Quarters #9 Fort Bragg, North Carolina 1910 13 March 1965 "Good evening, sir," Captain John S. Oliver said to Brigadier General Paul R. Hanrahan, as Hanrahan got out of his car.

"Jesus, you scared hell out of me," Hanrahan said. "Why the hell are you lurking in the dark corners of my garage?"

"I thought it best if Mrs. Hanrahan didn't see me, General," Oliver said. "She would certainly have asked me what was on my mind."

"And what is on your mind that wouldn't wait until tomorrow morning? And that you didn't want my bride to ask about?"

"Sir, I think I have fucked up by the numbers," Oliver said.

"How?"

The door from the house to the garage opened. Patricia Hanrahan stepped into the garage.

"I thought I heard voices in here," she said. "Hello, Johnny. What's on your mind?"

"Captain Oliver was just about to tell me," Hanrahan said.

"Marjorie got on the Intercontinental Air 707," Oliver said.

"So what?" Hanrahan said. "It's her father-in-law's airplane, and I really suspect she has a good idea of what's going on."

"And then the airplane took off for Casablanca," Oliver finished.

"She can't do that," Patricia Hanrahan said.

"She did it, Mrs. Hanrahan," Oliver said. "And I'm the dummy responsible."

"Let's go in the house," Hanrahan said. "I need a drink, and I think Oliver could use one."

"What is she, crazy?" Patricia Hanrahan said.

"On reflection, Captain," General Hanrahan said several minutes later, "the situation is probably not as bad as it seems at first glance."

"Oh, Red," Patricia protested, "how could it be any worse? You're going to have to tell Barbara Bellmon. I won't." She paused and then warmed to the subject. "Why didn't you stop her, Johnny? Throw her over your shoulder if you had to?"

"You're right," Oliver said. "That's what I should have done."

"Or called the MPs," Patricia Hanrahan said.

"May I say something?" General Hanrahan asked, and when they both looked at him, he went on. "Legally, Marjorie did nothing wrong. She is twenty-one, and enjoys all the rights of any other citizen, which means if she wants to go to Africa, she can go to Africa."

"That's stupid, and you know it," Mrs. Hanrahan said.

"Possibly, but it's a fact," Hanrahan said.

"Bob Bellmon's going to go right through the roof, and so is Sandy Felter, and with every right," Patricia said.

"For the time being, we are not going to say anything to either Bob or Sandy," Hanrahan said. "Or anybody else."

"They'll find out," Patricia said. "You know they will."

"By the time they find out, I think she'll be back here," Hanrahan said. "And then it can be just a funny story to tell."

"What's funny?"

"Marjorie flew all the way to Africa to be with Jack, and then had to fly all the way back, because she didn't have a visa, and they wouldn't even let her out of the airport-just flew her straight home. Ha ha."

"I'm almost sure she doesn't have a visa for the Congo," Oliver said.

"The story I got was that it took Jean-Philippe Portet having to go to the Congolese ambassador personally and remind him he was a pal of General Mobutu to get visas for Felter and the others, " Hanrahan said, and then had an unpleasant second thought: "Unless she's been planning this all along?"

"She said she got the idea last night at dinner," Oliver reported.

"And I know why," Patricia said. "The picture Sandy and Jean-Philippe painted for her of Jack all dressed in white and living in a hotel on a lake. No wonder she wanted to go. Men are such damned fools!"

"On that philosophical note, Captain Oliver, I think you can go home to your wife."

"Yes, sir," Oliver said. "Sir, their radio is scheduled to be on the Net no later than 2400 tonight. Should I send Father a heads-up? "

"No, you will not, repeat not, send Father a heads-up. If Father, or Jack, knew that Marjorie was coming, they would somehow arrange for the Congolese foreign minister to be waiting when the airplane landed with a visa and a bouquet of flowers."

"Yeah," Oliver agreed.

"They're not going to let her into the Congo without a visa," Hanrahan said. "She doesn't have a visa, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if they turned her back at Casablanca, before she even gets to the Congo." He paused. "I'm glad you didn't throw her over your shoulder, Johnny. That That would have been hard to explain to General Bellmon, and Jack would probably try to cast . . . punch you in the nose." would have been hard to explain to General Bellmon, and Jack would probably try to cast . . . punch you in the nose."

