Max got to him first and licked his face as he was trying to get up. Mr. Danton recorded for posterity Max licking his master's face as he lay on the ramp. Then Sweaty pulled Castillo to his feet, and he moved as fast as he could toward the c.o.c.kpit. Max chased after him.

When Castillo got to the c.o.c.kpit, he saw that Torine had lined up the airplane on the runway. He dropped into the right seat and quickly clamped on a headset.

"Closing the ramp," Torine's voice came matter-of-factly over the earphones. "Throttles to takeoff power."

The Tu-934A began to move.

"Call out airspeed for me, First Officer, if you'd be so kind," Torine said.

Castillo found the airspeed indicator in the split second when the needle jumped off the peg and pointed to forty. The landing gear began rumbling.

That's kilometers. The pilots told us rotation speed was one-fifty.

That's not quite a hundred knots.

You can rotate this great big sonofab.i.t.c.h at a hundred knots?

Is that what you call misinformation?

Was that Russian pilot lying to us?

"Seventy," Castillo called out. "That's klicks, Jake.

"Ninety ...

"One-ten . . .

"One-thirty . . .

"One-fifty."

"Rotating," Torine said calmly.

A moment later, the rumble of the landing gear died.

"One-ninety ...

"Two-ten."

"Get the gear up, First Officer. It's that lever with the wheel on top."

Castillo found the lever and moved it.

"Gear coming up . . .

"Gear up.

"Jesus! Two-eighty."

"Now let's see how it climbs," Torine said, as if to himself.

Castillo felt himself being pressed hard against the cushions of his seat.

Torine said, "No wonder the agency is willing to pay all that money-what was it, one hundred twenty-five million?-for one of these. This is one h.e.l.l of an airplane, First Officer."

Castillo had a very clear mental image of Sweaty-and maybe everybody else in the fuselage-all in a pile of broken bones against the closed ramp.

The pressure on his back against his seat suddenly stopped. Jake had leveled off.

"Put your G.o.dd.a.m.n harness on," Torine ordered.

As soon as he saw that Castillo had done so, Jake dove for the surface of the water.

Castillo now had a very clear image of everybody sliding forward in the fuselage to end in a pile of broken bones against the c.o.c.kpit door.

Torine read his mind.

"Now take the harness off, First Officer," he ordered, "and go back and see how our pa.s.sengers are enjoying the flight."

Castillo found all the pa.s.sengers except two were in their seats. Dmitri Berezovsky was standing beside one of the blue plastic beer barrels, examining it thoughtfully. Sweaty was on her knees beside General Yakov Sirinov, in the process of administering to him what Castillo presumed was the morphine she had promised.

Castillo went back to the c.o.c.kpit and strapped himself in.

The airspeed and altimeter dials indicated that they were flying at eight hundred and forty kilometers per hour-or about five hundred knots-at a hundred meters-or five hundred feet-above the Caribbean Sea.

Fuel consumption at that speed and alt.i.tude would be horrendous, and there was of course the danger that they would go into the drink.

But, on the other hand, they didn't have that far to go, and at five hundred feet they wouldn't be a blip on anybody's radar screen.

"You want to take it, Charley, while I get my laptop?"

"I'll get your laptop. You drive," Castillo replied.

[THREE].

Laguna el Guaje Coahuila, Mexico 0940 13 February 2007

Jake Torine carefully nosed the Tu-934A into the cave, and turned to Charley Castillo.

"I would tell you to shut it down, First Officer, but I'm afraid you'd break something."

"After that hard landing, I expect a lot of it would break easily," Castillo replied.

"That was a greaser and you know it. And did you notice the thrust reversers?"

Castillo had had another vision of everybody in the fuselage slamming into the c.o.c.kpit wall when he'd activated the thrust reverser controls. The Tu-934A had slowed as if it had caught the cable on the deck of an aircraft carrier.

"I noticed," he said.

