When they had walked into the suite after their dinner at McGuire’s, McNab had caught Woods’s eye and said, “Midnight.” Colonel Woods had nodded his understanding.
One thing all the participants had learned tonight was that General McNab did not like to be interrupted. Everybody but Woods and Castillo therefore waited for the explosion when Woods announced the time.
Instead, McNab turned to Svetlana and smiled. “As your boyfriend—I would say ‘gentleman friend,’ Susan, but that would not be accurate—may have told you, at the stroke of midnight I change from being a kindly friend of man and mentor to the world into an ogre.”
“Oh, I can’t believe that,” Svetlana said.
This earned her another smile.
She had become one of the four people in the room who could talk back to McNab—even interrupt him—without triggering a scathing response, the others being her brother and Phineas DeWitt.
“We’ll resume at oh-nine-hundred,” McNab then announced. “Brief recapitulation: As is often the case, our major problem is ignorance. We don’t know exactly what the evil Iranians and their Russian mentors are cooking up for us in the Congo—only that they’re doing it.
“We won’t even know precisely what to look for until Colonel . . .” He stopped and looked at Woods.
“Hamilton, sir. Colonel J. Porter Hamilton,” Woods furnished.
“. . . J. Porter Hamilton of the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute at Fort Dietrich arrives . . .” He looked at Woods again.
“At oh-eight-fifteen. Delta flight 616 from Atlanta,” Woods furnished.
“. . . and having been met by . . .”
“Colonel Richardson, sir.”
“. . . comes here to share with us what the CG of Fort Dietrich says is Colonel Hamilton’s encyclopedic knowledge of the subject.
“Meanwhile, rushing ahead blindly in our overwhelming ignorance, it is tentatively planned for our people to enter the Democratic Republic of the Congo on the ground via Rwanda, as Phineas tells us that’s our only option except by HALO insertion, and that’s not much of an option, because we wouldn’t know where to drop them, which would leave us with between twelve and twenty-four of our people in the middle of we-know-not-where and without wheels.
“Our people being defined as ‘as black as possible’ Delta Force operators to be selected by Mr. Leverette, who will go to Bragg as quickly and as quietly as possible to do so.
“And, speaking of black people, inasmuch as Brother Britton feels that (a) those he insists on calling the Afro-American Lunatics may be in possession of useful information and (b) that he may able to obtain it from them, we have to get him—”
“And his lovely wife,” Sandra interjected.
McNab looked irritated at the interruption but did not flare up.
“—and his lovely wife to Philadelphia as soon as possible, and quietly, which may be difficult, as he is what is known as a ‘person of interest’ to the Secret Service.
“Presuming all this can somehow be accomplished, our people will be transported to . . .” He looked to Castillo.
“Gregoire Kayibanda International in Rwanda, or Bujumbura International in Burundi,” Castillo furnished.
“Depending on which looks like the better place to Phineas, who will reconnoiter both on the ground, having entered both countries surreptitiously from Uganda, presuming he can persuade the Ugandan embassy in Washington to give him a visa. A little cash may help in this regard.
“Phineas, equipped with large amounts of currency, will also purchase a fleet of vehicles that will be waiting for our people at either . . .”
“Bujumbura International or Gregoire Kayibanda,” Castillo furnished again.
“. . . when they arrive aboard our 727 . . .”
“Or are HALO’d in,” Leverette said.
“Thank you, Uncle Remus. May I continue?”
“Sorry, sir.”
“The vehicles will be waiting for our people when we somehow get them in, either in our 727—dressed in the color scheme of some ragtag African freight hauler, to be determined by Colonel Jake Torine—or, as Uncle Remus was so kind to point out, are HALO’d in.
“Once they have the vehicles, Phineas will bribe their way across the bridge at the southern end of Lake Kivu, from which they will proceed up Congo National Route Three.
“How far they proceed up Route Three depends on our finding out just where the laboratory is. It is to be hoped that Brother Britton, after eluding his former associates in the Secret Service, will be able to get from the AALs at least a hint about the location of the lab.
“Once that little detail is out of the way and we can tell them where to go, they will infiltrate the plant area in search of whatever . . .” He looked at Colonel Woods.
“Colonel J. Porter Hamilton.”
“. . . Colonel J. Porter Hamilton—why does someone ashamed of his first name worry me?—tells them to look for. Once they have done that, they will bring whatever it is they have found—and themselves—out of the Congo to a yet-to-be-determined location by means yet to be determined.
“Once the matériel and our people are safely aboard our Tanzanian Air Freight and Gorilla Transport 727 and en route to the U.S. of A., Colonel Castillo will have to abandon his search for interesting seashells on the sandy beaches of Cozumel, Mexico, or whatever else he’s doing with Tom and Susan down there, and return to the United States to lay evidence before the President of what the evil Iranians and the Russians are really doing on what CIA intel heretofore labeled a fish farm.”
“Sir,” Castillo said, “there is really no reason I couldn’t go as far as Uganda with DeWitt, and run the op from there.”
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Colonel, but since you insist on muddying the waters: Yes, there is. The primary reason, of course, is that I say you can’t.”
“Ex cathedra?” Svetlana said.
“I’ll just bet among the many other secrets our Carlos has shared with you, my dear young woman, is that I don’t like to be interrupted.”
“No, he never said a word.”
McNab looked at Delchamps. “Tell me, Edgar, why do I think those two deserve each other?”
“Because at the stroke of midnight, you change from being a kindly friend of man and mentor of the world into an ogre, and it’s already five past the witching hour?”
“True,” McNab said. “Charley, if that ‘locate but do not detain’ that the FBI has out on you changes, as I suspect it might, to ‘put him in the bag,’ this whole op goes out the window. I’m surprised you can’t figure that out all by yourself.
“Second, or thirdly, or whatever, you are going to have to keep in touch with Edgar and Darby so that the guy who runs your newspapers and that Hungarian character really give them—us—everything they’ve got on the Germans sending matériel down there. The more of that you can lay before the President, the better.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The more astute of you may have noticed we have a few little problems as yet to be resolved. One of these is how do we get Charley and Susan—and, of course, her brother as chaperone—down to sunny Cozumel, since I am offering ten-to-one that some FBI agent is at this minute at the Pensacola airport watching the Gulfstream to see if he shows up. And I don’t think we can count on them not knowing who Karl Gossinger is, either.”
He exhaled audibly.
“But . . . this is enough for tonight. Try to have some useful suggestions in the morning.”
He banged his fist on the table.
“Meeting adjourned. Go in peace.”