"So what we're saying, Charley, is that you will get a location on the 727 from his guy before the NSA and the CIA finish making sure they've found it. Presuming they do find it."
Castillo nodded.
"You trust your guy, Charley?"
Castillo nodded again and said, "Yes, sir."
"During those two hours, Gray Fox will be standing around with its thumb up its ass," McNab said.
"I'm not sure I know where you're going with this, General," Castillo said.
"I'm a little disappointed this hasn't occurred to you," McNab said. "But let's take it from the top. We can assume that when we get a firm fix on the 727, we'll be ordered to neutralize it."
"Yes, sir."
"How would you do that?"
Jesus Christ, why lay this on me? You're the guy who runs Gray Fox.
"What I thought you would do, sir, would be send a Gray Fox team-with Little Birds*^ (2) -to wherever it is and neutralize it. Knock out the gear, maybe, or blow it up."
"And when would I do that?"
"As soon as you got the word, sir."
"And what's the sequence of events? You should have thought about this, Charley. You're about to be Lieutenant Colonel Castillo. You're supposed to think ahead. Give me the sequence."
"I confirm the location, notify Secretary Hall-and you, to give you a heads-up-Hall tells the president and/or the secretary of defense, who tell CentCom to lay on the operation. And they give you the order."
"And then," McNab picked it up, "conferring with his staff to make sure everybody agrees on what should be done, General Naylor orders the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment at Fort Campbell to prepare half a dozen Little Birds, say, four MH-6Hs and two AH-6Js-we're not going to have to fight our way onto the airfield, but it never hurts to have some airborne weaponry available. And then CentCom orders the Seventeenth Airlift Squadron to send a Globemaster to Fort Campbell to pick up the Little Birds and bring them here so we can load the Gray Fox people:"
Now I know where you're going. And you're right, I should have thought about this.
"All of which is going to take time," Castillo offered.
"Yes, it will, Charley. You and I have been down that road together too many times before."
McNab let that sink in.
"Apropos of nothing whatever, Mr. Castillo, simply to place the facts before you, there are AH-6Js and MH-6Hs at the Special Warfare Center, for training purposes. There are thirty-odd special operators-most of them Gray Fox-eating their breakfast off trays inside the Globemaster that just brought them home from Morocco. By now, the C-17 III should be refueled:"
"You think I should ask General Naylor," Castillo said.
"Charley, I know you love him and I do, too, but Allan Naylor is not a special operator. He likes to-I guess has to-do things by the book."
"What are you thinking? Mount them up and send them to Hurlburt?"
Hurlburt Field, in the Florida panhandle near the Gulf Coast beach resort of Destin, is the home of the USAF Special Operations Command.
McNab nodded.
"You can get to anywhere in South or Central America from Hurlburt a lot faster than you can from here. Or Fort Campbell."
"Without asking General Naylor?"
"Without asking anybody," McNab said. "If the special assistant to the secretary of homeland security-sent here, according to National Security Advisor Dr. Cohen, at trie personal order or the president-were to suggest to me that prepositioning a Gray Fox team at Hurlburt-from which it could easily be stood down-was a good idea, I think I'd have to go along."
Castillo didn't say anything for a long moment.
"That's a hell of a decision for a major to make," he said, finally. "When he finds out-and he will-Naylor is going to be furious."
"Yeah, he will," McNab agreed. "With both of us." He paused and then went on: "What separates really good officers from all the others, Charley, is their willingness to order done what they know should be done and fuck the consequences. Your call, Charley."
After a moment's pause, Castillo said, "Do it."
McNab nodded.
"Anything else you need here?"
"I'd like a C-22 pilot to come with me. I need an expert."
McNab nodded again, went to the door, opened it, and called, "Colonel Torine, will you come in here, please?"
Torine came into the office and closed the door.
"I think it would be a good idea if you went to sunny Cozumel with Charley. He needs a C-22 expert."
"From the look on his face, I don't think he thinks that's such a good idea," Torine said.
"Sir, with all respect, you're a coloneclass="underline" "
"Who's an old Air Commando, which will be handy when you're dealing with the friendly folks at Hurlburt," McNab said.
": and I'm a major," Castillo finished.
"An old special operator," McNab said, evenly, "knows the guy in charge is the guy in charge."
"I don't see rank as a problem," Colonel Torine agreed. "You're the guy in charge."
"You've got civvies in your bag, right?" McNab asked. Torine nodded. "You better send somebody for it. The sooner you get on your way to Cozumel, the better."
"I already sent for it; from what you told me about the worst aide-decamp in the Army, I didn't think I'd be going back to Charleston anytime soon."
"Okay, that's it," McNab said. "You two remember to duck." He walked to the office door. "Will you come in now, please, gentlemen?"
As they walked up to the Lear, Fernando asked, "Would you like to ride in the right seat, Colonel?"
"I was hoping you'd ask," Colonel Torine said.
Four minutes later:
"Pope clears Lear Five-Oh-Seven-Five direct Cozumel. Climb to flight level three-zero on course two-zero-niner. Report over Columbia. You are number one to go after the One-Thirty departing."
"Understand number one after the One-Thirty," Colonel Torine replied. "Understand flight level thirty, course two-niner-zero, report over Columbia."
Fernando turned around in the pilot's seat and looked into the cabin to make sure nobody was wandering around.
Sergeant Sherman was strapped into his seat, holding a can of Coke, looking out the window.
Charley was also securely strapped into one of the seats. He had reclined it to nearly horizontal and was sound asleep.
"Takeoff power," Fernando ordered. Colonel Torine carefully moved the throttles fully forward.
"Pope, Oh-Seven-Five rolling," Torine said into his microphone.
[FOUR]
Office of the Director
The Central Intelligence Agency
Langley, Virginia
0810 10 June 2005
Mrs. Mary Leonard, the statuesque, gray-haired executive assistant to the director of Central Intelligence, went into the DCI's office and closed the door.
John Powell looked up from his desk.
"Mr. Jartmann is here, boss," Mrs. Leonard said.
"Bring him in, Mary, please," he said to the female who probably knew more of the nation's most closely guarded secrets than any other female except Dr. Natalie Cohen.
"And," Mrs. Leonard added, raising her eyebrows, "Mrs. Wilson walked in on his heels. I think she went to the beauty parlor just for you; I must say she looks stunning this morning."
"I told her quarter to eight," the DCI said. "Have her wait, please, and curb your legendary charming hospitality. No coffee. Not even a goddamned glass of water."
"Yes, sir," Mrs. Leonard said.
"I'll deal with Mrs. Patricia Davies Wilson just as soon as I've seen what Harry Jartmann has for me."
"You're about to make a mistake there," Mrs. Leonard said. "A great big mistake."
"I am? How do you know that?"
"When you said her name just now, spittle flew. It's burning holes in the carpet."
He looked at her, shook his head, and smiled but said nothing.
"Let me handle her, between us girls," Mrs. Leonard said.
"You really think that's the way to go, Mary?"
"It's the only way to go. You want to get rid of the problem or exacerbate it?"