«Dante crossing the river—»
«Try Boston Harbor,» broke in Aaron, turning over a page. «Where did you get this?» he suddenly cried, taking off his glasses and staring at MacKenzie. «What extraordinary scholar of both law and history put it all together? Who’s responsible?»
«Him,» replied the Hawk, pointing at the shell-shocked Devereaux, sitting on the couch ten feet away. He was squashed between his two guards, Stosh and Knute, his arms and legs free to move but not his mouth, which was bound with three-inch-wide adhesive tape. Of course, General Hawkins had insisted that Sam’s lips be layered with Vaseline so as not to violate the Geneva accords for prisoners of war. In truth, no one could stand listening to Devereaux’s diatribes any longer, including the general’s aides-de-camp, Desi-One and Desi-Two, who stood behind the couch, their postures erect and their arms militarily akimbo.
«Samuel did this?» asked Aaron Pinkus in disbelief.
«Well, not actually himself, but he certainly was the spirit behind it, so you could say that in a very real sense he’s responsible.»
«Mmmfff!» came the muted but still howling protest from the couch as Devereaux lunged forward, tripping over his feet and landing facedown on the floor. Grimacing in fury at the Hawk, he scrambled up as the general gave his command.
«Adjutants, assault positions!» As a trained commando unit, Desis One and Two leaped over the couch, the former using the rim of the sofa, the latter the head of Knute to vault over the couch and instantly close the distance between themselves and Sam. Pinning him back on the floor, they looked up at the Hawk for instructions.
«Well done, gentlemen.»
«No wonder you recruited from your own personnel, General,» said Pinkus admiringly, standing up behind the desk. «Are they Rangers?»
«In a manner of speaking,» replied MacKenzie. «They’re specialists in airport security… Let him up, men. Put him in the chair in front of the desk and flank him.»
«You two,» said Aaron, looking over at Sam’s bewildered Boston guards and speaking gently but not without a mild rebuke. «I don’t mean to criticize, yet it appears to me that you might benefit from some of this military instruction, as it obviously pertains to your work. These soldiers are inordinately quick to perceive the necessity for action, and their nonviolent tactics—such as stripping you of your trousers—is most impressive.»
«Hey, Comandante!» offered D-Two, grinning widely. «You rip off a gringo and take his pants, he h’ain’t goin’ run into d’street yellin’ his head off, h’okay?»
«That’ll do, Corporal. Barracks humor doesn’t carry well with passive combatants.»
«Beautifool!» cried D-One.
«General,» said Pinkus, «if you think it’s feasible, I believe it’s time we now restrict this conference to you, Samuel, and me.»
«I quite agree, sir,» agreed the Hawk. «The sequestered discussions between us should be opened up to include the young fellow.»
«Perhaps you might consider tying him—loosely, to be sure—to the chair, as Mr. Lafferty—excuse me, Sergeant Lafferty did previously.»
«Then you must have dismissed the gunny when you talked to Sam.»
«The gunny?… Oh, yes, the gunnery sergeant—yes, I did.»
«No need for that, now. I’m here… Adjutants, stand to! You’re dismissed for mess call.»
«Hey, loco man, we’re real pretty.»
«Grub, Corporal. Get some food in your bellies and report back here in one hour.» MacKenzie reached into his buckskin pocket and withdrew his money clip, peeling off several bills and handing them to D-One. «I’m adding this to your per diem due to your outstanding efficiency.»
«Ee’s our dinero?» said D-Two, scowling at the money.
«Supplemental pay, Corporal. It’s in addition to your dinero, which will come later. Take the word of a general officer.»
«H’okay, grande Heneral,» responded D-One. «We take a lot, but when do you give?»
«Let’s have no hint of insubordination, young fella. Despite the fact that our close association on this mission permits a degree of camaraderie, others might not understand.»
«Beautifool! I don’t understand, neither.»
«Get something to eat and come back in an hour. Dismissed!» Desis One and Two shrugged and went to the door, the former checking the time on the three watches strapped to his left wrist as they let themselves out. The Hawk then nodded to Aaron Pinkus. «As my captive and, somewhat contrary to tradition, also my host, you may address your troops, Commander.»
«You’re what and I’m who?… Oh, yes, I understand.» Pinkus turned to the perplexed Stosh and Knute on the couch. «Gentlemen,» he began hesitantly, searching for the appropriate words, «you are relieved of your current duties, and if you would be so kind as to come to our office tomorrow—at your convenience, of course—you will be reimbursed by our accounts department, naturally including the rest of the evening.»
«I’d put ’em in the stockade!» shouted the Hawk, shoving his cigar into his mouth. «They’re assholes! Dereliction, incompetence, and freezing under fire—damn near court-martial material.»
«We do things differently in civilian life, General. Dereliction and incompetence are necessary components in the lower ranks of the work force. Otherwise, their superiors, who are frequently less competent but speak better, could never justify their salaries… Off you go, gentlemen, and I’m quite sincere in my suggestion that you seek the training so well inculcated in your counterparts on the general’s staff.» Stosh and Knute, their sad expressions conveying their genuinely hurt feelings, left quickly. «There, General,» said Aaron. «We’re alone.»
«Mmmfff!» cried Devereaux.
«I included you, Samuel. As much as I might prefer to overlook you, it’s not very easy to do so.»
«Mmmgfff?»
«Cut your whining, son,» ordered the Hawk. «As long as you don’t shout your goddamned head off, your hands are free and you can remove the security strip… No sweat, your mouth will still be there, I’m sincerely sorry to say.» Slowly at first, then in a burst of machismo, Sam yanked the tape off, yelped, then proceeded to purse his lips about in various contortions as if to make sure they were functional. «You look like a skinny piglet in heat,» added MacKenzie.
«You look like a cigar-store Indian who just escaped from a quarantined wigwam!» yelled Devereaux, leaping up from the chair. «What the hell are you supposed to be, Tonto with a lobotomy?… And what the hell do you mean—I’m responsible for whatever that crap is on Aaron’s desk? I haven’t seen you or heard from you in years, you low-life worm of worms!»
«You still have a tendency to get a mite excitable under pressure, don’t you, boy?»
«In his defense, General,» interrupted Pinkus, «in the courtroom he’s ice-cold, a veritable laid-back James Stewart, the stutter itself pure calculation.»
«In a courtroom,» exploded Sam, «I know what the hell I’m doing! When I’m around this subterranean son of a bitch, I never knew, because he either didn’t tell me, or the gung-ho maggot lied to me!»
«Wrong terminology, young fella. It’s called disinformation for your own protection—»