"And what's his relationship to Mobutu?"

"One of the few white men he trusts," Portet said.

"Like you and Jacques?" Felter asked.

Lowell noticed that Jack had become Jacques.

"More than that," Captain Portet said. "He's sort of a . . . Mormon Jesuit, I guess. Mobutu turns to him for advice."

"What's his name?"

"Howard Dannelly," Captain Portet said.

"How do you get along with Dr. Dannelly?" Felter asked.

"We know each other," Captain Portet said. "He's a good man. He's good for Mobutu."

"How does Dr. Dannelly feel about Jacques?" Felter asked.

"He's . . . uh . . . not in Jacques's legion of admirers," Portet said.

"Why not?" Felter asked.

"Well," Portet said, smiling. "You know the Mormons. They don't drink, they don't smoke, they don't believe in sex outside of marriage. You might not believe it, looking at clean-cut young Lieutenant Portet, but, pre-Marjorie, he drank like a fish, smoked big black cigars, and was working his way through the white female population of the Congo, without regard to anyone's marriage vows."

Lowell laughed.

"Was there something specific?" Felter asked, a tone of annoyance in his voice.

"He was in Kolwezi one time, in the Hotel Leopold, with a friend, and Dr. Dannelly accosted him in the lobby and told him he and the friend should be ashamed of themselves, their conduct was inexcusable, and Jacques . . . told him to go fuck himself."

"The friend was female?" Lowell asked.

Jack nodded.

"So Dr. Dannelly is not about to give Jack a character reference? " Lowell asked.

"That would be highly unlikely," Portet said, and then added: "I'll talk to Mobutu if you want."

"That's a thought," Lowell said. "Particularly if you play the Mormon card, Sandy."

"Excuse me?" Captain Portet said.

"Sandy, those Mormons are tight with each other. If we can get Finton to go with JP and Jack to see Mobutu . . ."

"You'd be willing to go to Mobutu?" Felter asked.

"I spent a large part of my life in the Congo," Portet said. "I like it. I like the people. They don't need a Cuban revolutionary making things worse than they already are."

"I told Finton to come here for lunch," Felter said. "Let's see what he thinks. Not during lunch. Afterward."

He paused and looked at Captain Portet.

"A man who works for me is a devout Mormon," he said. "When you meet him at lunch, try to guess how well he'd get along with Dr. Dannelly."

Captain Portet nodded.

[ SIX ].

The Hotel Washington Washington, D.C.

1105 11 January 1965 "Good morning," Johnny Oliver said politely to the reception clerk at the Hotel Washington. "I'm Captain Oliver, and I believe you have reservations for myself and these officers?"

"Yes, sir. We do. You're in 914."

He passed out keys to each of them.

"All of us?" Oliver said.

"All of you," the reception clerk said, and tapped the bell for a bellman to handle the luggage.

"Why do I suspect the SWC has just run out of TDY money?" Oliver asked softly in the elevator. "Rank will have its privileges, gentlemen. I'm I'm not going to share a bed with either of you." not going to share a bed with either of you."

"We should have told the guy to get us another room-rooms," Jack Portet said.

"Let's take a look at this, and see what we're going to need, and then call him on the phone?" Oliver suggested, but they both understood it to be an order.

The bellman stopped his cart outside 914, then knocked at the door.

"Come!" a male voice called.

The bellman pushed the door open and waved them through.

914 was a large, well-even luxuriously-furnished living room.

"Oh, thank God, the lost birdmen have been found!" Lieutenant Geoffrey Craig called out.

He was sitting in one corner of the room, in civilian clothing, about to finish a club sandwich. There was a coffee service on the coffee table. Major Pappy Hodges, sipping at a cup, was slumped into an armchair across from him.

"What do you mean, lost?" Johnny Oliver asked. "What is this, old home week?"

He walked to Pappy and shook his hand.

"Good to see you, Johnny," Pappy said, then raised his voice: "You, Portet, change clothes right now and go see Felter in the Aviation Club."

