He laughed, then helped himself to a cup of coffee and carried it up the aisle to the cockpit.
"How's it going?" Castillo said to the pilots.
"Our leader is awake," Torine said. "Look busy, Captain!"
Captain Richard M. Sparkman, USAF, glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Castillo, then pointed to a GPS screen in the instrument panel.
"There we are," he said. "About a hundred miles off Cancun. We should make Quito in four-fifteen, give or take."
"There's one of those mounted on the bulkhead in the cabin," Castillo said. "Our benefactor knowing that your revered leader likes to keep an eye on the pilots."
Torine gave him the finger.
Castillo smiled, then did the mental math.
That'll put us in Quito just before eleven. Figure an hour for the fuel, a piss stop, and a sandwich, giving us wheels-up out of there at midnight. And then another five-thirty or six to Buenos Aires, putting us in there about half past five, or six in the morning. Which will be half past three-or four-local time.
Then he had another thought:
Which means there will be almost nothing doing at Jorge Newbery when we land.
People will be curious…
"Jake, how about going into Ezeiza? Jorge Newbery will be deserted at half past three in the morning. Ezeiza starts getting the FedEx and UPS planes and some of the European arrivals very early. Maybe we can sort of not be noticed."
"You're right, but they expect us at Jorge Newbery."
"You are forgetting our new commo equipment."
"I stand corrected," Torine said. "And I will get on the horn just as soon as I'm sure they're all asleep. I don't see why Dick and I should be the only ones in this group awake all night."
"Fly carefully and smoothly, children," Castillo said. "Your leader is going to be sleeping."
Torine gave him the finger again.
Castillo went back to his seat, this time carefully lowering his feet onto Max's chest. Max opened his eyes for a moment, then closed them again.
Castillo sat for a moment, then said, "Oh, shit!"
He then gently tapped on Max with his feet. Max raised his head.
"Sorry, pal," Castillo said. "You have to get up."
Max didn't budge, although he continued to look at Castillo.
"Get up, damn it!"
Max didn't move.
Castillo swung his legs into the aisle, got up, and took a few steps down the cabin aisle.
"Come on, boy!"
No response.
Castillo clapped his hands together. Once. Twice. A third time.
Max, not without effort, got to his feet and backed into the aisle.
"Good boy!"
Castillo pushed Max backward up the aisle until he had access to the drawer under his seat. He bent over and pulled it open. Max took two steps and licked Castillo's face.
"Sonofabitch!" Castillo said, and, pushing at Max to back up, realized the dog probably thought he was playing.
Castillo reached into the drawer and pulled his laptop from it.
Max kissed him again.
"Aw, goddammit!"
"I think he likes you, Colonel," Sergeant Neidermeyer said.
Castillo looked up at Neidermeyer.
"This is one of those times when I wish I was not a field-grade officer," Castillo said.
"Sir?"
"If we were both sergeants, I could tell you to take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut," Castillo said.
"With all due respect, Colonel, sir, it is not the sergeant's fault that the animal seems to like you, sir."
"Does the sergeant have something on what is loosely known as his mind?"
"Yes, sir. The sergeant thought the colonel might be interested in some photographs the sergeant took in Louisiana, or, more precisely, Colonel, sir, as we were flying over Mississippi and Louisiana, sir."
He handed Castillo a large manila envelope.
Castillo took it from him and removed the photographs. There were twenty or more eight-by-ten-inch crisp color prints. Just about all of them were photographs of the hurricane damage they had seen from the air.
"Nice, Jamie," Castillo said. "What's the chances of getting a set of these?"
"I made those for you," Neidermeyer said.
"Thanks, Jamie," Castillo said. "I appreciate that."
He was now nearly at the end of the stack of photographs.
The one he had on top of the stack now was of him and the Richardson boy. They had both turned in their seats to look into the rear of the airplane-Neidermeyer must have done something, called something, to get us to turn and look at him-Castillo was turned in his seat to his right, and the Richardson boy to his left, the result being their heads were close together.
"Nice kid," Neidermeyer said. "If I didn't know better, I'd think he was yours."
"What?"
"He's got your eyes, Colonel," Neidermeyer said.
"I have so far been spared the joys of matrimony and-so far as I know-of parenthood."
"The eyes, Colonel. They're as blue as yours. That's what I mean."
No, he doesn't look like me.
I'm blond and fair-skinned.
This kid is olive-skinned. He could almost be Latin.
He looks like Fernando looked the first time I saw him. We were about as old then as this kid.
Holy Christ!
Calm down!
How could Richardson's kid possibly be mine?
Castillo suddenly felt a chill down his spine. He had goose bumps.
Dumb fucking question!
"Well, he's a nice kid. I wish he was mine. But he's not, obviously," Castillo said, and put the photographs back in the envelope. "Thanks, Jamie."
"Happy to do it, Colonel," Jamie Neidermeyer said, and walked back to his seat.
Castillo picked up his laptop from the seat, sat down, tucked the envelope of photographs under the laptop, and then opened the computer.
He clicked on a file titled CHKLIST.
A screen full of gibberish appeared.
Why did I bother to encrypt this? No one could make sense out of it if it was on a billboard.
He held down the CTRL key, typed "DEC," and the file decrypted.
The gibberish was replaced by a screen more or less in English. (1)
RRAC???
(2)
(3)
The list of numbered entries-Castillo's system of keeping Things To Do notes numbered according to what he considered was their priority at the moment-ran off the computer screen.
He scrolled slowly down the list, reading each one. There were twenty-three.
He scrolled back up the list to (1). He would deal with that first.
The translation of (1) was:
What about the aircraft carrier USS Ronald Reagan?
Is it going to be available?
When is it going to be available?
Where will it be when/if it is made available?
What will its Estimated Time of Arrival off of Uruguay-or someplace else-be?
He made the necessary corrections based on his current knowledge.
General McNab had sent Colonel Kingston to Tampa International Airport, where they had taken on fuel and gone through the customs and immigration formalities.
Kingston had told him the USS Ronald Reagan had been ordered through Navy channels to be prepared to receive four (possibly as many as six) UH-1H helicopters that were engaged in a clandestine operation classified Top Secret. The Task Group Commander and the captain of the Ronald Reagan would be advised when and where the helicopters were to be brought aboard. The senior officer of the flight detachment would advise the Task Group Commander and the captain when and where the helicopters were to be launched from the Reagan.