"Hanni!" Geoff shouted.

"Take it easy, I heard her," Hanni said, pushing past him.

"Have the car brought around."

(Four) Penthouse Suite Two The Intercontinental Hotel Johannesburg, South Africa 0430 Hours 15 June 1964 Geoffrey Craig had Miss Jeanine Portet slung over his shoulders like a bag of cement when he entered the suite.

"Just dump her on the bed," Hanni ordered. "I'll undress her."

"Poor kid," Geoff said.

"She wanted to wait, she waited," Hanni said. "And I'm sure when she wakes up she'll be glad she did. Did you see her face when she saw the baby?"

"Did you see his face?" Karl-Heinz Wagner said.

"Yes, indeed," Hanni said.

"There must be champagne around here someplace," Geoff said.

"It's half past four in the morning!" Hanni protested.

"I intend to toast my son and his nephew," Geoff said. "I don't care what time it is;" A search of the premises revealed no champagne. Two bottles were ordered from room service.

"Anyone else hungry?" Geoff asked, holding his hand over the mouthpiece.

Hanni looked surprised. "For some reason I'm famished," she said.

"Steak and eggs, sunny side up," Geoff ordered. "Three times. Whatever goes with it."

"I've got to be thinking of getting back," Karl-Heinz said.

"You can't go until you see Ursula, for Christ's sake," Geoff said. "I mean, awake. I want to get a picture. Geoffrey Craig, Jr., with his mommy, daddy, and uncle Karl."

"I am not on administrative leave," Karl-Heinz said.

Hanni picked up on that and looked at him curiously.

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Geoff said. "Don't be such an ass. How often do you get to be an uncle? And they wouldn't dare start the war without you."

"I must get back," Karl-Heinz said relentlessly. "Perhaps it will not become known that I was gone."

"Tell them you were in Johannesburg with two good-looking German blondes. That sounds credible."

"I must get back," Karl-Heinz said. "There is an UTA flight at ll00."

"OK, that'll give us time," Geoff said. And then he thought of something. "Christ, my father!" He picked up the telephone and gave the operator the number in New York.

"Do you know what time it is in New York?" Hanni asked.

"Who knows, who cares? God is in his heaven and all is right with the world," Geoffrey Craig, Sr., said.

(Five) Albertville Airfield 050015 June 1964 K. N. Swayer had gotten very little sleep during the night. He had called in his assistant, Denny Fitzwaller, a tiny, fifty-year-old Scot with whom he had installed rigs allover the world and told him what was going on. It was something they had been through before, constipated natives making a flaming pain in the ass of themselves and that it would probably turn out to be a waste of everybody's time and a hell of a lot of the company's money, but nothing more.

But it was better to be safe than sorry, and that what had to be done was to spread the word that at quarter to five in the morning, everybody from Unit Rig was to get in their car and drive to the airfield. No suitcases or anything else that would give away their intention to get on the Air Simba airplane and get out.

"There's no need to panic," Swayer had concluded. "Just tell them to play it cool and do what they're told to do."

Most of the Unit Rig people, who had worked for Swayer or Fitzwaller before, took the evacuation news calmly, but two brassy wives and a Detroit Diesel tech rep were difficult. The wives arrived at Swayer's cottage together to demand a fuller explanation than what Fitz had given them. When Swayer patiently provided it, they told him they could see no reason-if there was no real problem, as he said-for them to go off anywhere with nothing but the clothing on their backs and to leave all their things for the niggers to steal.

The tech rep, who came to Swayer's house while the women were raising hell with Swayer, announced that he didn't give a damn what either Fitzwaller or Swayer said, if there was a plane coming in in the morning, he intended to be on it, and with all his things, because he had had enough of Albertville, the Congo, and Unit Rig and was going home. He didn't, he said, need Detroit Diesel's job that much.

Swayer told the women to go home and pack two suitcases and to put them in the trunk of their car so that no one would see them.

