A sharp rap came at the door. “Come in.”
The National Security Advisor stood at the doorway. “No change. Things aren’t looking good.”
Acht threw one last look outside and sighed. Things were moving too fast. And it was no time for secrecy. “Let’s go ahead with the press release.”
“Should we have Adleman return, then?”
Acht shook his head. “The treaty is too important. If we bring him back, we might give the wrong message to Rizular. We pulled out of the Philippines once; if negotiations break down we’ll never be allowed to stay permanently. There’s too much riding on this.”
“So you think it’s the right thing to do, telling the press?”
“Absolutely. We’ve got the contingency plans ready. Adleman is flying from one American base to another. It can’t be safer than that. I think all of our ducks are in line. Just leave out how critical the President really is. We don’t want to start a panic.”
“And if Longmire dies?”
Acht shrugged. “We’ve done everything we can. We can’t put the government on hold, waiting for the worst. Business goes on. Mr. Adleman has been apprised of the situation and we’ve taken all the security precautions we can.” He paused. “This treaty is just too damned important. Let’s just pray that Longmire holds on until we can get Adleman back here,” he glanced at the calendar, “in something more than seventy-two hours.”
Chapter 14
Major General Simone paced up and down his richly decorated office, scowling. For the first time since he had stopped smoking some ten years before, he literally ached for a cigarette. He didn’t crave any booze — which was a good thing, for he would have stopped drinking years ago if he had. But he would have killed for a good hit of nicotine.
He shouldn’t have gotten upset. He’d met politicians before, wined and dined them, but that had been when he was Commandant of Cadets, never when he was in an operational unit. Why can’t they just leave me the hell alone? he thought.
The Thirteenth Air Force had an established routine for dealing with political VIPs — usually congressmen, whose wives and staffers accompanied the politicians on their “fact-finding junkets.” More often than not the trips turned out to be nothing more than Air Force-funded spending sprees, underwritten by the taxpayers.
Simone had a staff whose job it was to accompany the groups, showing them where the best buys were and the places to avoid. Simone usually made a star appearance at the beginning and again at the end of each trip, profusely thanking the delegation for showing up — but making damned sure that his operation was not affected by the junket.
But this trip by the vice president, of all the useless people! The place would be crawling with Secret Service, FBI, DIA, OSI, and probably XYZ agents. Flying would stop, then be staged to provide a “demonstration” for the Veep. He’d have lunch with the troops in their cafeteria, tour the base — meaning the whole base would come to a standstill as everyone picked up trash and painted old buildings. The nightmare would go on and on.
He stopped in the center of the room and bit his lip. Okay, he thought, pissing time is over. Time to get down to business. Much as he hated swallowing frogs, his philosophy was that if he had to swallow, then swallow the biggest frog first.
He walked over to the intercom on his desk and slapped at it.
“Stephanie, get a hold of First Lieutenant Bruce Steele. Tell him”—he paused, then slowly grinned to himself—“tell him he and his backseater are to fly escort for a VIP coming into Clark tomorrow morning.”
As Pompano settled back in his chair, he spotted a red four-door car approach from the market. Pompano narrowed his eyes. Rich Filipinos did not make a habit of coming to the market themselves.
He spotted the American license plates.
A cold chill came over him, and a sudden vision of people taking him away, accusing him of stealing their HPM weapon, swept through his mind. But then it hit him that they would be coming in some sort of government car, a dark blue color so as not to draw attention.
The front door opened and a white man stepped out.…
Yolanda got out of the other side. Pompano’s breath quickened; his face grew warm. Yolanda? What have they done with her?!
Yolanda looked surprised when she saw him. “Father!” Pompano remained silent. “You read my note?”
“Aih.”
She smiled, as if she had dismissed his obvious anger, and instead turned to the American. As tall as Yolanda was, the man still towered a good six inches over her. Yolanda said proudly, “Father, I would like you to meet Bruce Steele.”
Pompano stiffly waved a hand. He glared at the young man and ignored his daughter. He spoke in Tagalog. “He is not welcome on my property. He will leave.”
Yolanda looked puzzled. “Father?”
“Did you not hear me?” He still avoided looking at Yolanda and bore his eyes into the man. The American shifted his weight from one foot to another. He looked puzzled.
“Yolanda, I had probably better leave.…”
“Father?!”
Pompano made a cutting motion with his hand and still spoke in Tagalog. “He is not welcome. Leave this store now, or I will call the PC.”
“But father, I must explain. This is the—”
“Yolanda, I’d better go.” The young man nodded slightly to Pompano’s daughter and turned to leave. “Please don’t take it out on your daughter, sir. It is entirely my fault. I can assure you—”
“Out!!” Pompano commanded in English.
The American shrugged and left, the screen door slamming behind him.
“Father!”
Pompano turned for the back room. “Shut the door, Yolanda; we will talk.”
“Yes, Father.”
Yolanda joined him moments later in the back. Pompano waited for her, sitting quietly in a chair. He waited until she sat. “Yolanda …”
“Father, Bruce Steele is a gentleman. You caused me to lose face, and you shamed him—”
“Quiet!” His daughter stopped talking and dropped her head. She folded her hands.
Pompano drew in a breath, trying to calm his pulse. It was the first time in a long time that he had had a run in with an American. He ignored the ones he passed on the streets. The few who entered his store were politely refused service. But now, one … accosting his daughter!
Pompano strained to stop the shaking. “Yolanda, you must stay away from the Americans. I have told you many times.”
She looked up, her eyes red and brimming with tears. “But why? What is so bad about going somewhere with a gentleman?”
“I told you.”
Yolanda stopped and dropped her head again.
Pompano started to continue, but stopped. He let out a breath, suddenly tired. “Yolanda … my little girl.”
“I am not little anymore, Father.”
“Yolanda, you must listen very carefully to me. There is a good reason why I do not want you near the Americans. We are proud to be Filipinos, and there are many things out of our control. We must stay together. The Americans will treat you as their little brown sister if you give in to their wishes.”