"Or both," Oliver said. "Good evening, Mrs. Hanrahan."

"Good night, Johnny," Patricia Hanrahan said.

"Tell Liza I detained you," Hanrahan said. "Everybody else on Fort Bragg thinks I'm a sonofabitch-why not Liza?"

[ FOUR ].

Stanleyville Air Field Stanleyville, Oriental Province Republic of the Congo 1230 14 March 1965 On the logical and universal military assumption that one never gets into much trouble giving priority to the desires of the senior commander, Major Lunsford/Lieutenant Colonel Dahdi had ordered that the L-20 Beaver-which would become Colonel Supo's personal aircraft-be reassembled first.

It had proved less difficult than planned for, for several reasons. When Jack had first flown into Stanleyville on one of the two remaining Air Simba Boeing C-46s, he had carried with him as much heavy maintenance equipment-jacks, cranes, that sort of thing-as weight would permit, as well as five Air Simba airframe and engine mechanics, hoping that the vandalism of Air Simba's third Boeing by the Simbas would turn out to be repairable.

That hope hadn't turned out. There was no way really to tell how much damage had been done to it without giving it sort of a thousand-hour overhaul. They'd started on that. By the time the first Intercontinental flight landed, the bullet-shredded tires had been replaced and the C-46 rolled into one of the two hangars, where the work would be completed.

When the team's aircraft and engine mechanics-the soldiers recruited by Jack and Lunsford at Fort Rucker-saw the cranes Jack flew in to, if necessary, remove the engines from the C-46, it was immediately apparent to them that they could also be used to haul the L-20 fuselage off the skid on which it had been shipped while the landing gear was reinstalled, and when that had been accomplished, and the Beaver was sitting on its gear, to use the cranes to reinstall the Beaver's wings.

They had been prepared to "locally fabricate" makeshift wooden cranes from trees and had brought power saws and woodworking tools with them to do so. Practice at Camp Mackall had indicated this would take 1.5 or 2.0 days.

When the second Intercontinental Air flight called for approach and landing instructions at Stanleyville, the reassembly process of the Beaver was two days ahead of schedule. It was sitting on the tarmac with its engine running, and Captain Smythe/Major Jemima in the pilot's seat was about to take it off on its first test flight.

Captain Jacques Portet of Air Simba intended to serve as copilot.

"Well, it hasn't blown up so far," Aunt Jemima said. "Shall we see if it will fly?"

"Why not?" Jack replied, and, more from habit than necessity- only Captain Weewili/Spec7 Peters and one of his technicians were in the tower, installing newly arrived radios-put on earphones and reached for the microphone on the yoke.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," the earphones said in massive disgust. "Don't tell me the fucking radio is out in the fucking Beaver!"

"Station obscenely calling the Beaver, identify yourself," Jack said, sternly, into the microphone.

"Is that you, Captain Smythe?"

"This is Portet."

"I've been trying to raise you, sir. Intercontinental Air is ten minutes out."

"Well, I guess we better put off the test flight, then. I don't want to get run over by a 707."

Jack touched Aunt Jemima's arm, then made a cutting motion across his throat.

"The 707's ten minutes out."

"In that case, I guess I better find Sergeant Thomas and mobilize the stevedores," Aunt Jemima said as he began to shut the engine down. "Our noble leader is downtown playing tennis with Geoff Craig."

"War is hell, ain't it?" Jack said, and started to unfasten his harness.

[ FIVE ].

The Hotel du Lac Costermansville, Kivu Province Republic of the Congo 1745 16 March 1965 Howard Dannelly, M.D., was not in a good mood when he walked into the Hotel du Lac, and what he saw shortly afterward very nearly made him lose his temper, something he really hated to do.

