McNab was silent for a moment, visibly thinking.

"You want to take two radios and operators with you, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Al?" McNab said to Captain Walsh.

"Sir, they'll be at Base Ops by the time we get back over there," Captain Walsh replied.

"The best we could do about the radio for Buenos Aires is to get the operator on the 2310 American Airlines flight out of Miami tonight. That'll put him there at 0620 their time tomorrow morning. The radio itself posed a problem. I didn't want to send it through their customs, and not only because I wasn't sure we could get it through their customs, so I called Secretary Cohen, when she was still on Air Force One on her way back to Washington. She promised to have someone in Miami slap the appropriate diplomatic stickers on it to whisk it through customs unopened-it's addressed to the amba.s.sador-but that may not go as smoothly as we like. I don't have a lot of faith in the State Department."

"Again, when I get to Washington, I'll call down there and give the amba.s.sador a heads-up that it's coming."

"He's all right? He knows what you're up to, and won't leak it?"

"He's first cla.s.s, and Alex Darby-remember him?"

"The CIA station chief in Zaranj?"

Castillo nodded. "He's down there. I didn't remember him, but he remembered me. He's a good man. He'll know how to get the radio through customs and what to do with it."

"Is there anybody else you can use down there if you need shooters?" McNab asked, and then, when he saw the surprised look on Castillo's face, went on. "We can get people in there, Charley, black, but if you need them in a hurry, we'll have to infiltrate them by air. That means either with our C-22 suitably decked out as an Air Paraguay or something 727-and that's a long long haul for that airplane-or with a Globemaster III, which has the range, but would be harder to hide." haul for that airplane-or with a Globemaster III, which has the range, but would be harder to hide."

"I haven't even thought of shooters down there," Castillo confessed. "I don't see where I'm going to need them. But if something came up, yeah, there's people I could use. There's a Secret Service guy, and a DEA agent. In a pinch, I could probably use some of the Marine guards."

"To play it safe, what if I send another crate down there under diplomatic cover? Weapons, night-vision goggles, some flash-bangs, et cetera? Enough for, say, six shooters?"

"Yes, sir. That would be a very good idea. I'm really embarra.s.sed I didn't think about that."

"Even though you studied at the feet of the master, Charley, the master didn't really expect you to be perfect," McNab said.

"Colonel," Castillo asked, turning to Torine, "how would the weight of what the general's talking about affect our cross-the-drink flight?"

Torine considered the question carefully.

"That's a crate weighing about, ballpark, what? Three hundred pounds?"

"The stuff is in the crate in two duffels," Captain Walsh furnished. "Total weight three hundred twenty pounds. Not much ammunition; we figured you could get some there. Knock off twenty pounds for the crate, we're right at three hundred."

"Another three hundred pounds gross isn't going to change much, Charley," Torine said.

"What about somebody getting curious about what's on the Lear?"

"Customs very seldom checks what a plane is carrying until you try to get it off the plane," Torine replied.

"You want to take the goodies with you now?" McNab asked.

"No, sir. I was thinking about it, but I don't think it would be a good idea. I don't think the risk of getting caught with half a dozen Car 4s is worth it."

"Okay, so that goes diplomatic," McNab said. "Anything else?"

"No, sir. Not that I can think of."

"Okay," McNab said. "That's the way we'll do it." He turned to Captain Walsh. "Go fetch the mess sergeant."

The mess sergeant appeared almost immediately.

McNab stood up. Everybody followed suit.

"Yes, sir?" the sergeant said, trying not to appear nervous. "Was everything all right, sir?"

"You look like you've been around the Army awhile. . . ." McNab began.

"Yes, sir. I'm working on sixteen years."

"I want a straight answer. Do you like it better with all these civilians doing what GI cooks and KPs used to do? Or do you miss the old days?"

"General, I really think the food is better now. But I sometimes wish I could eat some of these civilians a new a.s.shole, like I could with cooks and KPs in the old Army."

"Sergeant, we all yearn for the old Army," McNab said. "But that was a first-cla.s.s breakfast you just served us, and you can take pride in it."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Okay," McNab said, offered the sergeant his hand, and then turned to the others. "Okay, you clowns, get your a.s.ses out of low gear and get in the G.o.dd.a.m.n truck!" He turned back to the mess sergeant. "Oh, I really miss the old Army!"

The mess sergeant-now known as the dining facility supervisor-smiled broadly and followed them out of the dining facility.

[THREE].

Near Richmond, Virginia 0840 26 July 2005 "Washington Center," Fernando Lopez-who was now in the right seat-said into his throat microphone. "Lear Five-Zero-Seven-Five for direct Reagan National. We have special clearance Six-Dash-A-Dash-Two-Seven. Estimate Reagan in one zero minutes."

"Lear Zero-Seven-Five, you are cleared to Reagan Airport. Begin descent to five thousand feet at this time. Contact Reagan approach control on 122.7 at this time."

"Thank you, Washington Center," Fernando said, and switched frequencies. "Reagan approach control, Lear Five-Zero-Seven-Five."

"Zero-Seven-Five, Reagan. We have you on radar. Maintain current heading, airspeed, and rate of descent. Report when at five thousand feet."

"Reagan, Zero-Seven-Five understands maintain airspeed, heading, and rate of descent, reporting when at five thousand."

