"And what if I ask the Gen'rul, and he says, 'You're out "of your mind, no way, Jose'?"

"I want to do it right, honey," Marjorie said. "If, there is any way I can."

"You'll notice, Rico," Jack said, "she called me honey. Yon would be amazed how that scrap of affection, far short of an unqualified 'Oh, yes, whoopee!' gives me hope." De la Santiago shook his head and smiled.

"I've really got to go out there," he said. "Is it far? "And I have to go," Marjorie announced. "I've got to go to work. I don't want to lose my job."

"My offer, of course, includes room and board plus all my worldly goods," Jack said. "And anything else needed to clinch the deal." She chuckled and laughed, and then suddenly got up, leaned across the table, kissed him quickly.

"You stay," she ordered. "Call tonight at seven thirty."

"I can be up there by seven thirty," he protested, getting to his feet.

"Sit," she ordered. "Stay. And don't come, call." And she quickly left the restaurant.

"I have the feeling," Enrico de la Santiago said, "that that one was not one of your usual bed warmers."

"Christ no!" Jack said. "That's the one. I knew that the first time I saw her." He looked at de la Santiago. "I suppose that sounds-pretty goddamned silly, doesn't it?"

"Not at all," de la Santiago said. "I first saw my wife when she was fifteen, in church. I knew then." Jack remembered that de la Santiago's wife and children were still in Cuba.

"Any word on them, Rico?"

"They are alive," de la Santiago said. "And Fidel Castro, that miserable sonofabitch, has no intention of letting them go."

"Shit," Jack said.

"She is very beautiful, that one," de la Santiago said. "And in her eyes, I can see that she loves you."

"Change the subject, huh?"

De la Santiago shrugged. "We have said what can be said about my family," he said. "I will tell you what I know of the Congo, and you will tell me what you know of Hurlburt Field and Colonel Richard Fulbright."

"I know nothing about Hurlburt Field," Jack said. "And I never heard of Fulbright. On Friday I was listening to a typical bullshit Army lecture, at McDill Air Force Base in Tampa, and they called me out of it, told me to pack my bags, and flew me up here. In a Cessna T-37, with an Army colonel who played fighter pilot and did aerobatics over the Gulf. I don't know for sure, but what I think they want me to do is brief the B~26 pilots on the Congo, help with the ferry flight planning, that sort of thing. They don't let me fly."

"I am to report to Colonel Fulbright," de la Santiago said.

"'For a thousand dollars a month and a hundred thousand-dollar insurance policy, I will fly his B-26s and teach other people to fly them."

"Christ, we paid you fifteen hundred-a month," Jack said. "Two thousand. After you left. But being an Air Simba captain wasn't doing anything to get my family out-of Cuba. Or kill communists." Jack looked at him but said nothing.

"Where are you supposed to report?" de la Santiago asked.

"Building T-610 at 0800."

"That's where I am to report to Colonel Fulbright;" de la San=go said.

(Three) Building T-6101 Hurburt Field, Florida 0815 Hours 1 July 1964 The first time PFC Jacques Portet saw Colonel Richard Fulbright, the Colonel was sitting on a desk in an office in the old World War II barracks building, talking on the-telephone.

When he spotted Jack and de la Santiago, he waved them into the room. Jack's first, somewhat irreverent thought was that Colonel Fulbright had more medals than Patton; there were row after row of them on his blouse. And a battery of wings, both pilot's and parachutist's, above both blouse pockets. Before Fulbright leaned over and hung up the phone, there was time to examine one interesting set of pilot's wings and decide they were intended for pilots of the Chinese Nationalist Air Force.

Then, when he saw Fulbright looking at him, he remembered to salute. Fulbright returned it casually, examining him carefully as he did.

"Clever fellow that I am," Fulbright said, "I deduce that you are PFC Portet. I think I should begin this little chat by telling you that your father is a little pissed with me." Jack didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

"For stealing de la Santiago," Fulbright said, "of course. I should have guessed that you two would find each other." When there was no reply, Fulbright looked between the two of them and smiled.

"I don't think he is as pissed as he originally was. I think I managed to convince him that what we've got going here is important. Am I going to have a lot of trouble convincing you of that, Portet?"