Fitzwaller came in and announced that everybody had been notified.

"Give it an hour, Fitz," Swayer said when the women had left, "and then let the air out of their tires."

"You sonofabitch!" the Detroit Diesel tech rep said.

Swayer walked up to him and grabbed his shirt front and slapped him, twice, with his open hand, so hard that when Swayer let loose of the shirt, the Detroit Diesel tech rep fell down.

"You can't do that to me!" the Detroit Diesel tech rep said furiously, glowering up at Swayer from the floor.

"I just did," Swayer said without raising his voice. "And if you open your mouth one more time I'll do it again. Sit yourself in a chair and stay there unless I tell you, you can move." He waited until the Detroit Diesel tech rep had, after some hesitation, done what he had been told to do, and then turned to fitzwaller.

"In the morning, Fitz, pick up this guy and those women and their husbands in the GM carryall and take them-without luggage-to the airport."

"Got you," Fitzwaller said.

"You realize what's going to happen when I make a report of this?" the Detroit Diesel tech rep said.

Swayer ignored him.

At four o'clock in the morning Martin Luther Nsagamdo made breakfast for Swayer and the Detroit Diesel tech rep. Orange juice, a small steak, eggs, toast, and coffee.

Swayer went to his safe and took out his emergency-cash envelope and put all of it but five hundred dollars in his pocket. He gave the five hundred dollars to Martin Luther Nsagamdo and told him to see after the houseboys of the other Unit Rig people in case they had "forgotten" to do it themselves.

He told Martin Luther Nsagamdo that if things looked bad, he should put his wife in the MGB and drive her to his village.

At quarter to five he put the Detroit Diesel tech rep into the MGB, and with Martin Luther Nsagamdo riding precariously behind them, his rear end on the trunk, drove out to the airport.

There were, he thought, an unusual number of what he thought of as bush Africans on the streets of Albertville. So far as Swayer was concerned, bush Africans, as opposed to the Albertville natives, most of whom seemed to make an effort to dress and behave like Europeans, looked as if they lived in the bush.

They wore animal skins and strange hats, went barefoot, and carried sticks. More important, they seemed sullen and hostile, whereas the Albertville natives were polite, smiling, and happy.

The Air Simba Curtiss Commando appeared right on schedule, making Swayer wonder whether the pilot had arrived early and circled out of sight and hearing until the time set for his arrival.

Swayer was not surprised when the Commando landed and the door opened and Captain Jean-Philippe Portet fitted the stairs in place.

He would have been surprised if Portet had sent someone else.

The Unit Rig people were quickly loaded aboard.

Swayer shook Martin Luther Nsagamdo's hand, told him not to run the MGB into a tree, and climbed aboard.

Captain Jean-Philippe Portet, who had shut down only one of the Commando's engines, restarted it as he taxied to the end of the runway, and when he reached the end and turned, immediately began his takeoff run.

Martin Luther Nsagamdo watched the Commando grow small in the sky and then got behind the wheel of the MGB.

He drove with great care back to the house, where his wife would be all packed and waiting for him. It would be her first visit home since they had been married and she had come to work for Mister Swayer.

A mile from town the road was blocked by perhaps fifty people. Several of them were wearing parts of Belgian Army uniforms, a brimmed cap, or a blouse, or a shirt worn with the tails flapping. And several of them were armed, Martin Luther Nsagamdo saw with concern as he drove close and slowed down.

He stopped and smiled politely and greeted the apparent leader as "Chef."

"What are you doing?" the Chef said. He was wearing a Belgian officer's blouse, complete to Sam Browne belt, from which hung a sword and a brimmed cap. But he wore no shirt and tie, the trousers were civilian, and he was barefoot.

"I have taken my boss to the airport," Martin Luther Nsagamdo said. "And now I go to put the car away." Martin Luther Nsagamdo did not see the machete which came swinging from behind at his head until he sensed something moving near him in the last split second. There was not even time to raise his hand to protect himself or to duck.

