It was almost too much for Kelly to believe. How many people did America write off every year? And not all were in uniform, were they? Some were right at home, in American cities.
'It's really that bad?'
The fatigue on Greer's face was unmistakable. 'You know why I took this job? I was ready to retire. I've served my time, commanded my ships, done my work. I'm ready for a nice house and playing golf twice a week and doing a little consulting on the side, okay? Chief, too many people come to places like this, and reality to them is a memo. They focus in on "process" and forget that there's a human being at the far end of the paper chain. That's why I re-upped. Somebody has to try and put a little reality back into the process. We're handling this as a "black" project. Do you know what that means?'
'No, sir, I don't.'
'It's a new term that's cropped up. That means it doesn't exist. It's crazy. It shouldn't be that way, but it is. Are you on the team or not?'
NewOrleans... Kelly's eyes narrowed for a moment that lingered into fifteen seconds and a slow nod. 'If you think I can help, sir, then I will. How much time do I have?'
Greer managed a smile and tossed a ticket folder into Kelly's lap. 'Your ID is in the name of John Clark; should be easy to remember. You fly down tomorrow afternoon. The return ticket is open, but I want to see you next Friday. I expect good work out of you. My card and private line are in there. Get packed, son.'
'Aye aye, sir.'
Greer rose and walked Kelly to the door. 'And get receipts for everything. When you work for Uncle Sam yon have to make sure everyone gets paid off properly.'
'I will do that, sir.' Kelly smiled.
'You can catch the blue bus back to the Pentagon outside.' Greer went back to work as Kelly left the office.
The blue shuttle bus arrived moments after he walked up to the covered pickup point. It was a curious ride. About half the people who boarded were uniformed, and the other half civilians. Nobody talked to anyone, as though merely exchanging a pleasantry or a comment on the Washington Senators' continuing residency at the bottom of the American League would violate security. He smiled and shook his head until he reflected on his own secrets and intentions. And yet - Greer had given him an opportunity that he'd not considered. Kelly leaned back in his seat and looked out the window while the other passengers on the bus stared fixedly forward.
'They're real happy,' Piaggi said.
'I told you all along, man. It helps to have the best product on the street.'
'Not everybody's happy. Some people are sitting on a couple hundred keys of French stuff, and we've knocked the price down with our special introductory offer.'
Tucker allowed himself a good laugh. The 'old guard' had been overcharging for years. That was monopoly pricing for you. Anyone would have taken the two of them for businessmen, or perhaps lawyers, since there were lots of both in this restaurant two blocks from the new Garmatz courthouse. Piaggi was somewhat better dressed, in Italian silk, and he made a mental note to introduce Henry to his tailor. At least the guy had learned how to groom himself. Next he had to learn not to dress too flashy: Respectable was the word. Just enough that people treated you with deference. The flashy ones, like the pimps, were playing a dangerous game that they were too dumb to understand.
'Next shipment, twice as much. Can your friends handle it?'
'Easy. The people in Philly are especially happy. Their main supplier had a little accident'
'Yeah, I saw the paper yesterday. Sloppy. Too many people in the crew, right?'
'Henry, you just keep getting smarter and smarter. Don't get too smart, okay? Good advice,' Piaggi said with quiet emphasis.
'That's cool, Tony. What I'm saying is, let's not make that kind of mistake ourselves, okay?'
Piaggi relaxed, sipping his beer. 'That's right, Henry. And I don't mind saying that it's nice to do business with somebody who knows how to organize. There's a lot of curiosity about where your stuff comes from. I'm covering that for you. Later on, though, if you need more financing...'
Tucker's eyes blazed briefly across the table. 'No, Tony. No now, no forever.'
'Okay for now. Something to think about for later.'
Tucker nodded, apparently letting it go at that, but wondering what sort of move his 'partner' might be planning. Trust, in this sort of enterprise, was a variable quantity. He trusted Tony to pay on time. He'd offered Piaggi favorable terms, which had been honored, and the eggs this goose laid were his real life insurance. He was already at the point that a missed payment wouldn't harm his operation, and as long as he had a steady supply of good heroin, they'd do business like a business, which was why he'd approached them in the first place. But there was no real loyalty here. Trust stopped at his usefulness. Henry had never expected any more than that, but if his associate ever started pressing on his pipeline...
Piaggi wondered if he'd pressed too far, wondering if Tucker knew the potential of what they were doing. To control distribution on the entire East Coast, and do so from within a careful and secure organization, that was like a dream come true. Surely he would soon need more capital, and his contacts were already asking how they might help. But he could see that Tucker did not recognize the innocence of the inquiry, and if he discussed it further, protesting his goodwill, that would only make things worse. And so Piaggi went back to his lunch and decided to leave things be for a while. It was too bad. Tucker was a very smart small-timer, but still a small-timer at heart. Perhaps he'd learn to grow. Henry could never be 'made,' but he could still become an important part of the organization.
'Next Friday okay?' Tucker asked.
'Fine. Keep it secure. Keep it smart.'
'You got it, man.'
It was an uneventful flight, a Piedmont 737 out of Friendship International Airport. Kelly rode coach, and the stewardess brought him a light lunch. Flying over America was so different from his other adventures aloft. It surprised him how many swimming pools there were. Everywhere you flew, lifting off from the airport, even over the rolling hills of Tennessee, the overhead sun would sparkle off little square patches of chlorine-blue water surrounded by green grass. His country appeared to be so benign a place, so comfortable, until you got closer. But at least you didn't have to watch for tracer fire.
The Avis counter had a car waiting, along with a map. It turned out that he could have flown into Panama City, Florida, but New Orleans, he decided, would suit him just fine. Kelly tossed both his suitcases into the trunk and headed east. It was rather like driving his boat, though somewhat more hectic, dead time in which he could let his mind work, examining possibilities and procedures, his eyes sweeping the traffic while his mind saw something else entirely. That was when he started to smile, a thin, composed expression that he never thought about while his imagination took a careful and measured look at the next few weeks.
Four hours after landing, having passed through the lower ends of Mississippi and Alabama, he stopped his car at the main gate of Eglin AFB. A fitting place for the kingpin troopers to have trained, the heat and humidity were an exact match with the country they'd ultimately invaded, hot and moist. Kelly waited outside the guard post for a blue Air Force sedan to meet him. When it did, an officer got out.