Vladimir Vladimirovich is to-what is it Edgar says? — cut him off at the balls.”
“For the record, Sweaty,” Delchamps corrected her, “what I said is, ‘Cut him off at the
Berezovsky took out his CaseyBerry and punched a key.
“Aleksandr, I’m with Charley in Las Vegas,” he said in Russian. “Vladimir Vladimirovich has raised his ugly head again, and we need some help to cut him off at the
II
ONE
Yadkin and Reilly Road Fort Bragg, North Carolina 0845 12 April 2007
The Federal Express truck pulled to the curb before a two-story brick house, and the driver, after first taking a FedEx Overnight envelope from where he had stuck it on the dashboard, got out.
He took a quick look at the envelope as he walked around the front of the truck.
The Overnight envelope, sent by the Mexican-American News Service of San Antonio, Texas, was addressed to: LTC BRUCE J. MCNAB, YADKIN AND REILLY ROAD, FORT BRAGG, NC 28307.
The FedEx driver had served in the Army, and knew that LTC meant “lieutenant colonel.” And he had served long enough to know that lieutenant colonels do not live in large brick homes on what was known locally as “Generals’ Row.”
After a moment, he decided it was a simple typo; LTC was supposed to be LTG, the abbreviation for “lieutenant general.” A small wooden sign on the lawn of the house confirmed this analysis. It showed three silver stars, the rank insignia of a lieutenant general, and below that was neatly painted B. J. MCNAB.
The driver, now convinced he was in the right place, continued up a walkway through the immaculately manicured lawn toward the house.
He was almost at the door when a black Chevrolet Suburban came-considerably over the posted 25 mph speed limit-down Reilly Road, stopped and quickly backed up the driveway of the house. Doors opened. The driver, a young Green Beret sergeant in a camouflage-pattern battle-dress uniform, and a young Green Beret captain in dress uniform got out of the front seat. The sergeant quickly removed a cover from a red plate bearing three stars mounted on the bumper and then rushed to open the passenger door. He was too late. The door was opened by a Green Beret colonel in a dress uniform who marched purposefully toward the house with the captain trailing him.
The driver stood beside the passenger door.
The front door of the house opened and General McNab came through. He was in dress uniform and wearing a green beret. Both breasts of his tunic carried more ribbons and qualification badges than the driver had ever seen on one man during his military service.
Colonel Max Caruthers, who was six foot three and weighed 225 pounds, and Captain Albert H. Walsh, who was almost as large, saluted crisply and more or less simultaneously barked, “Good morning, General.”
General McNab returned the salute and then turned his attention to the FedEx deliveryman.
“Far be it from me to stay a FedEx courier from the swift completion of his appointed rounds, but curiosity overwhelms me,” he announced. “Dare I hope that envelope you are clutching to your breast is intended for me?”
“It is, if you’re Bruce J. McNab,” the courier said.
“Guilty,” General McNab said.
The courier extended the clipboard for the addressee’s signature.
Captain Walsh snatched the Overnight envelope from the driver, handed it to the general, and then signed the receipt on the clipboard.
General McNab ripped open the strip at the top of the envelope and took from it an eight-by-ten-inch photograph.
“Oh, my!” he said, in a tone similar to what a grandmother would use when her cake batter slipped from her hands and splattered over her kitchen floor. “Oh, my!”
He handed the Overnight envelope to Captain Walsh.
“Hold that by its edges, Al,” he ordered. “Gloves would be better. It will probably be futile, but we will have tried.”
“Something wrong, General?” the FedEx courier asked.
“Nothing for which you could possibly be held responsible,” General McNab said. “And now, although I would rather face a thousand deaths, I must go treat with General Naylor.”
The courier looked confused.
Colonel Caruthers, who recognized the remark as a paraphrase of what Confederate general Robert E. Lee had said immediately before leaving his headquarters to surrender the Army of Northern Virginia to Union general Ulysses S. Grant, failed to keep a smile off his face.
The courier started back to his delivery truck as General McNab walked toward Staff Sergeant Robert Nellis, who was standing by the open front passenger door.
“Bobby,” he said, “can you find Pope Air Force Base by yourself, or would you rather that I drive?”
“I’ll drive, General,” Sergeant Nellis said, smiling.
“It’s easy to recognize,” General McNab said as he slid onto the seat. “Just look for lots of airplanes and fat people in blue uniforms.”
Colonel Caruthers and Captain Walsh quickly got into the Suburban, and they drove down the driveway and turned right onto Reilly Road.
As the Suburban carrying General McNab pulled into one of the RESERVED FOR GENERAL OFFICERS parking spaces beside the Pope Air Force Base Operations building, the glass doors fronting on the tarmac opened and a half dozen Air Force officers, the senior among them a major general, came out and formed a three-line formation.
The major general stood in front. A major, wearing the silver cords of an aide-de-camp, took up a position two steps behind and one step to the left of him. The other four officers formed a line behind the aide-de-camp, according to rank, with a brigadier general to the left, then three full colonels. All stood with their hands folded in the small of their backs, in the position of parade rest.
“Seeing all that martial precision,” Lieutenant General McNab announced, “I am sorely tempted to go out there and give them a little close-order drill.”
His sergeant driver smiled. His aides-de-camp did not. They knew he was entirely capable of doing just that. Both were visibly relieved when McNab got out of the Suburban, walked to the corner of the building, and called, “Good morning, gentlemen. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
The major general turned toward him and saluted.
“Good morning, General,” he said, and then broke ranks to go to McNab and offer his hand.
“Would you care to bet if El Supremo will be on schedule?” McNab asked.
For an answer, the major general pointed down the runway, where a C-37A-the military version of the Gulfstream V-was about to touch down.
As the sleek twin-engine jet completed its landing roll, the Air Force major general trotted back to resume his position in front of his officers.
General McNab folded his arms on his chest.
The Gulfstream V was painted in gleaming white on top, and pale blue beneath. There was no reference to the U.S. Air Force in its markings, although it carried the star-and-bar insignia of a military aircraft on its engine nacelles. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA was lettered on the fuselage above the six windows. An American flag was painted on the vertical stabilizer.
