the operator on the 2310 American Airlines flight out of Miami tonight. That’ll put him there at 0620 their time tomorrow morning. The radio itself posed a problem. I didn’t want to send it through their customs, and not only because I wasn’t sure we could get it through their customs, so I called Secretary Cohen, when she was still on Air Force One on her way back to Washington. She promised to have someone in Miami slap the appropriate diplomatic stickers on it to whisk it through customs unopened—it’s addressed to the ambassador—but that may not go as smoothly as we like. I don’t have a lot of faith in the State Department.”
“Again, when I get to Washington, I’ll call down there and give the ambassador a heads-up that it’s coming.”
“He’s all right? He knows what you’re up to, and won’t leak it?”
“He’s first class, and Alex Darby—remember him?”
“The CIA station chief in Zaranj?”
Castillo nodded. “He’s down there. I didn’t remember him, but he remembered me. He’s a good man. He’ll know how to get the radio through customs and what to do with it.”
“Is there anybody else you can use down there if you need shooters?” McNab asked, and then, when he saw the surprised look on Castillo’s face, went on. “We can get people in there, Charley, black, but if you need them in a hurry, we’ll have to infiltrate them by air. That means either with our C-22 suitably decked out as an Air Paraguay or something 727—and that’s a long haul for that airplane—or with a Globemaster III, which has the range, but would be harder to hide.”
“I haven’t even thought of shooters down there,” Castillo confessed. “I don’t see where I’m going to need them. But if something came up, yeah, there’s people I could use. There’s a Secret Service guy, and a DEA agent. In a pinch, I could probably use some of the Marine guards.”
“To play it safe, what if I send another crate down there under diplomatic cover? Weapons, night-vision goggles, some flash-bangs, et cetera? Enough for, say, six shooters?”
“Yes, sir. That would be a very good idea. I’m really embarrassed I didn�
��t think about that.”
“Even though you studied at the feet of the master, Charley, the master didn’t really expect you to be perfect,” McNab said.
“Colonel,” Castillo asked, turning to Torine, “how would the weight of what the general’s talking about affect our cross-the-drink flight?”
Torine considered the question carefully.
“That’s a crate weighing about, ballpark, what? Three hundred pounds?”
“The stuff is in the crate in two duffels,” Captain Walsh furnished. “Total weight three hundred twenty pounds. Not much ammunition; we figured you could get some there. Knock off twenty pounds for the crate, we’re right at three hundred.”
“Another three hundred pounds gross isn’t going to change much, Charley,” Torine said.
“What about somebody getting curious about what’s on the Lear?”
“Customs very seldom checks what a plane is carrying until you try to get it off the plane,” Torine replied.
“You want to take the goodies with you now?” McNab asked.
“No, sir. I was thinking about it, but I don’t think it would be a good idea. I don’t think the risk of getting caught with half a dozen Car 4s is worth it.”
“Okay, so that goes diplomatic,” McNab said. “Anything else?”
“No, sir. Not that I can think of.”
“Okay,” McNab said. “That’s the way we’ll do it.” He turned to Captain Walsh. “Go fetch the mess sergeant.”
The mess sergeant appeared almost immediately.
McNab stood up. Everybody followed suit.
“Yes, sir?” the sergeant said, trying not to appear nervous. “Was everything all right, sir?”
“You look like you’ve been around the Army awhile. . . .” McNab began.
“Yes, sir. I’m working on sixteen years.”
“I want a straight answer. Do you like it better with all these civilians doing what GI cooks and KPs used to do? Or do you miss the old days?”
“General, I really think the food is better now. But I sometimes wish I could eat some of these civilians a new asshole, like I could with cooks and KPs in the old Army.”
“Sergeant, we all yearn for the old Army,” McNab said. “But that was a first-class breakfast you just served us, and you can take pride in it.”
The Hostage Page 41
