Alexandria, Virginia 1115 7 September 2005 Castillo walked into the living room with Max on his heels and, following the dog, an enormous, very black man in a three-button black suit-all buttons buttoned-a crisp white shirt, and a black tie.
Colonel Jake Torine was sitting with Edgar Delchamps at the battered coffee table. They both had their feet up on it, and Delchamps was reaching into the box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts on the table between them.
Special Agent David W. Yung of the FBI and Sergeant Major John Davidson were sprawled in the red leather armchairs, with their own Krispy Kreme box between them on a footstool.
Torine was wearing a blue polo shirt and khaki pants. Yung, Davidson, and Delchamps wore single-breasted nearly black suits. Yung's and Davidson's suits looked as if they were fresh from a Brooks Brothers box. Delchamps's suit looked as if it had been at least six months since it had received any attention from a dry cleaning establishment.
"Welcome home," Torine said, taking a bite of his doughnut. They all looked curiously at the black man.
"Colin," Castillo said. "This is Colonel Torine, Mr. Yung, Mr. Delchamps, and Mr. Davidson."
"Gentlemen," the black man said in a very deep, very Southern voice.
"Every nice house in suburbia needs a butler," Castillo said. "So I got us one. Say something in butler, Colin."
"Yah, suh," the black man said in an even thicker Southern accent. "Can I fix you gentlemen a small Sazerac as a li'l wake-me-up?"
Delchamps's eyebrows rose. A smile crossed Davidson's face. Yung looked baffled. Torine looked confused, and then recognition came.
"I'll be damned," he said, getting to his feet and putting out his hand. "I didn't recognize you in that undertaker's suit. How the hell are you, Sergeant Major?"
"You are speaking, sir," the black man said, now sounding as if he was from Chicago or somewhere else in the Midwest, "to Chief Warrant Officer Five Leverette."
"When did that happen?"
"I took the warrant a couple of years ago when some moron decided they needed two officers on an A-Team and they wanted to make an instructor out of me," Leverette said. "It's good to see you, too, Colonel. Charley said they gave you an eagle. When did you get that?"
"About four years ago. Where did Charley find you?"
"He found me," Castillo said. "I was having my breakfast yesterday at Rucker when in he walked. I thought he was a Bible salesman until he demanded to know what I intended to do with his team."
"You're in on this operation with us, Colin?" Davidson asked.
Leverette nodded. "Somebody's going to have to keep Charley out of trouble, right?"
"Oddly enough, I was just talking to somebody else about that," Torine said. He looked at Castillo. "We need to talk about that, Charley."
"I also need a few minutes of your valuable time, Ace," Delchamps said.
Max walked to Torine and put out his paw.
"Can he have a doughnut?" Torine asked. "I'm not sure he's giving me his paw because he likes me."
"As long as it's not chocolate covered," Castillo said.
"The offer of a Sazerac is still on the table," Leverette said. "Any takers?"
"I thought you couldn't get one outside New Orleans," Delchamps said.
"Today, you can't get one in New Orleans. It's under water, as you may have heard." He reached into his jacket pocket and came out with a small paper-wrapped bottle about the size of a Tabasco bottle. "But here you can."
"What's that?" Yung asked.
"What's this, or what's a Sazerac?"
"Two-Gun has led a sheltered life, Colin," Delchamps said. "I accept your kind offer."
"'Two-Gun'?" Leverette parroted, and then said, "This, Two-Gun, is Peychaud's Bitters. I never leave home without it. It is the essential ingredient in a Sazerac cocktail, which I regard as New Orleans's greatest contribution to the general all-around happiness of mankind."
"There's the booze," Torine said, pointing to an array of bottles. "I know there's rye, bourbon, and Pernod. But you need powdered sugar, too, right?" When Leverette nodded, he added: "I saw some in the kitchen, thanks to the ever-efficient Corporal Bradley. I'll go get it." Torine started for the kitchen, then stopped and turned, and added: "About whom we also have to talk, Charley."
Leverette carried bottles of spirits to the table, then began to construct a cocktail shaker full of Sazerac with all the care and precision of a chemist dealing with deadly substances.
Torine returned from the kitchen with a box of confectioner's sugar, a lemon, and a paring knife in one hand, and five glasses in the other.
"Pay attention, Two-Gun," Davidson said. "You will see a master at work."
"It's not even lunchtime," Yung protested.
"They don't drink in the morning in the FBI, Colin," Delchamps said.
"How sad," Leverette said.
"Charley," Torine said. "Where's Jamie and his suitcase?"
"I left him in Rucker. Things went so smoothly down there that any second now the other shoe is sure to drop, and I want to be the first to know what's going wrong. I'm going to need another communicator right about now."
"Does it have to be a communicator?" Torine asked. He stopped, looked down, and saw that Max was again offering his paw. He reached into the Krispy Kreme box and handed Max another doughnut. Then he saw the look of confusion on Castillo's face and added: "I mean a Delta Force guy?"
"Where else would I get one?"
"Lester," Torine said. "He already knows how to work the satellite radio."
"He ask you?" Castillo said.
"No. This is what I wanted to talk to you about. What happened was he went to Davidson and asked him how he thought you would feel about sending him back to the Marine Corps."
He gestured for Davidson to pick up the story.
"I finally pulled it out of him," Davidson said, "that one of the Secret Service drivers asked him one time too many to be a good kid and go get him a cup of coffee."
"You mean one of the Secret Service guys asked him too many times, or they all have been mistaking him for an errand boy?"
"Many of them, probably most have. You can't blame them, but Lester is pissed." He looked at Leverette. "The colonel tell you about the Pride of the Marine Corps?"
Leverette shook his head.
"Wait till you see him," Davidson said. "He makes Rambo look like a pansy."
"Well, sending him back to the Marines is out of the question," Castillo said, a touch of impatience in his voice. "We can't afford that. He knows too much, and a lot of jarheads would like to know where he's been and what he's been doing. And then wish they'd gone, and that would just make the goddamn story circulate wider."
"That's just about what I told him," Davidson said. "I also had a quiet word with a couple of the Secret Service guys."
"Okay. As soon as I have my Sazerac and thus the strength to get off of this couch, I will inform Corporal Bradley that he is now my official communicator."
"Gentlemen," Leverette said, "our libation is ready. You may pick your glasses up, slowly and reverently."
They did so.
"Absent companions," Leverette said, and started to touch glasses.
Yung looked as if he wasn't sure whether he was witnessing some kind of solemn special operator's ritual or his leg was being pulled.
Castillo saw on Leverette's face that he had picked up on Yung's uncertainty and was about to crack wise.
"Two-Gun's one of us, Colin," Castillo said simply. "He was on the operation where Sy Kranz bought the farm."
"I could tell just by looking at him that he was a warrior," Leverette said. "He's bowlegged, wears glasses, and he talks funny."
"I think I like this guy," Delchamps said.
"Sorry, Two-Gun," Leverette said. "I didn't know who the hell you were."
Yung smiled and made a deprecating gesture.
"So was Corporal Bradley," Torine said. "And he probably deserves a medal-for marksmanship, if nothing else-for taking out two of the bad guys with two head shots. But I don't think we ought to call him in here and give him one of these. God, this looks good, Colin!"