"That was quick," Castillo said.
"So, knowing neither Randy's number nor that of the Magnolia House, what I think I'll do is call Beth, ask her to call Randy, and tell her to tell him we're back, and that we're going to be at the Magnolia House just as soon as we can drop off our copilot at their quarters and get there."
"Thank you," Castillo said.
Mrs. Randolph Richardson III came out of her kitchen door as the Buick drove up the driveway.
"How was the flight?" she asked.
"Colonel Castillo let me fly most of the way over there," Randolph Richardson IV announced, "and just about all the way back. And Max flattened a soccer ball in his mouth."
"How nice of him," she said with some effort.
"And Randy did very well," General Wilson said. "I'll be back right after I drop Charley and Jamie off."
Mrs. Richardson smiled.
"Take care, Randy," Castillo said, and touched the boy's shoulder. "Maybe we can do it again sometime."
"Oh, yeah! Thanks very, very much, Colonel."
The look in her eyes makes it pretty clear she thinks that's about as likely to happen as is our being canonized for a lifetime of sexual fidelity.
"My pleasure, Randy."
"I won't go in, Charley," General Wilson said, as they drove up to the Magnolia House. "But let's try to get together again while you're here."
"I'll try, sir."
"And thank you for the ride. Randy will never forget it, and neither will I."
"I'm glad it worked out."
"Your dad would have been very proud of you, Charley," Wilson said, as he offered his hand.
"Thank you," Castillo said.
I never thought of that before.
What would my father think of me if he were around to have a look?
There were nine men in flight suits sitting at the dining room table of the Magnolia House with Lieutenant Colonel Randolph Richardson III when Castillo and Neidermeyer walked in.
"I would have called 'attention,' Colonel," a barrel-chested, nearly bald man greeted him, "but I knew you would really rather have me kiss your Hudson High ring."
"My God, look what the cat drug in, all the way from Norwich," Castillo said happily.
He put his briefcase on the table, went to him, and wrapped him in a bear hug.
"How the hell are you, Dave?"
Max sat down and looked up at them curiously.
"Where did you get the dog, Charley?"
"Long story," Castillo said. "But he won't tear your leg off if you're polite."
Dave squatted and accepted Max's paw.
Castillo became aware that except for Richardson the other men at the table had stood up.
"And I know who these guys are," Castillo said. "The misfits, scalawags, and ne'er-do-wells the colonel decided he could get rid of when they laid the personnel requirement on him."
"You got it, Charley," a tall, lanky man said, laughing. "Good to see you."
"Where we going, Charley?" another asked.
Castillo didn't reply directly.
Instead, he said, "Has Colonel Richardson gotten you all a place to stay? Chow?"
"They've all been given transient quarters," Richardson said. "We were discussing somewhere to eat when you came in. And there are two vans for their use while they're here."
"I can't stay, Charley," the barrel-chested bald man said. He held up a can of 7UP as proof suggesting that he was about to fly and had not been able to help himself to anything alcoholic.
"The boss," he went on, "is out of town and I'm minding the store. And as the commanding officer, when General McNab said 'ASAP,' I made the command decision that the best way to do that was fire up a Black Hawk and fly these clowns down here. And I knew, of course-being an old buddy who is at least a year senior to you-you would be delighted to tell me what the hell this is all about."
"Nice try, Dave," Castillo said. "But if you're not staying, I can't tell you."
"Nothing?"
"Not one goddamn word, Colonel."
"He just shifted into his official mode, Jerry," Dave said. "So there'll be no arguing with him. We might as well go home."
"Yes, sir," one of the pilots said.
"You understand, Charley, that it's breaking my heart that you don't trust me?"
"Don't let the doorknob hit you in the ass, Dave."
Dave put out his hand.
"Great to see you, Charley," he said, warmly. "You've got four more pilots and two crew chiefs coming. You want them flown down?"
"The sooner they can be here, the better."
"My master has spoken," Dave said. "Not you. McNab. They'll be here for lunch tomorrow. How long are you going to need them?"
"You are tenacious, aren't you?"
"That's why I got promoted eighteen months before you did."
Another of the pilots said, "I thought that had something to do with Charley being out of uniform while flying a borrowed Black Hawk."
The others laughed.
"Come to think of it…," Dave said, which produced more laughter. And then he went on, "And really coming to think about it, he was really much better-looking wearing a beard and Afghan robes, wasn't he? In these civvies, he looks like a used-car salesman."
Castillo gave him the finger.
"Richardson, can we mooch a ride from you out to Cairns?" Dave asked.
"Of course," Richardson said. "Castillo, will I be needed here any more tonight?"
Castillo shook his head. "Why don't you meet us at Hanchey at, say, 0730?"
"I'll be there," Richardson said, then looked at Dave. "Anytime you're ready, Colonel."
"Charley," Dave said, "you take care of my scalawags and ne'er-do-wells, or I'll have your ass."
Castillo nodded.
As Richardson opened the door to leave, Neidermeyer came through it.
"Hey, Jamie, long time no see!" Dave said, offering his hand.
"Good to see you, sir. You going to be in on this?"
"No, goddamn it, I'm not. McNab said, 'Not only no, but hell no!'"
"Remember to send the colonel a postcard, Neidermeyer," Castillo said.
"Yes, sir, I'll do that."
He waited until the door was closed, then went around shaking the hands of the people he knew and was introduced to the others.
"Presumably you have put the antenna back up on the roof?" Castillo said.
"Yes, sir. We should be up."
"Get on it, please, Jamie. Tell Miller and General McNab that we're back and that we have four pilots and two crew chiefs here, and are promised the others by noon tomorrow. And check to see what's going on."
"Yes, sir."
Castillo went to the table, took his laptop from his briefcase, and booted it up.
As the computer hard drive made whirring sounds, he looked up at the others.
"You know the drill," he said. "This is where I tell you the operation is Top Secret and anyone who lets anything out goes to Leavenworth. The only difference this time is that the security classification is Top Secret Presidential. Anyone with a loose lip gets two years as a Phase I Instructor Pilot and then goes to Leavenworth."
"A Presidential Finding, Charley?" one of them asked.
Castillo nodded.
"Let me give a quick taste, and then we'll go get something to eat."
From the laptop speakers came the familiar sound of a bugle sounding Charge!-Castillo had replaced the annoying out-of-the-box Microsoft tune-announcing that the computer was booted up and ready.
Castillo opened the Google World program and shifted the image of the earth so that it showed the lower half of South America.
"Where in hell are we going?" one of them asked.
"Patience is a virtue, Mr. Reston," Castillo said.
Finally, he had what he wanted, and pressed the keys to zoom in on the image.
"That's an estancia, a ranch, called Shangri-La, 31.723 south latitude, 55.993 west longitude."
"What's there, Colonel?"
"A field big enough to take four Hueys at once and refuel them."
"Flying in from where?"
"The USS Ronald Reagan, at sea."
"Jesus Christ!"
"And where do we go from there, sir?"
"I'm working on that."
VIII
[ONE] 7200 West Boulevard Drive