“So I would have thought. When I went to bed tonight, I thought it had been agreed between us that we would get some rest tonight. Not only was it a long flight, but we have passed through—I don’t know precisely how many but a number of time zones. . . .”
“Six, sir,” Castillo furnished.
“And the natural clock of the body has been disturbed. Rest obviously was called for. Tomorrow morning, I thought it was agreed, when fresh from our rest, we would plan our incursion of the Congo.”
“I awoke about fifteen minutes ago, Castillo. I had trouble sleeping, and with the thought that perhaps Mr. Leverette and/or Mr. DeWitt were having the same problem, I decided I would see if they did, and if so, we could perhaps get a jump on our morning planning session.”
“Uh-oh,” Jack Davidson said.
“What was that, Castillo?”
“Nothing, sir. One of my men came in the room.”
“So I started out of my room. I was startled by a man dressed in the local clothing—or lack of it—sitting directly in a chair across from my door. He had in his lap an Uzi—the full-size one, not the Mini Uzi Mr. D’Allessando was kind enough to loan me.
“He addressed me in English, by rank. He said, in effect, ‘Is there something I can do for you, Colonel?’ to which I replied, ‘What are you doing outside my door?’ to which he replied, ‘Uncle Remus said we should sit on you, sir.’
“By then I realized the man was one of our shooters, so I asked him to direct me to Mr. Leverette’s room. He replied, ‘I can, Colonel, but Uncle Remus is not in his room.’” Colonel Hamilton paused. “And what is that all about, Castillo? Everyone calls him ‘Uncle Remus.’ Why do they do that?”
“Only his friends, sir, are permitted to call him that.”
“I asked you why they do that. You are aware of the inference, the implication, I presume?”
“Yes, sir. Well, sir, the best answer I’ve ever been able to come up with is that the Uncle Remus character in the books was a kindly old gentleman who was always telling stories, and Mr. Leverette seems to fit that description.”
“Be that as it may, Castillo, permitting your subordinates, particularly your subordinate enlisted men, to call you by the name of a fictional character in a series of children’s books that some think—and here you may take my point—are racist in tone is pretty odd behavior for a chief warrant officer of the highest grade, wouldn’t you agree, Colonel Castillo—”
Castillo caught himself smiling. “I honestly never gave it much thought, sir. I will look into it—”
“It comes perilously close to conduct unbefitting an officer and a gentleman, Castillo, and you know it.”
“I must respectfully disagree, sir. Mr. Leverette is one of the finest officers with whom I have ever served.”
“Well, let me tell you what he’s done.”
Castillo glanced at Davidson, who was grimacing.
“Yes, sir.”
“I asked the shooter with the Uzi,” Hamilton went on, “ ‘If Mr. Leverette isn’t in his room, where is he?’
“To which he replied, ‘He and Phineas went over the fence, Colonel.’ Then he handed me a letter and said, ‘Uncle Remus instructed me to give you this in the morning, Colonel. But I guess it’s okay to give it to you now.’ ”
“A letter, sir? What did it say?”
“I will read it to you,” Colonel Hamilton said. “Quote. Dear Colonel Hamilton. Phineas and I decided it would be a good idea if we conducted a preliminary reconnaissance of the border area prior to the planning of the incursion. Since you were so tired, and we felt sure you would agree this was a wise step, we didn’t wake you. We will return in forty-eight hours. Respectfully, Colin Leverette CWO5 USA. End quote. Well, what about that, Castillo?”
“What about what, sir?”
“If that isn’t direct and willful disobedience of orders, what is it?”
“Sir, did you order Mr. Leverette and Mr. DeWitt not to conduct a reconnaissance of the border area?”
“I thought it was understood. I told you that.”
“Well, to judge from Mr. Leverette’s letter, sir, I’d have to say the understanding wasn’t unequivocally clear. He would never disobey an order, sir”—Unless, at the time, Colin thought it was the right thing to do—“Sir, why don’t you have a word with Mr. Leverette when he and Mr. DeWitt return?”
“You can take that to the bank, Castillo,” Colonel Hamilton said. “I’ll give the both of them a dressing-down they’ll remember the rest of their lives.”
Probably more like two seconds.
Uncle Remus and Phineas DeWitt have been dressed down by Bruce J. McNab, and with all possible respect, Colonel Hamilton, sir, you just ain’t in the same ball club.
“Sir, I realize I shouldn’t say this, but I respectfully suggest you not be too hard on either of them. They mean well.”
“I will contact you on their return, Castillo.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Colonel J. Porter Hamilton. Please terminate the communication link.”
“Anything else I can do for you, Colonel?” the sultry voice asked suggestively.
“Uh, no,” Hamilton replied somewhat uneasily, then in a stuffy tone added, “That will be all, thank you.”
Castillo looked at Davidson, who said: “Well, Colonel Castillo, sir, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, but I would not be surprised if Colonel Hamilton ignores you vis-à-vis not being too hard on Uncle Remus and Phineas. He will lecture them both severely and probably reduce them both to tears. But nice try.”
[FIVE]
0200 12 January 2006
“Otto Görner for Colonel Castillo, Data Transmission Not Encrypted,” the sultry voice of the AFC announced.
Davidson pushed the VOICE TRANSMIT button.
“John Davidson. Colonel Castillo available in five minutes.”
“Hold one, Sergeant Davidson,” the voice said, then twenty seconds later added: “Not Encrypted Data Transmission begins. Pass to Colonel Castillo when available.”
Davidson hadn’t even reached the printer when it started to whir and the voice—which, or who, Davidson very privately had begun to think of as “Sexy Susan”—announced: “Not Encrypted Data Transmission complete.”
Three seconds later a hard copy of the data came out of the printer.
Davidson read it, then began to push keys on the printer keyboard.
The printer monitor showed what he’d typed: TRANSLATE GERMAN TO ENGLISH DRAFT.
The translation began to appear on the printer monitor.
Davidson studied it, made a few minor corrections—the AFC translator was good but not perfect—then typed, FILE AS GÖRNER 0203 12 JAN PRINT 3 COPIES.”
The printer began to spit out the three copies.
Davidson stapled the German original and the translation together, then said, “Sorry, Casanova, duty calls,” and walked out of the library.
Svetlana answered his knock in a few seconds.
“He’s asleep,” she said.
Davidson held out the papers.
“Sweaty, I think he’d want to see this.”
She took them from him, stepped into the corridor where there was enough light to read, then scanned both versions, and sighed. “Dmitri was afraid of something like this would happen. I will wake Carlos.”
Davidson went back to the library.
Castillo, wearing his West Point bathrobe, came in almost immediately behind him.
“Goddamn that Edgar Delchamps!”
“You’re not really surprised, are you, Charley?”
“Pissed is the word that comes to mind. At Delchamps, and at me for not seeing this coming.”