There was not a peep from the backseat.

At 5,000 feet over Eufala, Alabama, on a course for Fort Gordon, Georgia, Jack turned in his seat to see what Pappy was doing. Pappy's little bag had apparently contained a rubber pillow, for Pappy, his head resting against a rubber pillow, was sound asleep.

Jack almost gave in to the temptation to wake Pappy by making a hard landing at Gordon, considered this briefly, and then did the opposite. He greased it in, and the proof that it was a greaser came when he turned and looked, at the end of the landing roll, and Pappy was still asleep.

They were directed to a parking space at the Fort Gordon airstrip-and it wasn't much of an airstrip, Jack noted-by a soldier, and Jack started to shut the aircraft down.

Pappy's voice came metallically in his earphones. "How much fuel do you have remaining, Lieutenant?"

"About forty minutes, sir."

"That should be sufficient, Lieutenant," Pappy ordered. "It is my professional opinion, as an instructor pilot in L-19 Series aircraft, that I have given you sufficient instruction and that you have demonstrated sufficient basic piloting skills to be allowed to attempt solo flight."

"What?" Jack blurted.

"As soon as I exit the aircraft, Lieutenant, you will attempt solo flight as follows: You will request permission to taxi to the end of the runway, where you will request to take off under visual flight rules for a local flight. When permission is granted, you will take off, climb to three thousand feet on a due north course, and then request permission to shoot a touch-and-go landing. When permission is granted, you will make such a touch-and-go landing, and again climb to three thousand feet, at which point you will request permission to land. You will then land. Got that all? Won't it be necessary for you to write your orders down?"

"No, sir."

"On landing, you will tie the aircraft down in the prescribed manner, arrange for it to be refueled, supervise such refueling, and then you may join me in the coffee shop."

"Yes, sir," Jack said.

Pappy opened the door and got out and walked to the small Base Operations building.

Shaking his head, Jack reached for the microphone.

"Gordon, Army Sixteen Twenty-Six, an L-19 aircraft, by Base Ops, request taxi and takeoff permission for a local flight under visual rules."

"Sir, the aircraft has been serviced and is tied down," Jack said to Pappy at the coffee shop in Base Ops.

Pappy put out his hand.

"Congratulations on your first solo flight," he said.

Jack ignored the hand.

"Actually, I soloed when I was twelve," Jack said.

"I have had several telephone calls concerning you lately," Pappy said. "The first came from Craig Lowell. He said you were getting a commission and wanted to know if there would be any problem in getting you checked out in an L23. I told him I didn't think so."

Then what's all this nonsense about soloing in that damned L-19?

"Call two was from Bob Bellmon. He had two concerns. The first one was for your well-being, and the second that he didn't want it bandied about that the general's son-in-law was getting special treatment. He asked me if I would personally check you out, as opposed to doing it with a ballpoint, and I said sure. Bob Bellmon is one of the good guys."

"I understand," Jack said.

"Not yet, you don't. Call three was from Miss Marjorie, who I literally bounced on my knee when she wore diapers. 'Uncle Pappy,' 'Uncle Pappy,' she said, she said, 'he doesn't even know how to pin his bars on. When he's out there with you, will you teach him how to act like an officer? He'll take it from you, and he doesn't like it when I say something.' 'he doesn't even know how to pin his bars on. When he's out there with you, will you teach him how to act like an officer? He'll take it from you, and he doesn't like it when I say something.' So I told her sure, too." So I told her sure, too."

"I didn't know that," Jack said.

"You still don't know that," Pappy said. "But still no problem. Then came call number four. Sandy Felter. Another of the good guys, and I owe him. He called last night, at half past nine. He wanted two things. He wants you to be checked out yesterday in everything with a special instrument ticket to go along. And he wants us both to meet with Father Lunsford-you heard the President got him promoted to major?"

Jack nodded.

