Jack turned to Lunsford.

"Captain, I heard there were Green Beanies here, but I didn't expect to find one dressed like that."

"He knew what the Simbas would do once they saw the paratroopers, " Hanni said. "He came to protect us."

"I was undercover. If I go get my rifle," Lunsford said, nodding at the Belgian paratrooper, "does he know what's going on, or . . ."

"Je suis a votre service, mon capitain," the Belgian paratrooper said, coming to attention, and then added, almost as if he was embarrassed, "I speak good the English." the Belgian paratrooper said, coming to attention, and then added, almost as if he was embarrassed, "I speak good the English."

Lunsford went into the bedroom and came back with his rifle.

"That radio work?" he asked.

"Oui, mon capitain," the Belgian said. the Belgian said.

"Then you get on it, and tell somebody important where we are, and to come fetch us," Lunsford ordered.

"Oui, mon capitain," the Belgian paratrooper said. the Belgian paratrooper said.

"You close the door," Lunsford ordered Jack. "We'll put the ladies back in the bedroom until the cavalry gets here."

"Yes, sir," Jack said.

[ FOUR ].

Quarters #1 Fort Myer, Virginia 0605 25 November 1964 The door to Quarters #1 was opened by one of the chief's orderlies, a pleasant-looking young man wearing a crisp white jacket.

"Good morning, General. The general is expecting you, sir. The general is in the kitchen, sir. Straight ahead to the rear of the house."

The chief of staff of the United States Army was wearing a white apron, in the act of slicing a steak from a baked ham with all the precision of a surgeon.

He looked up when he saw Bellmon, and smiled.

"Just a couple of us for breakfast, Bob," he said. "There's coffee. Help yourself."

He pointed to the coffeemaker on a countertop.

"Thank you, sir," Bellmon said.

Bellmon, a stocky, ruddy-faced forty-six-year-old, had been surprised, and just a little worried, when his aide-de-camp, Captain Richard Hornsby, the previous afternoon had told him that the aide-de-camp of the chief of staff of the United States Army had told him that it was the desire of the chief that General Bellmon present himself at Quarters #1 at 0600 for breakfast.

Bellmon knew the chief of staff-both were from Army families, both were West Pointers, and both of their fathers had also worn the stars of general officers-but this was Washington, the Pentagon, and there were a large number of major generals around, very few of whom were ever invited to take breakfast with the chief of staff at his quarters.

Bellmon, who commanded the Army Aviation Center at Fort Rucker, Alabama, had flown to Washington early the previous morning to confer with the deputy chief of staff for operations (known as Dee Cee Ess Ops.). DCSOPS was a three-star, and also a West Pointer, the son of a general officer, and an old acquaintance, but he had not invited Bellmon to his quarters.

"I wonder what the hell that's all about?" Bellmon had asked, not expecting an answer. "Okay, call Rucker, and tell them we'll be back as soon as we can tomorrow."

He had things to do at Rucker, but it had never entered his mind to decline the invitation.

"There's something about ham and eggs," the chief of staff said. "I don't know what the hell it is, but if you take a slice of baked ham, fry it a little in ham fat, and then fry eggs in the same fat and the same pan . . ."

"Yes, sir," General Bellmon said.

The chief carefully sliced another ham steak from the baked ham and laid it on a plate beside the first.

Bellmon poured a cup of coffee for himself, and was idly stirring it when another man entered the kitchen. Without thinking about it, Bellmon came almost to attention. The senior uniformed member of the Armed Forces of the United States had just walked into the kitchen.

"Good morning," the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff said.

Jesus, Bellmon thought, Bellmon thought, did the Chairman forget to shave, or has he been up all night? did the Chairman forget to shave, or has he been up all night?

"You two know each other, right?" the chief said.

"We've met," the Chairman said, putting out his hand. "Good to see you again, Bellmon."

"Good morning, Admiral," Bellmon said.

"I can use some of that," the Chairman said, indicating Bellmon's mug of coffee, "although God knows I've used up my month's allocation of caffeine in the last eight hours."

The Chairman took a sip and then raised the mug to Bellmon.

"Thank you," he said. He met Bellmon's eyes. "I spent the night with the President," he said. "Would you be surprised, Bellmon, to hear that at midnight, Washington time, a battalion of Belgian paratroops was dropped by USAF C-130s on Stanleyville? "

"How did it go?" the chief asked as he put ham fat in a large cast-iron frying pan.

"The Simbas made good on their promise to start executing the Europeans the moment they saw a parachute," the Chairman said. "But the Belgian paras lived up to their reputation: They took the city in less than two hours, and the Europeans that are left are already either in Leopoldville, or on their way."

He looked at Bellmon again.

"You don't seem overwhelmed by surprise, General," he said.

"I expected that some action would be taken, sir."

"You're telling me you never heard of Operation Dragon Rouge, is that it?"

"No, sir. I've heard of it."

