"They'll be in danger at the ranch?"
"They'll be protected at the ranch by the Secret Service until I can make other arrangements for them. I'm sorry I have to use the ranch, but I just didn't have any other options."
"You can do whatever you please with the Double-Bar-C, Carlos. You own it."
"That was an inheritance tax thing and you know it. It's your ranch, Abuela."
"Whose ever it once was, the Double-Bar-C is now yours. Your grandfather left Hacienda San Jorge to Fernando and the Double-Bar-C to you. He thought you both should have a ranch for your families."
"Yes, ma'am, I know."
"How many people are you taking there?"
"My friend's wife and two daughters. Young women."
"When will you be going there?"
"We should leave in two or three hours. It's about a thirteen-hour flight."
"It's ten after nine here. If you leave there in three hours, that should put you in here about one in the morning, right?"
"And don't even think what I know you're thinking about," Castillo said. "Fernando can take a cab from the airport. And please don't tell Maria he's coming."
"I hadn't planned to say anything to Maria. Your plans have a way of changing."
"We'll only be on the ground long enough to clear customs and take on fuel, Abuela," he said, reasonably, "so don't think of coming to the airport."
"Won't you be tired after a long flight like that? Too tired to fly on to Midland and then all the way to Washington?"
"I plan to sleep all the way to San Antone," Castillo said. "Fernando may be a little tired. But that's not a problem."
"Well, I suppose you know what you're doing," she said.
"Fernando will tell you all that's happened," Castillo said. "I don't want to do that over the telephone."
"I understand," she said.
"I'll see you soon, Abuela," Castillo said. "I promise."
"Yes, I'm sure you will," Dona Alicia said. "Via con Dios, mi amor." "You can break it down, Bob," Castillo said to Sergeant Kensington.
"Yes, sir."
Castillo looked out the plateglass window of the quincho and saw that Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC, was again playing with Max.
"Keep an eye on Lester, will you, Bob?"
"The kid's going to be all right, Colonel," Kensington said.
"'You don't need to be all muscle to be a good special operator'-is that what you mean?"
"Yeah, that, too, Colonel. Kranz was even smaller than Lester, and he was a one hell of a soldier until these bastards got him…"
"Operative words, Bob: 'until these bastards got him.' Keep an eye on Bradley."
"…but that's not what I meant."
Castillo looked at him, then made a Well, let me know what you do mean gesture.
"He knows how to handle tough situations."
"Well, he certainly performed at the estancia, didn't he?"
"I was talking about Mackall. No orders, except from you and Vic D'Allessando not to say one word about what went down here and what he was doing there. A-what?-hundred-and-thirty-pound Marine? A corporal and everybody else is a sergeant or better. You do know what happened there?"
Castillo shook his head.
Kensington grinned. "Jack Davidson told me. He thought some jarhead sergeant major was pulling his chain, that Lester was sent there as a joke. So he asked Lester how come he got sent to the Q course. When Davidson asks somebody something, he usually gets an answer. What Lester told him was, he didn't know. Davidson asked him where he came from and Lester told him he'd been sort of the clerk typist for the Marine guard detachment at the embassy here. So Davidson told him he'd better forget about taking the course, nothing personal, he just didn't have what it takes. He hadn't even been to jump school, for one thing. But since he was a clerk typist, until Davidson could straighten things out, that's what he would do. Punch keys on a computer keyboard. Lester didn't even tell him he'd done a tour in Iraq.
"So that's what he did, until General McNab and Vic showed up at Mackall to take him to Kranz's funeral and McNab thanked him for saving your ass with those two head shots in the Ninjas."
Castillo chuckled. "I would like to have seen Sergeant Major Davidson's face when McNab told him that. But Jack is formidable…"
"Yes, he is."
"…and maybe Lester was just afraid to say anything."
"Oh, no. I asked him why he hadn't said anything, and what he said was that he knew you and Vic didn't want him to make waves, so he didn't. He said he knew everything would come out sooner or later. That's my point. He's a smart little sonofabitch and I like him."
"Yeah, me, too."
"You still have some clout with McNab, Colonel?"
"Nobody has clout with McNab."
"I was hoping maybe you could get Lester a waiver-probably, waivers-and let him take the Q course. He really wants to."
"He wants to take the Q course?" Castillo asked, dubiously.
"He wants in Special Ops. Bad. And as far as I'm concerned, he's welcome."
"Well, we know he performs, don't we? When this is over, if that's what he wants I'll see what I can do. I owe him."
"Speaking of that, Colonel, when you finally locate these bastards and start taking them out I'd like to be in on the operation."
"If it can be arranged, sure."
"Are you getting close?"
"I wish I could tell you I was. A lot depends on what Eric Kocian, Yung, and Munz come up with. So keep your other eye on them. They already tried to whack Yung."
"Will do, Colonel. Have a nice flight."
Although he wasn't in uniform and therefore was not supposed to salute, Sergeant First Class Kensington saluted crisply.
Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, who was also in civilian clothing, returned it just as crisply.
"Try hard to keep your dick-and Lester's-out of the wringer, Sergeant," Castillo said and walked out of the quincho. [THREE] Aeropuerto Internacional de Carraso General Cesareo L. Berisso Carrasco, Montevideo Republica Oriental del Uruguay 1305 9 August 2005 "It looks like Yung got carried away again, Charley," Jake Torine said, pointing out the cockpit window of the Gulfstream as they taxied up to the business aircraft tarmac of the airport. "What I told him to do was get a picnic lunch."
Castillo, who was kneeling in the aisle just behind the pilot's seat, looked where Torine pointed and saw they were being met by ground handlers, customs and immigration officials, and a large, white van, on the body of which was lettered AIRPORT GOURMET.
"Isn't 'airport gourmet' something like 'military intelligence'?" Fernando Lopez, in the copilot's seat, inquired innocently.
Castillo was less amused.
"The idea was not to attract attention," he said.
He pushed himself upright and walked into the cabin, sat on one of the couches, and looked out the window.
The ground handlers guided the Gulfstream to a place to park and Torine shut down the engines.
Castillo lowered the stair door and looked out.
The customs and immigration officers walked up to the airplane.
"Welcome to Uruguay, senor," one of them said, in English. "May we come aboard?"
"Certainly," Castillo replied and stepped out of the way.
"We understand that you are discharging no passengers or cargo?"
"That's correct."
But how the hell did you know that?
"In that case, senor, there will be no customs or immigration formalities. The crew may go to Base Operations to check the weather and file a flight plan."
"Thank you."
"Will you require fuel or any other service?"
"We just need to top off the tanks. And we'd like to take some food for the flight."
The officer gestured at the van.
"The food has been arranged for," the officer said.
"Thank you," Castillo said.
By that goddamned over efficient Yung!
"And we can have a fuel truck sent out quickly," the officer said. "Please come again and stay longer," he added, smiling, then went down the door stairs with the other official following.