"Sir, I don't know what you're doing here," Jack said.

"We are going to send six B-26Ks to Kamina Air Base, on loan to the Congolese government, which is going to use them to put down a rebellion against the duly constituted government." He waited for Jack to reply, and when he didn't, asked: "No comment?"

"I saw an unmarked B-26, Sir," Jack said. "And I came here from McDill. I don't know what to say."

Fulbright turned to de la Santiago. "How long will it take you to check him out in a B-26?"

"Colonel, I'm not current in a B-26."

"That's not what I asked. Let me explain the situation to you. Until midnight I have the services of one, only, Air Force guy who is a qualified B-26 IP. Right now, of the pilots available to me for this operation, I have two with current ATRs. Guess who ?"

"No one else is B-26 qualified?" de la Santiago asked, genuinely surprised.

"Used-to-be-qualified," Fulbright said. "Some of the Americans flew twenty-sixes in Korea, that's ten years plus ago. Some of the Cubans-I'll give you a list, maybe you'll know somebody - flew them before the bearded bastard came out of the mountains. None of them have done any flying to speak of since.

You flew B-26s in Cuba, and you've got a current ATR, so by default you're the head IP. Getting the picture?"

"Yes, Sir," de la Santiago said.

"So I repeat the question," Fulbright said. "How long will it take you to get Portet checked out in a B-26?" De la Santiago thought it over for a moment before replying.

"Jacques is a good pilot," he said finally, thoughtfully. "Not even, getting into ground school, I'd like eight, ten, twelve- hours in the air with him."

"And how long do you think it will take our one Air Force IP to check you out?"

"These are D models?"

"Ks," Fulbright said. "They've got 2500-horse Pratt and Whitneys and some really nice avionics. They're essentially brand-new airplanes, rebuilt from the wheels up."

"God, I'd like a week!" de la Santiago said.

"You've got until midnight," Fulbright said. "When you walked in, I was on the phone begging to keep the IP. The Air Force told me to go fuck myself. They want nothing to do with us. And not only because I stole these airplanes from them."

"I will do what I can," de la Santiago said.

"Take Portet with you," Fulbright said. "Maybe some of it will rub off on him."

"Yes, Sir."

"You have any civilian clothing, Portet?"

"Yes, Sir."

"OK. Get into it. I mean right now. Go into the latrine and change before anybody who already hasn't seen you as a PFC does. I don't want to see you in a uniform again. If anybody asks, you're an employee of Supportaire, Inc. If anybody gets really curious, refer them to me."

"Can I do that?" Jack asked. "Fly and wear civvies?"

"My boy," Colonel Richard Fulbright said, "you are now assigned to an operation directed by Colonel Richard Fulbright." He raised his hand as a priest raises his in a blessing. "With Fulbright, All Things Are Possible," he intoned sonorously. Now go forth and do good."

Jack chuckled and then laughed.

"By the time you get back," Fulbright went on, "I'll have ID cards and the rest of the crap ready for you. There's a pickup outside. He'll take you to the" field, and our very self-righteous, holier-than-thou Air Force IP. Don't tell the sonofabitch anything but your name. Your first name." Jack looked at him and saw that he was dead serious.

"We're operating out of the same strip, as a note of historical interest," Fulbright said, "on which Jimmy Doolittle trained his people to fly B25s off aircraft carriers in War Two."

"Really?" Jack asked, impressed. General Jimmy Doolittle was one of his father's few heroes. He had often heard the story of Doolittle's bombing raid on Japan in the early days of World War II. Doolittle hadn't done much physical damage, but he had dealt a real blow to Japanese pride and morale, and at the same time given American morale a badly needed boost after it had been severely damaged by the Pearl Harbor attack.

"An operation not unlike this," Fulbright said. "The essential difference being that if Doolittle had been caught, all they would have done was behead him. If we get caught, we'll really be up shit creek without a paddle." Fulbright was smiling brightly, as if proud of his wit. But Jack saw in his eyes that he was serious about that, too.

