That was funny. Him, disguising himself as a darky.
He smiled. The more he thought about that, the better it got. Wouldn't that let the air out of Hughes's tires, he looked up and saw a giant spook who looked just like Platt coming in through the window?
Platt laughed aloud. Oh, yeah, it would.
Still flying home on the Air Force transport, Howard opened a shielded com with Julio Fernandez at Net Force HQ.
"I can't go off and leave you alone even for a couple of days, can I, Sergeant?"
"No, sir, Colonel. Cat's away, the mice'll have a field day."
"Let's hear it on all this African stuff, Julio. Is this serious?"
"Far as I can tell, yes, sir. About time too. It's been pretty dull around here lately."
"Talk to me."
The sergeant rattled off a bunch of background about the country, the language, the people, the geography. A minute into it, Howard said, "Look, just upload all that into my mailbox and I'll scan it later. Let's get down to the nitty-gritty. What are we going to run into if we drop in unannounced on the Republic of Guinea-Bissau?"
"Sir. The country is defended by something called the People's Revolutionary Armed Force, called the FARP locally. They have a small Army, about nine boats worth of Navy, and an Air Force consisting of a few prop planes and surplus helicopters — if you don't count the President's unarmed Learjet. They've got a paramilitary militia, and while they supposedly have maybe a couple hundred thousand able-bodied men who could be drafted, the standing army is a twentieth of that, poorly armed and uneducated. Probably half of them could figure out how to tie their shoes — if they had shoes."
"I see. What else?"
"They got zip railroads, under three thousand kilometers of paved road in the entire country, and thirty-five airports, two of which have enough runway to allow anything bigger than a crop duster to land. We'd have to put our transport down in Senegal, to the north, and go in either via copter, or overland — or maybe with an airdrop and parachutes.
"There are fewer than four thousand telephones in the country, maybe three for every thousand persons, and half those don't work."
"The phones don't work, Sergeant? Or the people."
"Both, sir. Average income is a couple hundred dollar per year."
"I see."
"They've got three FM radio stations, four AM stations — they like rock and country and western, and a lot of trash talk. There are two TV stations, one of which doesn't sign on until dark. That's because there are maybe as many TVs as there are telephones. And probably half that many personal computers total, of which maybe a third have web access."
"Sounds like a place to do my next survival trip."
"If we cruise in over ‘em anymore than a hundred feet up, we'll be safe, ‘cause none of the locals can throw their spears that high. Me and a company of our second-teamers could parachute in after dark one night and be running the country by morning, without breaking a sweat."
"Lack of confidence has never been one of your failings, Julio."
"No, sir."
"You sound awfully happy for a man stuck on a dull base recovering from a shot-up leg. I recognize that tone. Who is she?"
"I'm sure I don't have any idea what the colonel is talking about."
"You'll go to Hell for lying like that, Sergeant."
"Yes, sir, and I'll have your landing site secured when you arrive."
Howard laughed. "All right. I'm going to scan in the stuff you're sending and run scenarios on my S&T system. I should be landing in" — he glanced at his watch—"about half an hour. Meet me there."
"Yes, sir."
"Pack your tropical-weights, Sergeant, and kiss your girlfriend good-bye."
"Not a problem, sir." He laughed.
"Something funny I missed?"
"Oh, no, sir. I just remembered an old joke."
"In thirty minutes, Julio."
"Sir."
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Michaels said, "All right, I think that's it. Questions?"
He looked around the conference room at the others: Howard, Fernandez, Winthrop, Gridley, and Toni.
Toni said, "Have we cleared this with the Director?"
"Currently the Director is in a don't-ask-don't-tell frame of mind," Michaels said. "If we deliver Hughes, he won't much care what we had to do to get him. And certain members of the Senate who might ordinarily scream to high heaven will be, I expect, very quiet about this particular detention." He grinned. "We also have some off-the-record help from the CIA. About as much as we want. Anything else?"
Nobody spoke.
"Good. You all have your assignments. Better go and get started."
The others left. Toni stayed behind.
"This is not a good idea, Alex."
"You heard the colonel, it should work."
"You know I'm not talking about the operation, I'm talking about you going along."
"Rank has its privileges, Toni. I was a good field op, once upon a time. I need to get out once in a while. The administration and politics of this job grind you down."
"It's dangerous."
"Crossing the street is dangerous."
He saw she was really concerned about him, and he didn't want to be flip, so he said, "What would make you feel better about this?"
"You not going."
"Aside from that?"
She looked him straight in the eyes. "If I went with you."
He started to shake his head. "I need somebody here to run things—"
"For three or four days? Bring in Chavez from nights, shift Preston over from Operations. They can handle things for that long."
"I don't know—"
"Oh, it's fine for you to go play in the field but not me?"
"It's against regulations for both of us to be on the same plane," he tried. He knew it was lame when he said it.
"You're going to quote regulations at me? You're going to toss the rule book out the window, go along on a mission you'd never get approved if the Director knew about it, and then talk to me about both of us flying on the same plane?!"
Ooh, she was mad. It was a side of her he'd never seen. And of course, she was perfectly justified in feeling that way, and he knew it.
"Okay," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "Okay, you're right. You can go."
"I can?"
And in those two words, he heard what she must have sounded like as a little girl. In her concern, anger, and her sudden astonishment, she was in that moment drop-dead gorgeous, calling to him like a Siren. He wanted to hug her, kiss her — and he wanted to fall on the couch with her. Not a good idea, and certainly not a good idea here in the office, but that was how he felt.
Something was going to have to be done about this. He was going to have to do something.
"You're right. We'll work something out. That way, we'll both be looking for new jobs if this goes sour."
"I can live with that."
"Good. Now go take care of those other details we need handled, okay?"
"Right," she said. She smiled at him, stood there for what seemed a long time, then very softly, so softly he wasn't sure he had heard it, said, "I love you."
And then she was gone, and he was standing there with his mouth open, caught totally flat-footed and stunned.
Hughes sipped at his drink, a good brandy in a monogrammed crystal snifter, and frowned up at the President's chauffeur/bodyguard.