It had been a long-and toward the end, very bumpy-flight in an Air Simba Boeing from Leopoldville. There had been a dozen Congolese young men in civilian clothing on the airplane. Dannelly knew they were soldiers, recent graduates of the parachutists school, intended as augmentation for Colonel Supo's inadequate forces, and in civilian clothing because they were going to have to pass through the airport in Kigali, just across the Rwandan border from Costermansville, and the Rwandan government didn't want soldiers passing through their airport.

They had apparently shed their military discipline with their uniforms, for not only had they brought two cases of beer onto the airplane, which they had promptly begun to consume, but, as Congolese country boys were prone to do with alcohol in their systems, began to say unkind and scatological things about the nearest white man. This was, of course, Dr. Dannelly, and the drunken paratroops of course had no idea who he was, or that he was fluent in Swahili.

Predictably, the first of them became nauseous when the bumpy weather began, and by the time the Boeing landed at the field at Kigali, most of them had become nauseous, some of them spectacularly so. His shoes and trousers had been splattered.

In the Kigali terminal building, there had been a particularly offensive-and apparently illiterate; he held Dannelly's documents upside down while he studied them intently-immigration officer who took great joy in showing that Rwanda was now independent, and black men could now annoy white men with impunity.

There was no bottled water in the Kigali terminal, and Dr. Dannelly knew better than to drink anything else.

Just as soon as he entered the Hotel du Lac, he went to the bar in search of at least two bottles of club soda.

And saw Jean-Philippe Portet's son sitting at a table in bathing trunks. There was a champagne cooler on the table. Young Portet was shamelessly staring at a young woman in a nearly lewd bathing suit, who was dancing alone to sensual music on the phonograph. The young woman-probably the daughter of one of the farmers who hadn't fled; she seemed too young to be married-seemed to revel in the attention.

Dr. Dannelly called to one of the boys for water, a little more loudly than he intended, and this caught young Portet's attention.

"Well, as I live and breathe," Young Portet called. "Dr. Dannelly! Come on over-there's someone I want you to meet."

Dannelly walked to the table.

"You may think you're clever, Mr. Portet," Dr. Dannelly said. "But your behavior is not only disgusting, but brings everything you say into question."

"Like my marriage vows, for example?"

"Yes, like your marriage vows."

"Judge not, Doctor, lest ye be judged," Young Portet said. "As it says in the Good Book." He raised his voice. "Sweetheart, come over here a minute, will you?"

The young woman walked to the table.

"Baby, this is one of the most important men in the Congo," Jack said. "Say hello to Dr. Howard Dannelly. Doctor, may I present my wife, Marjorie?"

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Portet," Dr. Dannelly said after a perceptible pause. "And, I must say, I'm really surprised to see you here in Costermansville."

"Well, Doctor, you know. The Book of Ruth. 'Whither thou goest, I will go,' et cetera."

"Do you really read the Bible, Mrs. Portet?"

"Yes, I do," Marjorie said. "I think of myself as a Christian, and I'm even working on bringing the heathen I married into the fold."

"Well, I must say, Mrs. Portet, you have your work cut out for you."

"Call me Marjorie, please," she said. "And won't you join us? Can we offer you a glass of champagne?"

"Thank you no," Dannelly said. "I'm a member of the Church of Latter-Day Saints. We don't use stimulants."

"I've heard that," Marjorie said. "I've always wondered how you square that with what Paul said: 'Take a little wine for thy stomach's sake and thine other infirmities.' "

"I'd love to get into that at length with you, Marjorie," Dr. Dannelly said, "but right now I really would like some water."

Thirty minutes later, just before he excused himself to take a shower before dinner, Dr. Dannelly assured Mrs. Portet there would be no problem whatever with her visa. If she would entrust her passport to him, he would take it to Leopoldville the following day, have a friend-the Minister of Foreign Affairs-have someone stamp it, and then have it flown back to her in Costermansville on the next Air Simba flight.

[ SIX ].

Office of the Deputy Director The Central Intelligence Agency Langley, Virginia 0845 17 March 1965 The Director was sitting on one of the Deputy Director's matching couches and Howard W. O'Connor, the Assistant Director for Administration, didn't see him when he walked into the office.

"You wanted to see me, Paul?" O'Connor asked.