The shooters pa-4

by W. E. B Griffin

  "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 coff
ee.

  "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 t
he 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.