Fernando turned to Torine, who was in the pilot's seat-Castillo was now kneeling between them-and announced, "Now that, gentlemen, is the way a real pilot does it. He calls somebody important in Washington and makes sure he has a landing clearance before he takes off, thus ensuring-"

"Lear Zero-Seven-Five, Reagan approach control."

"What now?" Fernando wondered aloud.

"We have a saying in the Air Force, Fernando," Torine said. "Counteth not thy chickens until the eggs hatcheth."

"Reagan, Zero-Seven-Five," Fernando replied after keying the TRANSMIT b.u.t.ton.

"Zero-Seven-Five, in-flight advisory. Be advised that U.S. Air Force C-37A Tail Number Zero-Four-Seven- that's a Gulfstream-entered United States airs.p.a.ce at one five past the hour."

Castillo had a sudden mental image of Special Agent Schneider wrapped in white sheets and bandages lying on the hospital configuration bed in the Gulfstream. His throat was suddenly tight and his eyes watered. He turned so that no one would see.

"Reagan," Fernando said. "Zero-Seven-Five acknowledges in-flight advisory. Furthermore, Zero-Seven-Five is at five thousand. I have the field in sight."

"Lear Zero-Seven-Five, change to Reagan tower, 119.1, at this time."

"Lear Zero-Seven-Five, roger."

Fernando switched frequencies. "Reagan tower, Lear Zero-Seven-Five, over."

"Reagan National clears Lear Zero-Seven-Five as number two to land, after the Delta 737 on Final."

XIV.

[ONE].

Office of the Secretary Department of Homeland Security Nebraska Avenue Complex Washington, D.C. 0925 26 July 2005

Major H. Richard Miller, Jr., was sitting behind Major C. G. Castillo's desk when Castillo, Torine, and Lopez walked in. Miller was wearing civilian clothing, a single-breasted, nearly black suit. His left leg was encased in a thick white cast from his toes to well past his knee. His toes peeked out the bottom of the cast, which was resting on the desk.

"Forgive me for not rising," Miller said. "I honestly try to be humble, but it is very difficult for someone of my accomplishments."

Castillo shook his head. "How's the leg?"

"Let me ask you a question first," Miller said. "Dare I hope to have the honor of serving in some humble capacity within the Office of Organizational a.n.a.lysis?"

"Why not?" Castillo replied.

"In that case, Chief," Miller said, "how does it look? As if I am about to run the four-hundred-meter hurdles?"

"What we should do, Colonel," Castillo said to Torine, "is hold him down and paint those ugly toenails flaming red, and then listen to him trying to explain that he really likes girls."

"Speaking of the gentle s.e.x," Miller said, "Jack Britton called from MacDill about ten minutes ago. He said the Gulfstream was about to take off for Philadelphia about five minutes ago. Quote, Betty is resting comfortably, and the pilot estimates Philadelphia at eleven-thirty, end quote."

Miller saw Castillo's face, and when he spoke again, his tone of voice was that of a concerned friend. "I'm really sorry about that, Charley."

Castillo nodded.

"I told Tom McGuire," Miller went on, "and he's arranging for the aircraft to be met by a suitable Secret Service delegation."

Castillo nodded again, then asked, "How'd you hear about the Office of Organizational a.n.a.lysis?"

"Secretary Hall showed it to me and Mrs. Forbison when we came in this morning," Miller said, then looked at Torine and added, "He said you'd been drafted, Colonel . . ."

"Given temporary duty, actually," Torine said.

". . . but he didn't say anything about you, Fernando.

How much about Charley's new exalted status do you know?"

"Consider him in. All the way," Castillo ordered.

"Can you do that?" Miller asked.

"There's a story that when General Donovan started the OSS-before he was General Donovan, when he was a civilian they called him 'colonel' because he'd been one in the First World War-he was paid a dollar a year. So hand Fernando a dollar and consider him on the payroll. I think I can do that."

"According to Hall, you can do just about anything you want to," Miller said. "So that makes"-he counted on his fingers-"three of us. You, the Texan, and me. Anybody else?"

Castillo turned to Torine and said, "We were talking about shooters in Argentina with General McNab. Jack Britton would make a good one."

Torine nodded his agreement.

"Where's Joel?"

"With Hall at the White House."

"Tom McGuire?"

"On his way here from Langley with your . . . modified modified . . . German pa.s.sport. He also has your new American pa.s.sport." . . . German pa.s.sport. He also has your new American pa.s.sport."

"When he gets here, I'll ask him if . . ." He stopped as Mrs. Agnes Forbison walked into the room.

The somewhat plump executive a.s.sistant to the secretary of Homeland Security walked up to Castillo and put her arms around him.

"I'm so sorry about Betty Schneider," she said. "Did d.i.c.k tell you she's on the way to Philadelphia?"

"Just now."

"What were you going to ask the boss?" she asked, as she turned to smile at Torine and Fernando.

"I'm going to ask Tom Tom if I can have Jack Britton. I'd like to send him back to Buenos Aires as soon as possible." if I can have Jack Britton. I'd like to send him back to Buenos Aires as soon as possible."

"You mean for the Office of Organizational a.n.a.lysis?"

Castillo nodded.

"If you ask Tom, he will ask Joel. Joel will probably say yes, but if he doesn't, you'll go to the boss, who I know will give him to you. So consider it done."

"Okay, that's four," Miller said.