Castillo's confusion showed on his face.
General Crenshaw smiled and nodded toward Base Operations. Two familiar faces were now standing outside the building.
One was Lieutenant General Harold F. Wilson, U.S. Army (Retired), wearing Bermuda shorts and a pink golf shirt. The other was Lieutenant Colonel Randolph Richardson, in ACUs. General Wilson waved happily. Colonel Richardson smiled.
Or is he grimacing as he squints in the bright sunlight? Castillo thought.
"When General McNab called to tell me you were coming, I was on the fifteenth hole with General Wilson. I was once his aide, so I knew about his relationship with your father."
"I haven't seen General Wilson for several years," Castillo said. "He retired to Phoenix, I believe."
"That's right," General Crenshaw said.
"And I haven't seen Richardson for…I don't remember the last time I saw him."
"Well, he's my very competent assistant G-3, which makes him just the man to get you whatever you came for. Would that be all right with you?"
"Yes, sir. That would be fine. Thank you."
"And this gentleman is?" Crenshaw asked.
"My communicator, sir. Sergeant First Class Neidermeyer. He has to be close to me, so I was going to introduce him as Mister Neidermeyer and smuggle him in a BOQ with me. But I'm a little tired of bending the truth. So I guess it's the Daleville Inn."
Crenshaw offered his hand to Neidermeyer.
"Welcome to Fort Rucker, Mr. Neidermeyer," he said. "I hope you and Colonel Castillo find the Magnolia House comfortable."
Hearing the name Magnolia House brought back fond memories for Castillo. More than a decade ago, his grandparents had stayed in the World War II-era frame housing that had been converted to a cottage for transient VIPs.
"Thank you, sir," Castillo said.
Castillo, Crenshaw, and Neidermeyer started to walk across the tarmac. Two neat young sergeants trotted out to them and offered to take their luggage. Neidermeyer would not part with the radio suitcase.
When Castillo and Neidermeyer got close to the building, General Wilson spread his arms wide.
"How are you, Charley?" he called, and wrapped him in a bear hug.
When he let him go, he said, "Bethany talked yesterday to your grandmother, who told her you had made a couple of flying trips to the Double-Bar-C but, as usual, she had no idea where you were. So I'm really glad to see you."
"I've been moving around a lot," Castillo said. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, we came to see Beth and Randy and the grandchildren. Rucker's hot, but not as hot as Phoenix, and I do like to play golf."
"How is Beth?" Castillo asked, politely, as he put out his hand to Richardson.
"Well, thank you," Richardson said without emotion.
What do I call him?
Randolph? Randy?
"Good to see you, Randy."
"Likewise."
"Your grandmother," General Wilson went on, "told us your promotion finally came through. Congratulations."
"They were scraping the bottom of the barrel," Castillo said. "This is Jamie Neidermeyer, my communicator. Jamie, General Wilson flew with my father in Vietnam. And this is Colonel Richardson. We were classmates at West Point."
They shook hands.
It was fairly obvious from Neidermeyer's "how do you do, sirs" as well as his general appearance that he was military. But Richardson either didn't pick up the significance of his not being identified by rank or didn't want to.
"You're in the service, Neidermeyer?"
Neidermeyer looked at Castillo for guidance.
"He works for General McNab, Randy," General Crenshaw said. "At the moment, he's not wearing his uniform. When Castillo was here the last time, neither was he. He told me he was in the Secret Service. Mysterious indeed are the ways of the Special Operations Command and those in it."
"Well, now that that's out in the open," General Wilson said, "am I sticking my nose in where it's not particularly welcome?"
"No, sir. Not at all," Castillo said. "I'm scrounging things for General McNab, but, if you're free, I'd love to buy you and your bride dinner tonight."
"Beth and her mother are at this moment preparing dinner," Richardson said. "She said she couldn't remember the last time she saw you."
Odd. I remember it with great clarity.
"The invitation of course includes you and Mrs. Crenshaw, General," Richardson went on. "And you, Mr. Neidermeyer."
"I don't want to intrude, Richardson," General Crenshaw said.
"It wouldn't be an intrusion at all, sir. And it would give you and the general more time together."
Crenshaw looked at Castillo to see what he should do.
"And you and I could talk about the terrible things we had to do as aides-de-camp to difficult generals, General," Castillo said, then smiled.
"Who was yours?" Crenshaw said.
"Bruce J. McNab."
"I didn't know that," Crenshaw said. "I'd love to hear what that was like. Yes, Colonel Richardson. Mrs. Crenshaw and I gratefully accept your kind invitation to dinner."
"General Crenshaw, could I have a moment of your and Randy's time?" Castillo asked.
"Certainly."
Crenshaw led them to the pilots' lounge, politely asked the two pilots there if they would mind giving them a few minutes alone, and then looked at Castillo.
"This operation is highly classified, sir," Castillo said. "The fewer people who know I'm here, or have been here, the better. What I need is four H-Model Hueys for an operation-"
"What kind of an operation?" Richardson interrupted.
"If you don't know that, Randy," Castillo said somewhat impatiently, "then you can truthfully swear that I didn't tell you what I wanted them for."
Of all the light colonels at Rucker, I get Righteous Randolph?
Richardson nodded his understanding.
"They have to have GPS," Castillo went on, "and they have to be in very good shape. And, I have to tell you, you probably won't get them back."
Righteous's jaw just now about bounced off the tiled floor.
"We have been directed to give Colonel Castillo whatever he asks for, and that he has the highest priority," General Crenshaw said.
"How do we explain your presence if someone recognizes you?" Richardson asked.
"The cover story is that I'm an executive assistant to the secretary of Homeland Security, and that I'm here because this was the most convenient place for me to come and rent a light aircraft-I'll get to that in a minute-and fly to Pass Christian, Mississippi, on a mission for the secretary."
"Two things, Castillo," General Crenshaw said. "That area was badly mauled by Hurricane Katrina. I don't know if any fields down there are open. Have you considered a Black Hawk?"
"There's an airstrip where I'm going. It's open. And a light airplane will attract less attention than an Army helicopter. Neidermeyer went on the Internet and found a Cessna 206H available for charter at the airport in Ozark-"
"The Flying Hearse," Crenshaw interrupted, chuckling.
"Sir?"
Crenshaw smiled, then explained:
"Actually, it's a T206H-turbocharged. The fellow who owns the funeral home is a flying enthusiast. Flying is expensive-that airplane cost more than a quarter million dollars-but he thought he had the solution. If he had an airplane, he could fly cadavers to where they were going to be buried and charge the same thing airlines do-twice the price of the most expensive first-class ticket. That would be a substantial contribution to the cost of his hobby. He was so enthusiastic that he didn't check to see if a coffin would fit in the airplane. They don't. So, it is reliably reported, he transports-in of course the dead of night, so to speak-the cadavers in body bags, strapped into a seat, and has a casket waiting wherever he's going. I know him. I can call and set that up for you, if you'd like. You can fly a 206?"
"I can fly a 182 and a Citation," Castillo said. "Will that work?"
"I don't think that will be a problem," Crenshaw said. "But he'll probably want to ride around the pattern with you. Anything else?"
"There will be pilots and crew chiefs coming here from the 160th at Fort Campbell."