It had taken four days, and fourteen houses and ranches, before the agent had finally brought them to something appropriate. Lourdes had not understood what was wrong with the others they had seen. Hennessey hadn't bothered to explain. The one in front of which Hennessey, McNamara, the realtor, the two engineers and Lourdes stood seemed close to fitting the bill. It was some eighteen or twenty miles east of Balboa City, on a promontory overlooking the ocean, a mansion of sorts, old and built of stone, with a high stone retaining wall fronting the highway to the south and east. It had the "haunted house" look that said it hadn't been occupied or properly cared for for some years.
"What do you think, Sergeant Major?"
McNamara's head leaned a bit to the side, contemplating. "Security potential is good, very good. We've got cliffs on t'ree sides. Hard for someone to get in directly. A little wire would make it even harder. T'en t'ere's t'e wall around it. T'at can be improved a bit, too; wire… broken glass… watchposts or security cameras… t'at sort of t'ing. I figure an easy one hundred and fifty meter clear zone inside t'e wall, twice t'at on t'e side facin' t'e road. It's t'e best we've seen so far. And, you know, sir, it's actually a perfect place to control t'e highway from t'e city to t'e interior, if we ever needed to. I'd like to see it from t'e air before you buy it t'ough."
"Good thought." Hennessey considered for a moment, then said, "Lourdes, please take the car and the sergeant major back to the city. Go to La Punta Airport. Rent an airplane or a helicopter, if you can, with a pilot. Then, Sergeant Major, I want you to check this place out from above. The agent can drive the rest of us back after we look over the inside. We'll meet you back at the hotel."
Restraining the impulse to salute-barely-McNamara contented himself with a nod and left. Lourdes turned and followed McNamara quietly as Hennessey and his engineers, Esterhazy and Clean, walked forward to inspect the mansion.
"Where do you know Patricio from, Sergeant Major?" Lourdes kept her eyes on the road as she and the CSM chatted.
"T'e old man? We go back a few years. Have kind of a mutual admiration society. He t'inks I'm about t'e best sergeant major he ever met." McNamara chuckled and flashed a smile brilliant in his homely black face. "And I am. I know he's about t'e best commander I ever met…at any rank."
"What makes him so special?" Besides that he's cute… and I don't think you care about that.
"If you were a soldier it would be easier to explain. I don't know how to explain it to a civvie."
"Try."
"He's a warrior; t'e real article, no fake. He's afraid of absolutely not'ing. A lot of people aren't afraid of deat', and neit'er is he. But it's rare not to fear even disgrace… and he don't. Why, when our brigade commander once told him to stop training to fight or get relieved… but never mind t'at. Long story. Sad one, too." McNamara sighed despondently.
"He wasn't always well liked in t'e army. As a matter of fact he was sometimes hated. Smart as hell; too smart for some. Too… aggressive. Also he's t'e best trainer of infantry, any soldiers really, t'at I've ever seen. I've never met anyone who even came close, and I've worked for t'e big boys. He can take a group of nice clean-cut kids and make t'em into fanatics in about six mont's. And he loves soldiers. We tend to reciprocate when we get a boss like t'at. After a few months' acquaintance troops'll die for him."
"I find it hard to believe that," Lourdes commented.
McNamara gave her a look that was half pitying.
Seeing the look, Lourdes said, "He told me that he wasn't a very nice man."
The sergeant major laughed aloud. "T'at's a crock. If you're one of his t'ere's no battle he won't fight for you; not'in' he won't do. Take me, for example. I was slowly dyin' from sheer lack of purpose. T'en he came about two t'ousand miles to find me and give me a reason to go on living, to make my last years good ones. No, he is a very nice man. Besides, you should see him some time, when t'e bullets are flying and the mortar rounds going crump. Eyes glowing from inside, I swear to it."
"And what are the two of you going to do?"
"I don't know all of t'e details yet. What I do know is t'at we're goin' to work to make an army for Balboa to help in t'is war… and to make it a good one. He's bringin' in anot'er eighteen or twenty people, specialists sort of, to help wit' t'e work."
Lourdes thought about that as she drove. A "good" army? My country has never had a "good" army. Whatever army we have had has typically been just an instrument of oppression, corruption, or-more usually-both. But those problems are out of my ability to influence in any case. Who knows, maybe here I might be able to do some good.
Hotel Julio Caesare, Ciudad Balboa
"Another drink, Top?"
McNamara thought it over briefly. "No, sir, enough for me already." He refrained from saying, "enough for you, too." Not his place, so the sergeant major felt. Besides, Patrick Hennessey drunk is still a better commander than ninety-nine out of one hundred are stone sober. Even so, Hennessey sober is better than Hennessey drunk. Mac's tone betrayed his thoughts.
Hennessey understood the tone. He even agreed. Sometimes he worried that the alcohol was becoming too much of a crutch. He signaled the waitress for one more, not a double this time. Contented, McNamara let it pass.
Over drinks in the hotel's bar, the sergeant major, Hennessey, and the engineers discussed the potential, and potential liabilities, of the latest house they had inspected. The agent had said FSD 1,435,000 was the asking price. Hennessey had shamelessly whittled him down to $1,185,000, even so, but still without firmly committing to buying the place. He wasn't entirely sure. The house was a little run down, despite its setting and architecture.
"The place needs work, Sergeant Major: painting and floor refinishing inside, some new windows, some plumbing and electrical work… phones, computer links."
Esterhazy interrupted, "More zan zat. Ve'll have to pour concrete to make a basement floor and finish ze valls if ve're going to get any use out of ze basement. Zat's important, nicht wahr?"
Hennessey and the engineers had discussed probable interior setups on their inspection. The house, though huge, would be hard pressed to hold everyone and all the needed offices and other spaces. Once the wives arrived with the children…?
"But it can be done," insisted Clean, in a properly middle-class Anglian accent. "Take some bloody time, though."
"T'at's not a problem, sir," Mac added. "When t'e troops get here, I'll put 'em to work so you wouldn't recognize t'e place."
Hennessey shook his head. "No. I appreciate the money saved, Sergeant Major, but I wanted the place to be ready for them when they arrive. First impressions and all. Then, too, some of the troops aren't going to be staying in the headquarters indefinitely. When the married men's wives arrive, those men will be moving out. It wouldn't be like they were doing the work for themselves."
"Sir, don't be dumb about t'is. You're payin' t'em yourself. T'at makes it all right to have t'em do work for you. Besides, what t'ey make t'emselves? T'at t'ey'll appreciate."
"Okay. Conceded. But I need some of the rooms ready as soon as possible anyway. Okay," he said, making a final decision, "we'll take the place; finish off the individual areas later. The common areas, my quarters and yours, Lourdes' and Gary's, and the basement floor I need done now. Gary, it's your project, yours and Lourdes'. We'll also need a domestic staff, one or two cooks, a housekeeper. I've got one of my in-laws looking for some suitable women. Those, and a groundskeeper."
The CSM started to say that the troops incoming could take care of that too when Hennessey cut him off. "Sergeant Major, when they get here I've got too much for them to do for them to be polishing brass. And you'll have too much to do yourself to spend a great deal of time supervising them polishing brass. Besides, you know you hate that shit."