"Your name is not on the list of those cleared for Top Secret-Dragon Rouge," the Chairman said. "Who brought you into the picture, your friend Colonel Sanford T. Felter?"

"No, sir."

"Do you think that Colonel Felter would be surprised if he heard that you heard about Dragon Rouge?"

"No, sir, I don't think he would be."

"May I infer that the Colonel arranged for you to be brought in on Dragon Rouge?"

"Hey, Charley," the chief said. "You promised this was supposed to be friendly."

"So I did. I apologize to both of you."

"How do you like your eggs, Charley?" the chief asked. "Your choices are up, over, or scrambled."

"Up, but no slime, please," the Chairman said.

The chief took two fried eggs from the cast-iron flying pan and laid them atop a ham steak and handed the plate to the Chairman.

"Bob?" the chief asked.

Inasmuch as I suspect my ass is in a crack, I don't really want any eggs, thank you very much. But I can't say that, can I?

"Up is fine with me, General," he said.

The chief, a moment later, laid two more eggs on a ham slice and handed it to Bellmon, who, seeing no other possible action on his part, sat down at the kitchen table beside the Chairman.

"This isn't half bad, Bob," the Chairman said.

"Not bad, my ass," the chief said as he splashed ham fat on eggs in the pan. "This is one of God's Good Meals."

The Chairman looked at General Bellmon.

"So tell me, Bellmon, out of school, of course, who told you about Dragon Rouge?"

When Bellmon did not immediately reply, the chief called, "You can trust him, Bob. For a sailor, you can really trust him pretty far."

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff gave the chief of staff of the U.S. Army the finger.

"I was always taught, Admiral," Bellmon said, "that a good officer protects juniors."

"A lieutenant colonel, in other words, with a big mouth?" the Chairman said, not seeming either surprised or angry. "It is hard to keep a secret, isn't it?"

The chief sat down beside them.

"Actually, sir, it was my daughter's boyfriend," Bellmon said.

"A lieutenant, then? Maybe a captain?" the chief said.

"Actually, sir, he's a sergeant," Bellmon said.

"A sergeant?" the chief parroted incredulously.

"A sergeant," Bellmon repeated. "I should have shut him up, but I didn't. He simply presumed that as a general officer, I knew all about it. I didn't, but I was curious, and let him talk."

"Marjorie's boyfriend is a sergeant?" the chief asked. "And how does that go with Barbara?"

"He's a very fine young man," Bellmon said testily. "Barbara likes him, I like him. Before he was drafted, he was an airline pilot."

"A sergeant who knew about Dragon Rouge because he was involved in it, right? Does this sergeant work for Colonel Felter, by any chance?"

"Yes, sir, he does."

"Tell me about him," the Chairman said.

"His name is Jacques Portet, and-"

"I meant Colonel Felter," the Chairman interrupted. "I understand you're acquainted with him."

"Colonel Felter is a friend of mine, sir."

"Some people define 'friend' as anyone they call by his first name. I define a friend as someone you'd go to the mat for, and vice versa. Which is it with you and Colonel Felter?"

"Colonel Felter is a close personal friend, sir."

"Then you know what he does for a living?"

"I know he works for the President, sir. I think his job title is 'Counselor to the President.' "

"He's President Johnson's personal spook," the Chairman said. "As he was for Kennedy, and before that, for Eisenhower." He paused, and looked directly at Bellmon. "He has been described as 'one ruthless sonofabitch who runs over anybody who gets in his way.' "

"Sir," Bellmon said coldly, "I would not categorize Colonel Felter as either ruthless or a sonofabitch."

"Then you're out of sync with the Commander-in-Chief, General. The President used-sometime around oh three hundred this morning, and admiringly, I thought-precisely those words."

The Chairman chuckled, then went on: "How'd you get involved with someone like Felter, General?"

"I'm not sure what the admiral means by 'involved,' sir," Bellmon said.

"Well, for example, where did you first meet him?"

Bellmon paused thoughtfully, then shrugged.

"At 1330, 8 April 1945," he said. "Outside a stable, in Zwenkau, Saxony, in what is now East Germany."

Both the Chairman and the chief looked at him curiously.

"You tend to remember precisely where and when you're liberated, " Bellmon said. "Maybe especially if, sixty seconds before, you were convinced you were on your way to Siberia."

"I'm not tracking you, General," the Chairman said.

"I was captured in North Africa, Admiral," Bellmon said. "On 17 February 1943. I was a POW for two years, one month, and eighteen days, most of it in Stalag XVII-B, near Szczecin-Stettin-Poland. As the Russians advanced through Poland, the camp commandant was ordered to move us westward, toward Berlin. We didn't make it. We were overrun by the Russians-"

"Lucky for you," the Chairman interrupted.

"No, sir," Bellmon said. "Our Russian allies almost immediately made it clear they had no intention of turning us loose. Quite the contrary, we were informed that transportation was being arranged to take us to 'safety' in the Soviet Union."