The blow severed the right side of his neck and his spinal cord and most of the left side of the neck, but not all of it. His head remained connected to his body by a thin sheath of muscle and tissue. Arterial blood, for three or four heartbeats, spurted six inches up from his shoulders.

His body was dragged from the MGB.

The chef, the man in the Belgian officer's blouse and Sam Browne belt, reached in the car and dipped his finger in the blood. He touched it to his forehead and then painted a cross with it on the passenger-side windshield.

Then he got behind the wheel and, cheerfully blowing the horn, drove slowly into town with his men trotting along beside and behind him.

An hour later another patrol of Lieutenant Colonel Nicholas Olenga's People's Army of Liberation found Mrs. Martin Luther Nsagamdoin the kitchen of K. N. Swayer's house. She was waiting for her husband, all dressed up in a flowered print dress she had seen in a Montgomery Ward catalog, and which K. N.

Swayer had sent for.

She was raped and shot and dismembered.

(Six) United States Strike Command McDill Air Force Base, Florida 17 June 1964 CINC STRICOM had been at Fort Hood, Texas, visiting the 2nd Armored Division, and it was half-past three in the afternoon when his L-23 landed at McDill. Two days before, impulsively, when it had been time to either get on with the visit or cancel it, he had told his aide to ask Lieutenant Colonel Lowell if he would be free to fly the airplane.

CINC STRICOM's aircraft was normally flown by company grade officers, because he believed it was a waste of a more senior officer's time and skill to be an airborne taxi-driver. But in this case he went against his own unofficial rule. For one thing he wanted to get to know Lowell better, and having him around at Hood would accomplish that. And for another, Lowell was an Armor officer and would be another set of eyes.

Taking Lowell along had been a good idea. Lowell had turned out to be an even better spare set of eyes than he had hoped he might be, zeroing in like a bird dog on several things the 2nd Armored probably hoped would not be noticed, and which he himself would probably have missed. Combat-readiness items, not chickenshit; and with the attitude of helping, not catching somebody with his hand in the cookie jar or asleep.

And additionally, he had been a pleasant companion. General Evans thought he might make a habit of having Lowell fly when he visited other units. His ability to fly the airplane was icing on the cake.

It was Wednesday, and on Wednesday afternoons he liked to play golf. What General Evans wanted to do was go to his quarters, take a shower (he had worked up quite a sweat before leaving Hood, and the L-23 had been full on the long ride home), and then at least knock a couple of buckets of balls down the driving range.

But he told his driver to take him to the office. There were some things about Hood that he wanted to get down on paper while they were fresh in his mind, and maybe with a little luck he could find time tomorrow to sneak away for a couple of hours to the golf course.

"Colonel," he said, just as Lowell was about to close the door of the staff car, "unless you've got something really pressing, I'd like you to come along. I normally type up notes-to-myself when I'm back from someplace like 'Hell on Wheels,' and I'd like you to have a look at them."

"Yes, Sir," Lowell said, and went around and got in the other side of the car.

The STRICOM Chief of Staff, and General Evans's senior aide-de-camp and secretary were waiting for him when he got to the office. He dealt with his Chief of Staff first, listening to what had been done in his name in his absence and nodding his approval as the actions were reported one by one. The definition of a good chief of staff was an officer who would take the actions the boss would take if he were around to take them, and General Evans thought again that his present Chief of Staff, even if he were in the Air Force, was the best he had ever had.

When he was through with his Chief of Staff, Evans made his aide-de-camp wait until he dictated to his secretary his thoughts on what he had seen and what had to be corrected at Fort Hood.

Two memoranda' would be typed up. One, the "Memorandum for Record," would be duplicated and circulated to the staff and to Fort Hood. The other, "Notes, Ft Hood, 15-17 June 64," would not leave his office, and no one but his secretary would ever see it. He would refer to it later to refresh his memory.