". . . at twelve today at Bragg. I figured no problem. We'd hop in the Mohawk about nine o'clock, which would give us plenty of time to be there by noon. I also figured I could check you out in the Mohawk on the way. But then I realized I couldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"As of yesterday, you have an Army record of your Army flying. I can fudge a little on that. You need a minimum of four hours dual instruction before you can solo. By the time we get to Bragg, you'll have that four hours, so I will say you soloed en route. That's more or less honest, and we'll have the L-19 tail number in the records . . . understand?"

Jack nodded.

"I could not get away with saying you soloed in a Mohawk," Pappy said. "Nor do I want your records to say that on the day you soloed, you also got checked out in the Mohawk, and satisfied the cross-country IFR requirements for an instrument ticket, much less a special instrument ticket. I realized we're going to have to do this one step at a time. From here to the Beaver, from the Beaver to the Otter, then the L-23. Somewhere along the way, you'll get an instrument rating, and then the special instrument ticket. I have no idea how the hell we're going to teach you how to fly rotary wing."

"I see the problem."

"If I was a little gruff on the phone last night, it was because I realized I was going to have to get up at oh-dark-hundred and fly all the way to Bragg in a goddamned L-19. And then back."

"No problem, Pappy," Jack said, enormously relieved that Pappy was pissed not at him, but over things over which he had no control.

"Of course there's no problem," Pappy said. "One of the things I think Miss Marjorie would like me to teach you is that what a lieutenant has to understand is that majors don't have to explain to lieutenants why they have a hair up their ass."

He smiled at Jack and put out his hand again.

"So congratulations again on your solo flight."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now go untie the goddamned L-19 and we'll be on our way."

"Yes, sir."

[ FIVE ].

SECRET SECRETCentral Intelligence Agency Langley, VirginiaFROM : Assistant Director For Administration Assistant Director For AdministrationDATE: 20 December 1964 1505 GMT 20 December 1964 1505 GMTSUBJECT : Guevara, Ernesto (Memorandum #3.) Guevara, Ernesto (Memorandum #3.) TO: Mr. Sanford T. Felter Mr. Sanford T. Felter Counselor To The President Room 637, The Executive Office Building Washington, D.C.By CourierIn compliance with Presidential Memorandum to The Director, Subject: "Ernesto 'Che' Guevara," dated 14 December 1964, the following information is furnished:1. (Reliability Scale Five) (From CIA, Algiers, Algeria) CIA Surveillance of SUBJECT resumed on SUBJECT and party's landing at Algiers 0915 GMT 19 December 19642. (Reliability Scale Four). They were met by members of the Algerian Council of Ministers and the Cuban Ambassador and transported to residence of Cuban Ambassador.

Howard W. O'Connor HOWARD W. O'CONNOR SECRET.

[ SIX ].

Base Operations Pope Air Force Base, North Carolina 1135 20 December 1964 George Washington Lunsford was standing just outside the plate-glass doors to the Base Operations building when Major Pappy Hodges and Lieutenant Jack Portet walked across the tarmac from the transient parking area. He was in fatigues, and there were major's leaves on his collar points and pinned to his green beret.

Jack, as he saluted, was not surprised at the rank insignia. Pappy was.

"Patton did that in North Africa, you know," he said. "Considered himself promoted-pinned on a third star-before his promotion orders came down."

"That wasn't very nice of him, was it?" Father said. "I myself modestly waited until I had my promotion orders in my hot little hand before I pinned my major's things on."

"No kidding. They came down already?"

"Yesterday," Lunsford said. "I haven't even had time to wash them down."

"Congratulations, Major," Jack said.

Lunsford looked at him.

"And this newly commissioned young officer, to judge by his bare-of-any-insignia flight rompers, is carrying modesty to the extreme."

He raised his eyebrows, then wrapped an arm affectionately around Jack.

"How the hell are you, sport? What happened to the bandaged nose?"