"The agency will be getting a h.e.l.l of a bargain when the LCBF Corporation sells this to them for a hundred and twenty-five million," Torine said. "Have you considered asking for more?"

"Don't be greedy, Jake," Castillo said. "Where's the ramp lever?"

General Allan Naylor, Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab, Lieutenant Colonel (Designate) Allan Naylor, Jr., Uncle Remus Leverette, Vic D'Allessando, Lester Bradley, Frank Lammelle (now wearing shoes and socks, and no plastic handcuffs), Aloysius F. Casey, and a burly man in a business suit were all standing at the foot of the ramp.

Max raced down the ramp, barked h.e.l.lo, and headed for the landing gear.

Salutes were exchanged, as a Pavlovian reaction. Even the burly man in the business suit saluted. With his left hand.

What the h.e.l.l is that? Who's that guy? Castillo wondered. Castillo wondered.

He asked, "So, what's happened?"

There had been radio silence during the flight from the island. That had been Castillo's decision. Once everybody was airborne, they were on their own. They could neither help-nor be helped by-anyone else. That being the case, there was nothing to talk about.

"What else has happened? About what?" General McNab asked innocently, and then took pity on him. "All aircraft having been recovered-including one Mexican UH-60 flown by an officer whose a.s.s I will have just as soon as I can get my hands on him-the USS Bataan Bataan is proceeding at best speed consistent with available fuel to Norfolk." is proceeding at best speed consistent with available fuel to Norfolk."

Castillo smiled. "Then it looks like we got away with it."

"G.o.d answered our prayers," Sweaty said.

"You have the Congo-X?" General Naylor asked.

"Yes, sir. And General Sirinov."

"You got away with Phase One, Colonel," General Naylor said. "The military part. Phase Two, the political part, now begins. I suspect that will be more difficult, and our chances of success less in Phase Two."

Castillo looked at Lammelle.

"Hey, Frank, I see they turned you loose. More or less. How the h.e.l.l are you? And what do you think of this airplane the agency is about to buy?"

"Leave him alone, Charley," McNab said.

"Congratulations, Charley," Lammelle said. "That was-"

"What did you do, Frank, change sides?" Castillo said. "The last I heard, you were going to shoot me with your air pistol and load me on an Aeroflot flight to Moscow."

"I told you to leave him alone, Charley!" McNab said firmly.

"Yes, sir."

"Dennis!" General Naylor said.

The man in the business suit took a step forward, came to attention, and barked, "Sir!"

"Colonel, this is Master Sergeant Dennis. He is Colonel Hamilton's princ.i.p.al a.s.sistant. He will tell you what he wants done with the Congo-X."

Castillo took a closer look at Master Sergeant Dennis.

No wonder he salutes with his left hand-he doesn't have a right arm.

"What do you need, Sergeant?" Castillo asked.

"Sir, Colonel Hamilton sends his best regards."

"Thank you."

"Sir, where is the Congo-X?"

Castillo gestured up the ramp. "In there. Behind that front-loader, or forklift, whatever it is. There are three barrels of it."

"Is there any more of it, Colonel?" General Naylor asked. "Were you able to determine that?"

"According to General Sirinov, sir, that's all of it. I believe him."

"He's telling the truth," Sweaty said.

General Naylor looked at her. "How do you know that?"

"Because he knows that if I find out he's lying," Sweaty said, "he will die a very slow and painful death. This time with no morphine."

"This time?" General Naylor asked.

"Colonel Alekseeva shot General Sirinov in the foot," Castillo said. "And later took pity on him and gave him a shot of morphine."

"She was aiming for his foot, right?" McNab asked. "I mean, that wasn't a near miss or anything like that?"

"No, sir. She was aiming for his foot."

"I knew she was my kind of girl," McNab said.

Naylor glared at him.

"Where is General Sirinov?" Naylor asked.

"Plastic-cuffed to the first barrel behind the c.o.c.kpit," Castillo said.

"Allan, get in there, free the general, and see what attention he needs," Naylor said.