Even Max behaved. He lay outside the sliding glass door to the patio, his head between his front paws, just watching and neither whining nor suggesting that he would really like something to eat.
General Wilson, a little happy but not drunk after two glasses of wine, regaled everybody with stories of Warrant Officer Junior Grade Jorge Castillo, who, Colonel Castillo decided, must have driven his commanding officer nuts.
One of the stories, which Castillo had not heard, was of a middle-of-the-night moonlight requisitioning flight in which a mess-hall-sized refrigerator and a generator to power it were, as General Wilson gaily related, "liberated from a QM dump and put to work for the 644th Helicopter Company."
He sipped his wine, then with a huge grin said: "For the better part of the next day, the old man was torn between socking it to Jorge and me for misappropriation of government property-or enjoying the cold beer. Cold beer won in the end."
Castillo glanced at Richardson, who clearly was not as amused with the story as was his son, whose face showed he thought the idea of stealing things with a helicopter sounded great.
Then Castillo's eyes met Beth's, and he wondered if she was thinking of what had happened in the Daleville Inn.
Hell yes, she is.
That would be natural.
But that was a very long time ago.
The last thing I'd do is try to resurrect anything.
A little after eight-thirty, just after Castillo had turned down a glass of brandy-"I have to fly in the morning"-there was a familiar faint beep and, a moment later, Neidermeyer reached into his lap and came up with the radio handset.
He looked at it, then stood up, said, "Excuse me. It's for you, sir," and leaned across the table to hand it to Castillo.
The legend read GEN MCNAB.
"Yes, sir?" Castillo said into the handset.
"I've got the truck driver on a landline. He's fueling at Benning. Who do I tell him to see when he gets to Rucker?"
"General Crenshaw has named Colonel Richardson as his action officer, sir. But Neidermeyer-and maybe me-will meet the truck at the gate."
"Driver and two shooters," McNab said. "Make sure they're taken care of."
"Yes, sir, of course."
Castillo was aware that everyone was looking at him.
"Crenshaw taking good care of you?" McNab went on.
"Couldn't ask for anything more, sir. As a matter of fact, I'm sitting across Colonel Richardson's dinner table from him. And General Wilson."
"I don't have the time to wander down memory lane. Give them my compliments," McNab said, and a faint change in the background noise told Castillo that McNab had broken the connection.
Castillo pushed the OFF button and handed the handset back to Neidermeyer.
"That was General McNab," Castillo said. "His compliments to you, gentlemen, and his apologies for having to take another call right now. The truck has just refueled at Fort Benning. What is that, an hour, hour and a half from here?"
Both Wilson and Crenshaw nodded.
"He was checking to make sure the truck driver and his crew-total of three-are taken care of."
"I'll take care of that, General," Richardson said before Crenshaw could give the order.
And now, Castillo thought, I can get out of here.
"Beth, thank you for a delightful meal," he said. "But I'm afraid that Jamie and I are going to have to be the infamous guests who eat and run. We've got a lot on our plate tonight and a first-light flight tomorrow."
"I understand," she said. "We'll have to do it another time."
"I'd like that. I accept."
And with that exchange of polite lies, I really can get out of here.
"Charley, do you know how to find the airport in Ozark?" General Wilson asked.
"I'm sure I can find it, sir."
"I'll take you," Wilson offered.
"That's unnecessary, sir."
"I'll take you," Wilson insisted.
He's trying to be nice, sure. But there's more to it than that.
Hell, he wants to go. Why didn't I think of that?
"Sir, would you like to go along? What I have to do there won't take long-it just has to be done in person. We should be back here at, say, four or five."
"I don't want to intrude, Charley. But I really would like to see the damage along the Gulf Coast."
"Then you'll go. And there's room for one more in the airplane. Any takers? It would be something to see."
"Can I go?" Randolph Richardson IV asked.
"Of course not, son," Randolph Richardson III said quickly.
The look on Beth's face showed that she firmly supported that parental decision.
"Why not?" General Wilson said.
"This is none of my business, of course," General Crenshaw said. "But think it over, Richardson. It's one hell of an opportunity for the boy. For the rest of his life he'd remember that right after the hurricane, he flew over the area with his grandfather and saw everything."
"Well, viewed in that light," Randolph III said.
"I don't think so," Beth announced. "It would be dangerous."
"But General Crenshaw is right, honey," Randolph III said. "It would be something he would remember all his life. Are you sure of your landing field, Castillo? It's safe to use?"
Castillo nodded.
I don't want to take the kid.
I don't even want to take General Wilson.
I was just being a good guy. No good deed ever goes unpunished.
"Okay, then, it's settled," General Wilson said. "Randy and I will pick you up at oh dark hundred at the Magnolia House. That way you won't have to leave the Army van at the airport."
[FOUR]
Ozark Municipal Airport
Ozark, Alabama 0655 5 September 2005 J. G. Jenkins, the somewhat plump proprietor of the Greater Dale County Funeral Home and Crematorium, Inc., incongruously attired in a loud flowered Hawaiian shirt and powder blue shorts, did insist on taking a ride around the pattern with Castillo before turning over his Flying Hearse to him.
In the end, Castillo was glad he did.
As Castillo turned on final, Jenkins idly mentioned that he was sure Castillo was aware that the Rucker reservation-and Cairns Field-was restricted airspace.
"You're going to have to go to either Dothan or Troy before heading for the beach."
"Yes, I know. Thank you."
And another lie leaps quickly from my lips.
I'd forgotten that. And, if you hadn't reminded me, I would've taken off and flown the most direct route to the Gulf-right over both the base and the airfield.
I doubt they would've scrambled jets to shoot me down. But there damned sure would have been a lot of FAA forms to fill out.
"Explain in two hundred words or less why you have done something really stupid like this."
He set the single-engine, high-wing T206H down smoothly on its tricycle gear, then taxied to the hangar where General Wilson, Randy the Fourth, Neidermeyer, and Max were waiting.
Castillo was a little surprised that Jenkins hadn't at least asked questions about Max getting into his pristine airplane-it was painted a glossy black, like a hearse, and the tan leather interior spotless. He concluded in the end that Jenkins had decided in view of the three hundred fifty dollars an hour that he was charging for the use of his hearse-dry, as Castillo had to fuel it himself-it was necessary to accommodate the customer.
"Well, I guess you're my copilot, General," Castillo said after he'd shut down the engine and his passengers approached the aircraft.
"Charley, I'd be useless in the right seat. I haven't flown in years, and…"
General Wilson held up a Sony digital motion picture camera. Neidermeyer had an almost identical one hanging from the lanyard around his neck.
When Castillo looked at him, Wilson said, "I'd really like to get pictures of the damage, Colonel."
Castillo looked at the boy.
"Well, I guess you're my copilot, Randy."
"Yes, sir."
Castillo motioned to the double doors on the starboard side of the fuselage and said, "Then hop in and make your way forward to the right seat."