"Once something like that is started, it's hard to call it off," Castillo said. "The only one who can overrule General Naylor is the secretary of defense. He's not going to take what I think over the
CIA:"
"Especially since the source of your information is an infamous Russian criminal?" Pevsner asked.
"Secretary Hall doesn't feel that way," Castillo said. "You heard what he said. And he's going to see the president:"
"And you think the president, looking at NSA photographs of an Air Suriname 727 on the field at Zandery, and with confirmation from a CIA man on the ground, is liable to decide that-how did that general describe you earlier?-'an Army officer assigned to Special Operations at Central Command'-is right and they're wrong? Especially since he knows I'm the source of your information?"
"When I get on the radio and say, 'I'm in Zippity Do Dah, Costa Rica'-or wherever the hell it is-'looking at the airplane,' they're going to have to pay attention." He touched Sergeant Sherman's shoulder. "Pack it up, Sergeant. We're going to Costa Rica."
"Hold it a minute, Castillo," Colonel Torine said. "Before you shut down the link. What if I got on there to General McFadden and tell him I think-I'm sure-you're right?" He paused, and added, "We go back a long way."
Castillo met his eyes.
"The most probable thing that would happen if we contacted anybody at MacDill would be that you would be ordered to place me under arrest and bring me to MacDill. I don't want to put you in that spot. But thank you, sir." He paused, and added, "Colonel, I think the best thing for you to do is escape from this drunk-out-of-his-mind-with-authority-he-doesn't-have lunatic, go to the airport, and hop on a commercial flight to Tampa."
"Well, you're right about authority you don't have, Castillo. You're a major, as General McNab pointed out. You can't give a colonel orders," Colonel Torine said. "And General McNab said two other things. He ordered me to go with you, saying you needed a 727 expert."
"As I recall, sir, you volunteered," Castillo said.
"That was my last order, which I intend to obey," Torine said. "And the second thing General McNab said that struck me as appropriate was, 'In for a penny, in for a pound.' " He met Castillo's eyes for a moment, then turned to Sergeant Sherman. "Is there any way I can help you tear that thing down, Sergeant?"
"I've got it pretty much under control, sir," Sherman said. "Major, do you want me to sign out of the net?"
"Just turn it off, Sergeant," Castillo said. "Before it occurs to General Naylor to get on there and order us all to the States."
Sergeant Sherman leaned slightly forward, pulled the power cord from the wall, and reported, "The link is down, sir."
Aleksandr Pevsner picked up the hotel telephone.
"Have the vehicles prepared to go immediately to the airport," he ordered, in Spanish. "We will be in the garage immediately."
"Thank you," Castillo said. "Thank you for everything, Alex."
"On the contrary, my friend," Pevsner said. "It is I who is grateful to you. You have made every effort to live up to your side of our arrangement. It's not your fault that emperors, czars, and high-ranking generals have the tendency to want to kill the messenger bearing news they don't want to hear."
"And somewhere down the road, Charley," Howard Kennedy said, "no matter what happens, someone-possibly even one of my former colleagues-is going to say, 'That's what Pevsner was trying to tell us.' And it's even possible this will be said with the right people listening."
He offered his hand and Charley shook it, and then shook hands with Pevsner, and, as he did, thought it would be a long time before he saw Pevsner again. If he ever saw either of them again.
He was surprised when Pevsner went to the basement garage with them and even more surprised when Pevsner got behind the wheel of one of the Yukons, obviously intending to drive to the airport.
As they were driving down the beach road to the airport, Pevsner turned to Howard Kennedy, who was riding in the second seat beside Fernando, and ordered, "Write down the San Jose numbers-all three of them-and give them to Charley, Howard."
"Yes, sir," Kennedy said.
"What San Jose numbers?" Castillo asked.
"There are three," Pevsner said. "I really hope you don't have occasion to use any of them. The one with the 533 prefix almost always knows how to get in touch with me quickly. The other two are those who will have what information I can come up with about where in Costa Rica you will find the plane. I hope to get that information to you as an in-flight advisory, but, if that doesn't work, call either of the other two numbers, ask for yourself:"
"Excuse me?"
"Ask for Charley Castillo. Better yet, ask for Karl Gossinger: you getting this, Howard?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ask for Karl Gossinger and they'll give you what information they have. If I'm unsuccessful, they will not know who Herr Gossinger is and say so."
"Thank you," Castillo said.
"Please don't call any of them unless it proves necessary. And if the first two have no information for you, that means I haven't been able to do as much as I would really like to have done," Pevsner said. "In other words, there would be no point in your trying to call me."
"I understand," Charley said.
Castillo felt a hand on his shoulder and turned his head. Howard Kennedy was extending a sheet of notebook paper to him. He took it.
"Try not to lose that, Charley," Kennedy said. "And when the time passes and you know you're not going to use any of them, why don't you burn that? I'd really hate to have those numbers fall into the wrong hands."
"You think your former associates would be interested in them, do you?"
"Oh, would they ever," Kennedy said.
Ten minutes later, Aleksandr Pevsner and Howard Kennedy stood by the hood of one of the white Yukons and watched as the Learjet took off.
[THREE]
Aboard USAF C-17 036788
25.418 degrees North Latitude
86.136 degrees West Longitude
Above the Gulf of Mexico
1115 10 June 2005
"Miami area control, Air Force Sixty-Seven-Eighty-Eight," Major Ellwood C. Tanner, USAF, said into his microphone.
"Go ahead, Eighty-Eight."
"Reporting my position. I'm at flight level thirty-three, estimating six hundred knots, on a course of one-two-five true."
"I have you on radar, Eighty-Eight. Be advised, any eastward deviation from your present course may put you in Cuban airspace."
"Acknowledge advisory. Air Force Eighty-Eight clear," Major Tanner said and made a note of the conversation on a knee notepad.
"Got a chart I can look at, Major?" a voice asked, and Tanner turned to see Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab standing in the cockpit between the pilot and copilot positions.
"Yes, sir, of course," Tanner said. "We're a hundred miles off the Florida coast, about even with Miami."
"I saw that," McNab said, gesturing in the vague direction of a cathode-ray tube that showed the C-17's position and then holding his hand out for the chart.
Tanner handed it to him and McNab studied it for a moment, then held it out to Tanner.
"See where I'm pointing?" McNab asked.
Tanner looked.
"Yes, sir. Costa Rica."
"Specifically, Juan Santamaria International Airport in Costa Rica," General McNab said.
"Yes, sir."
"Now, what you are going to do, Major, as soon as you think Cuban radar has lost interest in us, is get on the horn and make an announcement that to avoid turbulence you would like to change your course to about one-seventy-two degrees."
"Which will put us on a course to Juan Santamaria, sir?"
"If there are any questions about why you're changing course, I don't want Juan Santamaria to enter the conversation, understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"If I told you that we're probably going to experience mechanical problems when Juan Santamaria is the closest alternate, then you would think I was prescient, wouldn't you?"