Then he dealt with his senior aide-de-camp. Most of that conversation dealt with his schedule for the next ninety-six hours.

And, as he was supposed to, the senior aide-de-camp gave Evans a summary of the gossip that had come his way while CINC STRICOM had been at Hood.

Rear Admiral (upper half) Ralph H. Summerall, USN, STRICOM J-2, appeared at that time. Evans would have preferred that Admiral Summerall put off whatever was on his mind until the staff conference in the morning. If anything important had happened, he would already have heard about it from his secretary, his senior aide, or his Chief of Staff. And probably in that order, he thought somewhat cynically as he smiled at Summerall.

"Come on in, Ralph," he said. "Would you like some coffee?"

"No thank you, Sir," Admiral Summerall said. "I'd like just a moment of your time, General." By that, he meant in private. It was easier to send the aide to fetch coffee than to explain, yet again, to Admiral Summerall mat his senior aide was privy to everything going on. And CINC STRICOM was tired.

"What have you got, Ralph?" Evans asked when the aide left, dosing the door behind him.

"I may be carrying coals to Newcastle, General," Admiral Summerall said, "but I decided you might not know, and I thought I should tell you, even though I hope you won't ask my sources. "

"Wouldn't dream of it, Ralph," Evans said.

"General Westmoreland is being sent to Indochina, vice General Hawkins," Summerall said.

"I heard rumors about that," CINC STRICOM said. "But it's official now, huh?"

"It will be, as of 20 June."

"Interesting," CINC STRICOM said. "Westy's a good man."

"And General Taylor is going to Saigon as ambassador," Admiral Summerall said. "As of 1 July."

"I hadn't heard that. Very interesting." What the hell was that all about? Was Mai Taylor being sent over there as the ambassador or to keep an eye on Westy? Maybe both?

"Well, then, I'm glad I decided to drop by," Admiral Summerall said.

"I'm glad you did, too," CINC STRICOM said. "What else have you got for me?"

"Nothing that won't wait until the staff conference, General," Admiral Summerall said. And then, as if he had just remembered, he reached in his pocket and came up with a sheet of folded paper. "Crypto called just as I was leaving my office to come here. And I volunteered to pick it up. I'm not sure how important it is, but it's classified Eagle. . . ."

"Let me have it," STRICOM said.

FROM MILA IT ACHE US EMBASSY LEOPOLDVILLE DEM REP OF CONGO FOR CINC STRICOM MCDILL AF BASE FLA FOLLOWING FROM COL DILLS CLASSIFIED SECRET DASH EAGLE QUOTE SOURCES RELIABILITY ONE STATE REBEL FORCE ESTIMATED STRENGTH 300 [THREE HUNDRED] OCCUPIED ALBERTVILLE ON LAKE TANGANYIKA DURING THE NIGHT FOURTEEN DASH FIFTEEN JUNE. BELIEVE ALL AMERICANS IN AREA ESCAPED BY AIR. FORCE BELIEVED TO BE LED BY NICHOLAS OLENGA SELF APPOINTED LEADER PAREN LT COL PAREN OF PEOPLE'S ARMY OF LIBERATION. STRONG POSSIBILITY ARMED BY CHICOM IN BUJUMBURA. CONGOLESE ARMY HAS MOVED TOWARD ALBERTVILLE WITH INTENTION REESTABLISH LEOPOLDVILLE CONTROL. DO NOT REPEAT NOT BELIEVE CONGOLESE ARMY AS PRESENTLY CONSTITUTED WILL PREVAIL.

FURTHER DETAILS UPCOMING AS A V AILABLE. DILLS COLONEL END QUOTE END MESSAGE.

CINC STRICOM picked up one of the telephones on his desk and dialed a single digit.

"Would you ask General Dyess to step in here right away, please? And if Colonel Lowell's out there, send him in, too." He turned to Admiral Summerall. "I presume General Dyess has not seen that?"