(Four) Villa San Regrets Cannes: Antibes, France 16 July 1964 Helene (Mrs. Porter) Craig's smile was a little strained when she saw her first grandchild being carried down the stairs of the Air France DC-8 at Cannes by an enormous coal-black female in an ankle length, flamboyantly flowered flowing dress.

She quickly kissed her Daughter-in-law, making a quick judgment that she looked a little wan and tired, and then made it plain she wished to take the baby. The enormous black woman eyed her suspiciously and didn't hand the blanket-wrapped infant over until she had looked at Ursula and Ursula had nodded.

"He's precious," Helene Craig said. "Just precious."

"He's also dirty and hungry," Ursula said. "Mother Craig, these are our friends, Hanni and Jeanine Portet. And Jiffy's best friend, Mary Magdalene."

Helene Craig decided she liked the Portet woman and her daughter. They looked wholesome and were well dressed, and the little girl made a polite curtsy.

"I'm so grateful you could make the time to come With Ursula," Helene Craig said, "and I'm very happy to finally meet you."

"There was no way," Hanni Portet said, "that Jeanine was going to let her godson out of sight." Helene Craig smiled. She hadn't been exactly thrilled that the baby had been christened in the Congo without her presence. But, as her husband had pointed out, it was now done, and he understood the whole idea was to get the child dipped rather than make a social event of it.

"Hello, honey," Porter Craig said, wrapping his arm around Ursula's shoulders. "It's good to see you." Hanni's reaction to the Craig's was that Geoff didn't look at all like his father or mother-except for his eyes. She hoped Jiffy would not grow up to look like his grandparents.

"Give your baggage stubs to my husband-"

"Who I wish everyone would call Porter," Porter Craig interjected with a smile.

"-and the houseman will take care of the luggage."

"We'll need diapers," Ursula protested. "Jiffy already smells."

"Jiffy?" Porter Craig asked.

"Mary Magdalene has trouble, with 'Geoff,'" Hanni explained. "It was Jeefe and then Jiffy."

Mary Magdalene, Helene Craig decided, must be the African woman.

"There's diapers and everything else I thought you might need at the house," Helene said. "It's been a long time, but I think, I got everything."

There was a Bentley and a Peugeot station wagon outside the terminal. Ursula took the baby from her mother-in-law and got in me back of the Bentley, followed by the Craigs and Hanni Portet.

Mary Magdalene and Jeanine would wait until the luggage was claimed and ride to the house in the Peugeot.

"That's quite a nurse," Helene said as the Bentley moved off.

"She raised Jeanine," Hanni said. "Good solid woman."

"She's wonderful," Ursula said.

Helene Craig had just decided she would say nothing else about the African woman when her husband said, "I'd hate to have her mad at me."

"So would I," Hanni laughed. "She comes from a warrior tribe. Once someone grabbed her purse at the market. She ran him down, knocked him on his back, and then broke a liter bottle of Perrier over his head."

Helene Craig smiled wanly.

"I'm surprised she didn't kill him," Porter Craig said.

"So was Mary Magdalene," Hanni laughed.

"It's beautiful here," Ursula said quickly.

"I'm sorry Geoff couldn't get away," Porter Craig said.

"Well,' he's a soldier." Ursula said. "He just can't take off whenever he wants.'"

"What exactly is he doing'?" Helene Craig' asked.

"'He's flying a lot."

"I think it's really unfair that they wouldn't let him out of the Army when he came home from Vietnam," Helene Craig said.

"He likes what he's doing."

"How is he going to fend with you gone, honey?" Porter Craig said.

"In great hardship," Hanni laughed.

"He calls the Portets' 'The Resort,'" Ursula said. "It has a swimming pool and a tennis court. And People to fetch beer for him."

"You were very kind to take them in the way you have," Helene Craig said.

"They did the" same for my stepson in Alabama," Hanni said.

"And it really is a joy to have a baby in the house. When he wakes up crying at night, I know he's not mine, and I can just roll over and go back to sleep."

"Well," Porter Craig said, "we intend to do now what we can to repay you. We've, taken the house for the rest of the summer, and if it gets too warm here, the bank has a place in Norway where it never gets above seventy."