Torrinson gave a brief smile before saying, “You mean if it all turns to shit?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, since I already know, I may as well be brought in, Grant.”
On one hand Grant was relieved, on the other it was somebody else to worry about. “Yes, sir.”
Torrinson tapped the switch on the intercom. “Zach, send Lieutenant Adler back in.”
Once Adler was seated, Grant asked, “Sir, do we need to bring the President in on this?”
Torrinson rested his elbows on the desk and intertwined his fingers. “I plan on doing that, once you advise me the Moshenkos are safely in your hands.”
“Understood, sir.”
Torrinson stood, immediately followed by Grant and Adler. He came around the desk and extended his hand, first to Grant, then to Adler. “Gentlemen, on your way. May fair winds be always at your backs — along with your friends!”
“So, what’s next, skipper?” Adler asked, as he closed the door to Grant’s office. “Can you think of anybody else who can give us a good reaming before we leave?” he smirked.
“Shit, Joe!” Grant responded. “Couldn’t get out of that one. Had no choice but to bring the admiral in.”
“You don’t have to explain to me. Time to move on, right?”
“Affirmative.” Grant sat on the corner of his desk and picked up the phone receiver. “While I call Tony, why don’t you get our gear from your car? When you get back, see if Zach can arrange transportation for us to Andrews.”
“Aye, aye, skipper!” Adler rushed out of the office.
Grant dialed Mullins’ direct line. “Hey, Tony!”
“Grant! What’s happening?" He went silent for a second before saying, “Say, wait a minute. You wouldn’t be hauling ass, would ya?”
“Yeah, if you ever stop yakkin’ your jaws!” Grant laughed. “We’re getting ready to leave for Andrews. The President got us a Nightingale for bringing back the POWs. We’re flying into Tempelhof.”
The Air Force C-9A, a modified version of the DC-9, is called theNightingale. It’s the only aircraft specifically dedicated to the movement of litter and ambulatory patients. Standard electric outlets throughout the cabin allow for the use of cardiac monitors, respirators, and infusion pumps. A control panel monitors cabin temperature, therapeutic oxygen, and vacuum systems. An auxiliary power unit provides electrical power for uninterrupted cabin A/C, quick servicing during stops, and self-starting for the two jet engines.
The aircraft can accommodate a maximum of forty litter or forty ambulatory patients, as well as multiple combinations of both. There are regular airline seats for ambulatory patients, all facing aft. All the seats and carpeting are blue, while the cabin is white with beige cabinetry.
The crew consists of pilot, co-pilot, flight mechanic, two flight nurses, and three aeromedical technicians.
Turning serious, Mullins said with a lowered voice, “You’ve got my number here and home if you need anything — anything.”
“Appreciate it, Tony.” He picked up a small manila envelope. “Got your ‘letter’ this morning. Can’t thank you enough, buddy.” Inside the envelope were new papers for the Moshenkos.
“My pleasure!”
Grant got off the desk and went to the window, separating the blinds, seeing Adler running to the Mustang. “Have you thought any more about our discussion the other night?”
“Yeah, I have, and why not leave it at that, okay?”
“Do I need to come to Langley and whip your ass?”
Mullins let out a laugh, then answered, “Like to see you try!” Mullins knew he wouldn’t have a chance up against Grant, especially with the black belt he has in karate. “But, hold the thought, okay?”
Grant didn’t have the time to argue. Whatever Mullins decided to do, was out of his control. “Okay, Tony. Be careful.”
“Will do, Grant. You do the same.”
Grant put the receiver down. Dammit, Tony! He wasn’t sure how to take Mullins’ response. Had he decided to not follow them to Germany like he initially intended? Or did he suddenly want to “throw caution to the wind” and possibly fuck up his career?
Adler opened the door and leaned in. “Skipper, van should be here in ten minutes.” He saw Grant’s expression. “Problem?” he asked as he walked into the office.
Grant gave a slight wave. “Hope not.”
“Agent Mullins? He didn’t do an about face on his decision, did he?”
Grant grabbed his cap from the chair. He gave Adler’s shoulder a slap as he walked past him. “Let’s go. I hear Germany calling.”
A gray U.S. Navy van pulled up to the security building on Virginia Avenue. A guard stepped next to the driver’s side.
The driver, Seaman Jason Phelps, displayed his id, while Adler rolled down the window in the backseat. He and Grant held their ids out.
“Morning, sirs,” the guard said, as he perused both cards, comparing the photos to the two officers and the expiration dates. Handing the cards back to Adler, he waved the van through, snapping a quick salute as the van passed.
Seaman Phelps made a right onto E. Perimeter Road. The next three miles would be slow going, in part from a twenty-five mph speed limit and part from rain water still washing across the right-hand lane.
When he’d driven just about three miles, he turned on the signal, and made a left onto Pensacola Street. Driving straight ahead, he followed the road until it ended at a stop sign, behind a group of buildings. Then he continued on the asphalt road that eventually turned into concrete.
“There’s the Nightingale, sirs,” he said pointing ahead to an aircraft with a red cross on its tail. He drove within thirty feet of the aircraft, killed the engine, then quickly opened his door and jumped out. Sliding the passenger door back, he asked, “Can I help you with your bags, sirs?”
“Thanks, seaman,” Adler responded, “but we’ve got them.” He and Grant got out then pulled their rucksacks from behind the seat and lifted their suit bags off the door hooks, slinging them over their shoulders.
“Looks like you got caught in that storm this morning, sir,” the driver said with a quick laugh, pointing toward the bottom of Adler’s trousers.
Adler leaned forward, looking at dark spots on his pants. “And I’ve still got squishies inside my shoes,” he laughed.
Grant noticed the pilot looking out his side window and gave him a thumb’s up. “Guess we’d better board. Thanks for the ride, Seaman Phelps.” They climbed the portable stairs into the cabin.
One of the crew met them at the door. “Welcome aboard, sirs.”
“Thanks,” both Grant and Adler responded.
“Say, is there any particular place we can stow our bags?” Grant asked.
“Let me take them for you, sirs. Why don’t you take your seats? I’ll tell Colonel Whitley we’re ready for departure.”
Grant and Adler settled into their seats and strapped on the seat belts. Grant looked around at the array of medical equipment. How many are still alive because of this aircraft? he wondered. One fact he did know. Nightingales had been used during “Operation Homecoming” at the end of the Vietnam war. They flew the former Hanoi POWs from where they first landed in the States, to their home bases. If luck stayed on his and Joe’s side, they’d be bringing five more men home on this one, along with his two friends.
“Skipper?” Adler tapped Grant’s arm.
“Yeah, Joe.”
“I grabbed some of these from the machine at NIS.” He held out a handful of candy bars across the aisle.
“And none too soon!” Grant said, snatching a Snickers.
The plane’s engines started winding up, the noise mingling with all the normal sounds of an aircraft preparing to depart.