"It kept coming off in the shower. I never figured out what it was supposed to do, anyway."

"Well, come to think of it, you are properly dressed for what I have in mind for you."

"Sir?"

"Among friends, you may address me as 'Father,' but when we get to Mackall, hit the 'sir' and 'major' a little heavily."

"Yes, sir, Major," Jack said.

"Is that where we're going, to Mackall?" Pappy asked.

"You're going to see our noble leader, General Hanrahan. Jack and I are going to Mackall. Is there any reason Jack can't fly me there in the L-19?" He paused. "And frankly, Pappy, I am surprised to see the L-19. Are you on somebody's shitlist at Rucker? I expected at least an L-23, maybe even a Mohawk."

"It's a long story," Pappy said. "What's Hanrahan want?"

"He's going to bring you up to speed on Operation Earnest, give you some heads-up. And Felter wants to talk to you on the secure line."

"Which means I am going to be involved up to my ass in this, right?"

"A succinct and correct, if somewhat obscene, assumption. Yes, you are. We need you, Pappy. The rear echelon is an important facet of any military operation."

"Damn," Pappy said. He looked thoughtfully at Jack.

"Do you think you can put the L-19 down at Mackall without killing yourself and the major?"

Jack nodded.

"If you don't bend the bird, I could sign you off on Unprepared Fields," Pappy said. "If you bend it, I'll swear under oath you stole it. Okay, Father. He can fly you out there. It would save time, and I'd like to go home today."

Lunsford didn't reply.

"Why do I suspect you know something I don't know?" Pappy asked.

"Hanrahan wants to pick your brains," Lunsford said. "I hope you brought a change of undies, as that may take some time."

"I didn't," Jack said. "I thought we were going to fly around the pattern at Rucker."

"Well, when we come back from Mackall, you can buy some at the PX when you're buying your bars," Lunsford said.

"How do I get from here to Hanrahan?" Pappy asked.

"Hanrahan's car and driver are outside," Lunsford said. "I think he's even going to buy you lunch."

Pappy looked at both of them, and then, without a word, walked into the Base Operations building.

"Anytime you're ready, Father," Jack said.

"I know you were an airlines pilot," Lunsford said. "But why was Pappy worried about you bending the L-19? How much experience do you have flying puddle jumpers?"

"Not much," Jack said. "As a matter of fact, the first time I flew one of these all by myself was on the way down here."

"Oh, what the hell," Lunsford said. "Live on the edge, I always say."

"I think I can get us back and forth to Mackall in one piece," Jack said.

"When we get to Mackall," Lunsford ordered as they overflew Fort Bragg en route to the "dormant, former base" twenty miles from Fort Bragg that was used for Special Forces training, "go along with whatever I say. Don't ask questions, and don't volunteer any information."

"Yes, sir," Jack said.

There was a stocky black master sergeant sitting in a jeep at the dirt airstrip when Jack landed the L-19.

Jack had been here before during his "special course" in becoming a Green Beret. He had never been inside one of the buildings then, and only when he had been put on ice at Mackall had he learned that they contained showers, cots, stoves, and refrigerators for the use of the training cadre. Trainees washed in creeks, slept on the ground, and ate as well as they could from field rations, and/or from what they could catch, kill, and cook over open fires.

The master sergeant waited until Jack had parked the airplane and was starting to tie it down before driving the jeep up and getting out.

He saluted Father.

"Those leaves look good on you, sir," he said. "Congratulations. "

"Thank you," Father replied in Swahili. "I told you I wanted you guys to speak nothing but Swahili between us."

"Sorry," the sergeant said in Swahili.

"And on the subject of Swahili, the AG turned up this officer, who studied it in college, and may join us." He turned to Jack. "You get that, Lieutenant?" The adjutant general's department handled Army personnel matters.

"Yes, sir," Jack said.

"Can you say that in Swahili?"

"Yes, sir," Jack said in Swahili.