Major Hodges ended the conversation.

"Let's get our circus on the road, Smythe," he ordered. "Try not to bend the bird, you guys. We can't afford to piss off another Corps Commander by stealing another one."

He tossed General Hanrahan a casual salute. Smythe saluted more crisply, and the two of them walked out of the room.

"I'll preflight it," de la Santiago said, and followed them out of the lounge.

In a moment, they could be seen walking toward a Mohawk and an L-23 on the transient tarmac.

"Have a good flight," General Hanrahan said. "The priority is to get there-don't worry about how long it takes."

He shook their hands, called "Let's go, Ski," to Captain Zabrewski, and walked toward the door.

"That was not permission to take a week in Fort Lauderdale," Father Lunsford said. "Have a good flight."

He walked out of the lounge.

Lowell took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Johnny Oliver.

"You have the letter Felter wrote to General Pistarini?"

"Yes, sir."

"This is for Teniente Coronel Guillermo Rangio. . . ."

"The intelligence guy?" Oliver asked, to be sure.

"Deputy director of SIDE," Lowell confirmed. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was there when you land-probably not in uniform. "

"May I ask what's in here, sir?"

"Another of the CIA's memos to Felter. The purpose is really to show Rangio you're in the loop."

"I understand, sir."

"If you need any help, yell," Lowell said. He turned to the women.

"For what it's worth, I really hated to send your guys off like this."

"But we're Army wives, right?" Liza said.

"That was your choice, you will recall," Lowell said. He kissed Marjorie on the cheek, shook hands with Mrs. Otmanio, nodded somewhat coldly toward Liza, and walked out of the VIP lounge.

The husbands and wives were alone.

In a moment, Lowell could be seen walking toward a U.S. Air Force T28, a single-engine tandem-seat advanced trainer.

"Hey," Oliver said. "Why the gloom? We're going to Argentina, not Vietnam, and we'll be back in a week or ten days?"

"And we have to go now," Jack said. "I hate long farewells."

Marjorie gave him a hurt look, then hugged him.

"Be careful," she said, and whispered "I love you" in his ear.

"Me, too," he said, and walked quickly out of the lounge.

"We'll have some when I get back, baby," Johnny Oliver said to his bride, and then followed.

She smiled at him but didn't reply, then hugged him.

SFC Otmanio kissed his wife, who looked to be on the edge of tears, and then followed Oliver.

Out the window, the women could see that the propellers of the Mohawk were turning. As they watched, the engine of Lowell's T-28 started in a cloud of blue smoke.

"Pope, Army Nine-three-three at Base Ops tarmac, IFR Fort Rucker, taxi and takeoff, please," Pappy Hodges voice came metallically over the speaker on the wall.

"Pope, Air Force Double-zero-four, same place, IFR McDill. Put me after the Mohawk, please," Craig Lowell's voice came over the speaker.

"Pope Army Eight-seven-seven, next to the T-28," Jack Portet's voice came over the speaker. "Let me follow the old folks out of here, please. IFR Fort Lauderdale."

It was a moment before the tower responded.

"Pope to the Mohawk. Take taxiway one to the active, Two-seven. Hold on the threshold. T-28, follow the Mohawk. Seven follow the T-28. You are cleared as one, two, and three for takeoff, one-minute intervals, after a C-130 on final. Await my clearance."

"Pope, Nine-three-three will wait for clearance at the threshold of Two-seven," Pappy responded.

Liza Wood walked over to the couch under the speaker. Then she stood on the couch, reached up, and turned the speaker off.

She went to the window and watched as the three airplanes moved off the tarmac. Marjorie walked up and stood beside her, and so, finally, did Mrs. Otmanio.

A C-130 came out of the sky a moment later and touched down. A minute later, Pappy's Mohawk turned onto the runway and, without slowing down, began to move down it, finally lifting into the air. A minute later, the T-28 took off, and a minute after that, the L-23.

Liza looked at Marjorie, shrugged, and then walked to where she had put Johnny's Jepp case down and picked it up. Marjorie exhaled audibly and walked to Jack's Jepp case and picked it up.

Mrs. Otmanio stood with her forehead pressed against the window.

Liza and Marjorie looked at each other, set the Jepp cases on the floor again, walked to Mrs. Otmanio, and put their arms around her until she stopped crying.

[ EIGHT ].

Jack Portet was in the left seat and de la Santiago in the right, but Johnny Oliver, who was in the back with Otmanio and Zammoro, like most other pilots, never fully trusted any other pilot, and waited until the L-23 was at 10,500 feet, trimmed up, on course, and on autopilot before satisfying his curiosity about what the CIA report he was to pass to the intelligence guy in Argentina said.

He opened the envelope and took it out and read it.

SECRETCentral Intelligence Agency Langley, VirginiaFROM: Assistant Director For Administration Assistant Director For AdministrationFROM: 28 January 1965 1345 GMT 28 January 1965 1345 GMTSUBJECT : Guevara, Ernesto (Memorandum #39.) 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:(Reliability Scale Five) (From CIA Algiers, Algeria) SUBJECT arrived Algiers on Air Mali flight 1121 from Cotonou, Dahomey at 2005 GMT 27 January 1965, and went directly to Cuban Embassy.

