He saluted crisply.
"Good morning, General," he said, officially. "Welcome to Camp Mackall. May the sergeant major ask the general who the bald, fat old Guinea is?"
"I told you it was a bad idea to teach the bastard how to read," D'Allessando said, first giving Davidson the finger with both hands and then wrapping his arms around him.
"How are you, Jack?" McNab asked.
"Can't complain, sir. What brings you to the boonies?"
"A bit of news that'll make you weep for the old Army," McNab said. "Guess who's now a lieutenant colonel?"
"Haven't the foggiest."
"Charley Castillo," Vic D'Allessando said. "Make you feel old, Jack?"
"Yeah," Davidson said, thoughtfully. "I remember Charley when he was a second john and driving the general's chopper in Desert One. Lieutenant Colonel Castillo. I'll be damned." He paused, thought about that, then added, "I think he'll be a good one."
"And I want to see Corporal Lester Bradley of the Marines," McNab said.
"You heard about that, did you, General?" Davidson said.
"Heard about what?"
"The goddamned Marines pulling our chain."
"How pulling our chain?"
"I'm responsible," Davidson said.
"What are you talking about?"
"I went to Quantico and talked to the jarheads about the people they're starting to send here. The master gunnery sergeant of Force Recon there-an Irishman named MacNamara-was a pretty good guy. We hit it off. We had a couple of tastes together. And while we were talking, I asked him if he had any influence on who they were sending here. He said he did. So I asked him as a favor if he could send us at least one who wasn't all muscles, especially between the ears, and could read and write."
He stopped when he saw the look on McNab's face.
"General," he went on, "they send all their Force Recon guys through the SEAL course on the West Coast. They run them up and down the beach in the sand carrying telephone poles over their heads. By the time they finish, they all look like Arnold Schwarzenegger. They're more into that physical crap than even the goddamned Rangers."
"And?" McNab asked.
"So I forgot about it," Davidson said. "I'd pulled MacNamara's chain a little and I was satisfied. And then Bradley appeared."
"And?" McNab pursued.
"Well, not only can he read and write-he talks like a college professor, never using a small word when a big one will do-and not only is he not all muscle, he's no muscle at all. And he's eighteen, nineteen years old and looks fifteen. I have to hand it to Master Gunnery Sergeant MacNamara. He had to look all over the Marine Corps to find this guy."
"And where is this stalwart Marine warrior?"
"In the office. I've got him typing. He didn't even-I forgot to mention this-have orders. What I'm doing now is hoping that MacNamara's going to call me and go, 'Ha-ha! Got you good, my doggie friend. Now you can send him back.'"
"I think that's unlikely, Jack," General McNab said and walked toward the small frame building, where he pushed open the door.
A voice inside, in a loud but some what less than commanding voice, cried, "Attention on deck!"
Mr. D'Allessando and Sergeant Major Davidson followed General McNab into the building.
Corporal Bradley was standing at rigid attention behind a field desk holding a notebook computer.
General McNab turned and looked at Sergeant Major Davidson.
"Never judge a book by its cover," he said. "You might want to write that down, Jack."
Then he looked at Corporal Bradley.
"At ease," he said, softly.
Bradley shifted from his rigid position of attention to an equally rigid position, with his hands in the small of his back, his legs slightly spread.
"Unless I'm mistaken, son," General McNab said, "you are now standing at parade rest."
"Sir, the corporal begs the general's pardon. The general is correct, sir," Bradley said, let his body relax, and took his hands from the small of his back.
"So you're the sniper, are you, son?" McNab asked.
"Sir, I was a designated marksman on the march to Baghdad."
"Thank you for the clarification."
"With all respect, sir, my pleasure, sir."
"Tell me, son, how would you describe your role in the assault on that wonderfully named Estancia Shangri-La?"
"With all respect, sir, I am under orders not to discuss that mission with anyone."
"Can you tell me why not?"
"Sir, the mission is classified Top Secret Presidential."
General McNab looked at Sergeant Major Davidson but didn't say anything.
Vic D'Allessando said, "It's okay, Lester. The general and the sergeant major are cleared."
"Yes, sir," Lester said.
"Well, son? What did you do on that mission?"
"Sir, Major Castillo, who was in command, assigned me to guard the helicopter."
"For your information, Corporal, Major Castillo has been promoted to lieutenant colonel," McNab said.
"If it is appropriate for me to say so, sir, it is a well-deserved promotion. Maj…Lieutenant Colonel Castillo is a fine officer under whom I am proud to have served."
Vic D'Allessando was smiling widely at a thoroughly confused Sergeant Major Davidson.
"So you guarded the helicopter?" McNab pursued.
"Yes, sir. Until the situation got a bit out of control, when I realized it had become my duty to enter the fray."
"'The fray'? Is that something like a firefight?" McNab asked.
"Yes, it is, sir. Perhaps I should have used that phrase."
"How exactly did you enter the fray, Corporal?" McNab asked. "When the situation got a bit out of control?"
"Sir, when it became evident that one of the villains was about to fire his Madsen through a window into a room into which Maj…Lieutenant Colonel Castillo had taken the detainee, I realized I had to take him out. Regrettably, he managed to fire a short burst before I was able to do so."
"How did you take him out?"
"With a head shot, sir."
"You didn't consider that it would be safer to try to hit him in the body?"
"I considered it, sir, but I was no more than seventy-five meters distant and knew I could make the shot."
"Is that all you did, Corporal?"
"No, sir. I took out a second villain perhaps fifteen seconds later."
"With another headshot?"
"Yes, sir."
"Just to satisfy my curiosity, Corporal," McNab asked, "were you firing offhand?"
"Yes, sir. There just wasn't time to adjust a sling and get into a kneeling or prone position, sir."
"Colonel Castillo has told Mr. D'Allessando that there is no question you saved his life. Sergeant Major Davidson and myself are old friends of Colonel Castillo's and we are grateful to you, aren't we, Sergeant Major?"
"Yes, sir. We certainly are."
"Just doing my duty as I saw it, sir."
"The yare going to bury Sergeant Kranz at sixteen hundred today in Arlington. If Sergeant Major Davidson can spare you from your duties here, I thought perhaps you might wish to go there with Mr. D'Allessando and me."
"Yes, sir. I would like very much to pay my last respects."
"Have you a dress uniform?"
"Yes, sir. But I'm afraid it's not very shipshape, sir."
"Well, I'm sure Sergeant Major Davidson will be happy to see that it's pressed and that you're at Pope at twelve hundred, won't you, Jack?"
"My pleasure, sir," Sergeant Major Davidson said.
VII
[ONE] Ferihegy International Airport Budapest, Hungary 1655 6 August 2005 Hungary is not a member of the European Union. It was therefore necessary for Otto Gorner and Karl W. von und zu Gossinger to pass through immigration and customs when the Eurojet Taxi deposited them before the small civil-aviation building.
But it was just the briefest of formalities. Not only were their passports quickly stamped by the officer who came aboard the twin-engine jet aircraft but he volunteered the information, "Your driver is waiting, Ur Gorner."