As Castillo very carefully lowered the Black Hawk onto the deck-I am really in a ground effect hover, even if I'm indicating that I'm making twenty knots. How can that be?-he found it easier to look at the "ground," which was to say the deck, of the USS Bataan out the left window of the cockpit rather than the deck forward of the helo. That way he could tell, relatively speaking, if the Bataan 's island was moving-in which case he was in trouble-or not.
And when he did, he saw that he knew several of the 160th's Night Stalker pilots. They were standing, arms folded, waiting for him to crash, on the deck next to the superstructure that was the island.
One of them-a tall, graying, hawk-featured man wearing, like the others, the black flight suits favored by the 160th-he knew well. And he knew that hanging from the zipper of Arthur Kingsolving's black flight suit was the "subdued" insignia of his rank. Castillo couldn't see it, but knew it was the black eagle of a full colonel.
The Black Hawk touched down.
"You can exhale now, Jake," Castillo said as he reached for the rotor brake control. "We're on the ground. More or less."
"Art Kingsolving's here."
"I noticed. I hope you are going to tell me you outrank him."
"No, I don't. But your question is moot. Active duty officers always outrank retired old farts."
"I don't know about you, but I think of myself as a prematurely retired young fart," Castillo said.
"And there is a welcoming delegation," Torine said.
"Why don't you go deal with them while I finish shutting this thing down?" The Navy delegation consisted of the officer of the deck, a chief petty officer, and two petty officers, one of them the master-at-arms and the other a medic.
They quite naturally had decided that the senior person aboard the helicopter with Mexican police markings would be riding with his staff in the passenger compartment, and lined up accordingly.
The first person-more accurately, the first living thing-to exit the helicopter was an enormous black dog, closely followed by a redheaded woman in battle dress who was screaming angrily at the dog in what sounded like Russian. Close on her heels came a man holding a camera who began to snap pictures of the Navy delegation, the helicopters on the deck, and the dog, who was now wetting down the front right wheel of the helicopter.
The co-pilot's door opened and, for a moment, decorum returned as Colonel Jake Torine, USAF (Retired), came out, popped to rigid attention, faced aft, and crisply saluted the national ensign.
Then he did a crisp left-face movement, raised his hand to his temple, and holding the salute, politely announced, "I request permission to come aboard, sir, in compliance with orders."
"Very well," the officer of the deck said, returning the salute. Then he said, "Sir, the captain's compliments. The captain requests the senior officer and such members of his staff as he may wish attend him…"
At that point, protocol broke down.
The Army pilots who had been standing next to the island came trotting across the deck, including the one that the officer of the deck knew to be a full colonel.
"I'll be a sonofabitch if Charley didn't steal another one," one of the Night Stalkers shouted.
"This time from the Mexican cops," another of them clarified.
"Zip your lips," Colonel Kingsolving snapped. He then turned to the officer of the deck. "Mister, I need a word with Colonel Castillo before he attends the captain on the bridge."
"Colonel, when the captain requests-"
"This time he's just going to have to wait," Kingsolving said, and then turned to Castillo, who, having exited the helicopter, was now exchanging hugs, pats on the back, and vulgar comments with the pilots.
"Colonel Castillo," Colonel Kingsolving called sternly. "I need a word with you right now."
Castillo freed himself, marched up to Kingsolving, came to attention, and saluted.
"Follow me, Colonel," Kingsolving ordered, and marched down the deck until they were alone.
"Face away from the island," Kingsolving ordered.
Castillo turned his back to the ship's superstructure.
"All McNab told me," Kingsolving said, "was to send the Black Hawks out here via Key West. 'The op commander will meet your senior pilot on the Bataan.' Your name wasn't mentioned."
"You didn't hear I was retired?"
"Yeah, and when we have time, I want to ask you about that."
"'Senior pilot'?" Castillo asked.
"I'm not supposed to be here, Charley. The first time I talked to him, McNab told me I was not to go. And then he called me back and said if I was thinking of having a case of selective deafness, the brigadier's selection board is sitting right now, and if this op gets out-even if it goes as planned-I can forget a star."
"You're here," Castillo said. "You don't want to be a general?"
"Two reasons, Charley. I'm one of those old-time soldiers who doesn't send his people anywhere he won't go himself."
"McNab was right. Even if I can carry this off, I think there's going to be serious political implications."
"Because you stole that helicopter from the Mexicans?"
"Because, for example, the last time I saw Frank Lammelle earlier today, he was wearing plastic handcuffs and Vic D'Allessando was sitting on him."
"Ouch! Charley, how long is this operation of yours going to take?"
"With a little bit of luck, we should be back on the Bataan by oh-eight-thirty tomorrow."
"Back from where? Where you're going to do what? Just the highlights."
Castillo told him.
"Now I'm really glad I came," Kingsolving said. "I told you there were two reasons I suffered temporary deafness. The captain of the Bataan, Tom Lowe, is a really good guy. I've done a couple of operations with him. Obviously, the more he knows about this one, the better all around. The problem with that is I don't want him standing at attention before a white-suit board of inquiry trying to explain why he knowingly participated in an obviously illegal operation."
"How do you want me to handle that?"
"There is a way, but I suspect that as a fellow marcher in that Long Gray Line, it will really bother you. The Code of Honor, don't you know?"
"Try me. I lie, cheat, and steal all the time, and spend a lot of time hanging out with others that do."
"Would you be willing to swear on a stack of Bibles that the only thing you told Lowe was where you wanted him to have the Bataan and when, and aside from assuring him that it was a duly authorized, wholly legal operation, didn't tell him anything else?"
"Absolutely."
"Thank you, Charley."
"For what? You're the guy who just watched his star disappear down the toilet."
"One more question. Who the hell is the redhead?"
"Would you believe, my fiancee?"
"No."
"How about she's an SVR lieutenant colonel?"
"I thought female SVR lieutenant colonels weighed two hundred pounds and had stainless-steel front teeth. Come on, we've got to see the captain."
"Can I bring my dog?" "Request permission to come onto the bridge with a party of officers," Kingsolving said from the door to the bridge.
"You and your party of officers have the freedom of the bridge, Colonel Kingsolving," Captain Thomas J. Lowe, USN, said. He was a man in his late thirties, tall and deeply tanned.
Castillo marched up to him, stood tall, and announced, his voice raised, "Captain, I am Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo. I regret that the nature of the mission I have been ordered to carry out by the United States Central Command is such that I can tell you very little except where we wish you to place your vessel and when."
"Welcome aboard the Bataan, Colonel."
"Captain, may I introduce my officers?"
"Certainly. But may I suggest that we deal with first things first? Where do you want the Bataan, and when?"