Howard W. O'Connor HOWARD W. O'CONNORSECRET He handed the document to Zammoro and then unstrapped himself and went forward to kneel behind Portet.

"At the risk of revealing my monumental ignorance, where the hell is Cotonou, Dahomey?"

"On the Gulf of Guinea, between Nigeria and Togo," de la Santiago answered. "Why?"

"Where the hell is the Gulf of Guinea?" Oliver asked. "And, for that matter, where is, or what is, Togo?"

"West coast, Atlantic. Togo is a country," de la Santiago answered, chuckling.

"Why do you think Che Guevara went to Cotonou, Dahomey? " Oliver asked.

"Beats the shit out of me," Jack Portet replied. "I didn't know anybody went there on purpose."

De la Santiago chuckled.

"If he's there-" Jack added, his tone now serious.

"Was there. Now he's in Algeria," Oliver interrupted. there. Now he's in Algeria," Oliver interrupted.

"If he was was in Dahomey," Jack went on, "and is now in Algeria, I guess that proves Felter was right. He damned sure wasn't in Cotonou to take a swim. There's a lot of sharks in the ocean there. The sonofabitch is obviously trying to get support for what he wants to do in the Congo." in Dahomey," Jack went on, "and is now in Algeria, I guess that proves Felter was right. He damned sure wasn't in Cotonou to take a swim. There's a lot of sharks in the ocean there. The sonofabitch is obviously trying to get support for what he wants to do in the Congo."

"And we're supposed to stop him? How?" Oliver asked.

"Hell, I thought you Green Beanies can do anything," Jack said.

"That's we we Green Beanies, Lieutenant," Oliver said. "Write that down." Green Beanies, Lieutenant," Oliver said. "Write that down."

"I know how to stop him," de la Santiago said. "I'd love to stop him. But blowing the bastard's brains out is a no-no, isn't it?"

"I'm sure you will think of something else, Mr. de la Santiago, " Oliver said, and went back to his seat.

[ NINE ].

Apartment B-14 Foster Garden Apartments Fayetteville, North Carolina 1545 29 January 1965 "Tank! Tank! Tank!" Master Allan Wood cried the moment Marjorie had unlocked the door to the apartment.

He had been under the grandmotherly care of Patricia Hanrahan while they had seen their husbands off from Pope.

Marjorie smiled.

"A true son of armor," she said, and led the child to the couch, behind which the toy tanks had been parked.

"A male," Liza said. "They like to destroy things, preferably with as much noise as possible."

Marjorie's smile tightened, but she didn't say anything.

She knelt on the floor and found the switch that turned the battery on. Allan gleefully drove the tank into the leg of the coffee table, where the treads churned uselessly.

She went into the kitchen to get him a couple of plastic cups, which he could batter around with the tank.

Liza Wood was squatting before the open refrigerator door.

"There's enough food left over to feed an army," Liza said. "Unfortunately, our Army is on its way to sunny Florida and points farther south."

"Well, at least we won't have to cook," Marjorie said.

"I knew there would be beer in here," Liza said. "You want one, or would you prefer something stronger?"

"Beer's fine," Marjorie said.

She found the plastic cups she was looking for, and took them to Allan. When she returned, she saw that Liza had taken two bottles of Heineken from the refrigerator and opened them. Liza handed one to Marjorie and then took a healthy pull from the bottle's neck.

"Don't you want a glass?" Marjorie asked.

"Why?" Liza asked taking another swig. "When it's only us camp followers, what's the point in being dainty and ladylike?"

"Liza," Marjorie said, "I'm in no mood for bitter."

Liza looked at her and shrugged.

"Sorry," she said. "You know what I thought on the way here?"

"I'm not sure I do," Marjorie said.

"I asked myself, did I do the right thing?" Liza said. "And I decided, yeah, Liza, you did the right thing. You love him and he needs you, and Allan needs him, and he loves Allan, and if the price I have to pay for that is putting on a smile while I wave bye-bye, then it's a hell of a bargain."

"Yeah, it is," Marjorie agreed.

"One last bitter," Liza said, "and then I'll quit."

"Okay."

"You know one thing the Army has got down pat? The better an officer is, the more they expect of him, the more they drain him."

Marjorie didn't reply.

"Think about it," Liza said. "Johnny-who was pretty well drained himself by his year working your father-told me what terrible shape Father Lunsford was in when he came back from the Congo. Did Father get a plush, sit-on-his-ass-and-play-golf assignment? Hell, no. Neither of them did. Your Jack did a John Wayne in Stanleyville, and what happened? 'Pin a bar on that one, we can squeeze him a lot more.'"

"What's your point?"

"No point, I just felt like saying that."

"Okay. And for what it's worth, I agree. But that was the last bitter, agreed?"

"Agreed," Liza said, and walked to Marjorie and tapped her beer bottle against hers. "From now on, all will be sweetness and light."

There was the sound of door chimes.