McGuire wordlessly offered Lorimer his hand.
"Before these witnesses, Lorimer," Castillo said formally, "I am going to tell you-again-that anything you see, hear, or surmise here, or at any place at any time about what we're doing or have done, or plan to do, is classified Top Secret Presidential. Is that clear in your mind?"
"Yes, sir."
"Any questions about that?"
"No, sir."
"The President of the United States has tasked the Office of Organizational Analysis, under the authority of an existing Presidential Finding, with freeing Special Agent Timmons from his kidnappers," Castillo said.
"Jesus H. Christ!" Lorimer exclaimed. "Wonderful! Colonel, I don't know how to thank you!"
Castillo looked at him coldly until Lorimer's face showed that he understood that his response had not been welcomed.
"If you have your emotions under control, Lieutenant, I will continue with the admonition that any further emotional outbreaks will not be tolerated."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. It won't happen again."
"Lorimer, to clear the air, have you ever been given an order that you were sure you were not equipped to carry out?"
"Yes, sir."
"And what did you do when you were given an order you knew you were not equipped to carry out?"
"Sir, I told him I didn't know how to do what he was ordering me to do."
"And then?"
"And then I tried to do it."
"Were you successful in carrying out the order?"
"No, sir. I wasn't. But I tried."
"That's the situation here, Lorimer. We have been given an order that is in our judgment beyond our ability to carry out. But we are going to try very hard to obey that order. You have absolutely no reason, therefore, to thank me. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"So long as you remain useful-and, more important, cause me and OOA no trouble of any kind-I am going to permit you to participate in this operation."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"To say this is probationary would be an understatement. There will be no second chances. Phrased another way, Lieutenant, you fuck up once and you're dead meat. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"We are going to Chicago just as soon as I can change into uniform. Our mission, at the personal order of the President, is to assure Timmons's family that everything possible is being done to get him back. Since I don't have a clue about how to get him back, that's probably going to be difficult. One thing we can do, however, is produce you."
"Sir?"
"With a little bit of luck, they'll know who you are, that you were Timmons's buddy."
"Timmons's family knows who I am, sir."
"Then they'll probably believe you when you tell them what happened down there."
"I think they will, sir."
"On the other hand, they may suspect we're blowing smoke. 'What's this guy doing up here when he should be in Asuncion looking for…'"
"Byron, sir," Lorimer furnished. "His name is Byron Timmons, same as his father."
"In any event, while you are delivering the after-action report, you will look at me every two seconds. If I shake my head slightly, or if you think I'm shaking my head, you will stop in midsentence and change subjects. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Timmons's family will certainly have questions. Before you answer any question, you will look at me to see if I shake my head or nod. If I shake my head, your answer to that question will be something intended to assure them. It doesn't have to be true. You understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"If you cannot carry out this instruction satisfactorily, Lorimer, I will conclude that you will not be of any value to this operation and we'll drop you off at Fort Bragg on our way back here. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you packed?"
"No, sir. I sort of thought I'd be staying here."
"Go pack. You may well not be coming back here. When you're packed, put your bag in my Denali and wait there."
"Yes, sir," Lorimer said. He stood up and walked-with a just-noticeable limp-out of the living room, closing the door after himself.
As soon as it had closed, Miller said, "I'd forgotten what a starchy prick you can be, Charley."
"My sentiments exactly," Torine said. "What were you trying to do, Charley, make that kid hate you? Couldn't you have cut him some slack?"
"I was actually paying him a compliment, Jake," Castillo said. "And thank you for that vote of confidence."
"Compliment?"
"Pegleg is obviously as bright as they come; at least as smart as I am. Before I called him in here, I gave a lot of thought to how I should treat someone I admire, and who is probably as dangerous as you say I am. If that offended you two…"
"Okay," Torine said. "You're right. He reminds me of a lot of fighter pilots I've known."
"I would agree with that, Jake, except I'm pretty sure Lorimer can read and write."
Torine gave Castillo the finger.
Castillo took a small sheet of notebook paper from his pocket.
"Call that number, please, Jake, and tell them when we're going to be in Chicago, and how we can get from which airport to where we're going."
"They used to have a nice little airport downtown, right beside the lake," Torine said. "Meigs Field. Supposed to be one of the busiest private aviation fields in the world. But the mayor wanted a park there, so one night he sent in bulldozers and they cut big Xs on the runways."
"Really?" Miller asked.
"Yeah. There were a dozen, maybe more, light planes stranded there. They were finally allowed to take off from the taxiways. And the mayor got his park. He's…"
"Formidable?" Miller suggested.
"In spades," Torine said.
[THREE]
Atlantic Aviation Services Operations
Midway International Airport
Chicago, Illinois 1425 2 September 2005 "There's a guy walking toward us, Tom," Castillo said, as he tripped the stair-door lever in the Gulfstream III.
"I saw him."
"Looks like an Irish cop. You want to deal with him?"
McGuire gave Castillo the finger, then pushed himself off the couch on which he'd ridden-slept-from Baltimore, and walked to the door.
The man, a stocky six-footer with a full head of red hair, came up the stair as soon as it was in place.
"I'm Captain O'Day," he announced, as if supremely confident that no one could possibly mistake him for, say, an airline captain or anything but what he was, a Chicago cop. "I'm looking for a Colonel Costello."
Castillo came back into the cabin from the cockpit, and was putting on his green beret.
"Well, you weren't hard to find," O'Day said. "God, you've got more medals than Patton!"
Castillo shook his hand.
"It's Castillo, Captain."
"Sorry. You don't look like a Castillo."
"I'm in disguise. Say hello to another Texican, Tom McGuire of the Secret Service."
"If you're…whatever he said…McGuire, then I'm a…"
"Irish cop?" Castillo said, innocently.
"He's a real wiseass, isn't he?" O'Day asked, smiling.
"And he's barely warmed up," McGuire said.
"People are waiting for you. How many are going?"
"Five," McGuire said.
"I knew that. That's why I called for another car," O'Day said.
He gestured for everyone to get off the Gulfstream.
There were two cars, both solid black and brand-new, and looking like any other new Ford Crown Victoria except for little badges on the trunk reading POLICE INTERCEPTOR and, just visible behind the grille, blue and red lights.
"You can ride in front with me, Colonel," O'Day said. "I guess you're senior."
"Actually, Captain, the skinny guy's a full colonel," Castillo said. "But only in the Air Force, so that doesn't count."
"Go to hell, Costello," Torine said.
O'Day took a cellular telephone from his shirt pocket, pushed an autodial key, then after a moment said, "On the way. There's five of them. Maybe twenty minutes." He pressed the END key and put the phone back in his shirt pocket.
"How far is police headquarters?" Castillo asked, several minutes later.