"Yes, sir," Jack said. "Where do I do that?"

"Top floor."

"I meant change out of uniform?"

"There's four bedrooms in here," Geoff said. "Wherever you find that ugly luggage of yours is yours."

"What is this place, anyway?" Jack asked.

"It belongs to the firm," Geoff said.

Jack found his luggage in a large L-shaped bedroom furnished with two king-size beds, a desk, a wet bar, and an upholstered chair and table set that made the room, in effect, a small suite.

He wondered if he had time for a quick shower, and decided he didn't; Pappy had said "right away." He shaved quickly with an electric razor, sprayed himself with cologne, changed into a sports jacket and tie, and went back into the living room.

Pappy was on the telephone. He waved impatiently for Jack to get moving.

As he left the room, he heard Pappy say, "Colonel, he should be there any second. . . ."

He wondered what Colonel Lowell wanted with him; he was, except for Enrico de la Santiago, the least experienced of all of them. And this, he sensed, was business, not social. He got in the elevator and rode up to the National Aviation Club.

The receptionist expected him.

"You're Captain Portet, right?"

"No. I used to be. Now I'm Lieutenant Portet," Jack said.

"If you'll come with me, please?" she said, smiling strangely at him.

She led him through the bar to a corridor, then knocked at a door.

"Yes?"

"Lieutenant Portet is here, Colonel," she said, and then, to Jack, "Go on in."

Lieutenant Colonel Craig W. Lowell was sitting at a table with Colonel Sanford T. Felter, which surprised him a little, and so was Captain Jean-Philippe Portet, which surprised him a great deal.

Completely ignoring what he thought was probably the proper military protocol, he went directly to his father, and they hugged and kissed in the European manner.

"And how is married life?" his father said.

"I think I better salute, or do whatever else I'm supposed to do in a situation like this, before I get into that," Jack said.

"Now that everybody's here, why don't we order drinks?" Lowell suggested.

"It's not even noon," Felter protested. "Do you need the alcohol? "

Lowell ignored him.

"Scotch for you, right, Jean-Philippe?" Lowell asked.

"Please."

"Jack?" Lowell asked, and then when he saw the look on his face, added, "Go ahead, you're not going to be flying anytime soon."

"Then please," Jack said.

"Mouse?"

"Get me a cup of tea, please," Felter said.

Lowell picked up a telephone.

"Bring in a bottle of scotch, please. Is any of mine left? And the necessary ancillary equipment." He hung up the phone and looked at Felter. "You don't need tea, Mouse. You need a drink."

"I'll be a sonofabitch," Felter said.

"You are are a sonofabitch, Mouse. a sonofabitch, Mouse. Everybody Everybody knows that," Lowell said unctuously. knows that," Lowell said unctuously.

Felter glared at him.

" 'Mouse'?" Captain Portet asked.

"He's the only sonofabitch in the world who can call me that to my face."

"I see," Captain Portet said.

"And you, Lieutenant," Lowell said, "may call Colonel Felter, and myself, either 'Colonel' or 'sir.' "

"Yes, sir."

Captain Portet chuckled.

"That line's not original," Lowell said. "I heard it first years ago-from your mother-in-law's father, Jack-and I thought of it a couple of days ago in Buenos Aires, when Pistarini, the commander-in-chief of their army, wanted us all to be buddies."

"You didn't call him Pascual?" Felter asked, smiling.

"I can't vouch for the hours between two and four A.M., but the rest of the time I made a real effort to call him mi general," mi general," Lowell said. Lowell said.

There was a knock at the door, and a waiter appeared carrying a tray on which sat a bottle of the same obscure Scottish distillery whiskey Lowell had given Portet in Florida, a bowl of ice, and both a water pitcher and a soda siphon.

"We'll do it, thanks," Lowell said to the waiter, and poured generous drinks in each of the glasses.

When the waiter was out of the room, he turned to Jack.

"Your father has been regaling us with tales of your romantic escapades in the Congo," Lowell said.

Jack looked at his father in surprise.