He’ll have an idea or two on how best to get them from there back to Argentina quietly and safely.”
“Done,” Davidson said. “When are you going to leave?”
“Just as soon as I can wind it up, I’ve got to stop at Midland for fuel and to file a flight plan. Keep an eye on my pal Max, okay?”
Dmitri repeated his offer to go with them as they shook hands at the house, and Castillo repeated his reasons why that wouldn’t make any sense.
Svetlana and Dona Alicia went as far as the plane. Bradley and Two-Gun boarded the Lear, and Dona Alicia waited in the Yukon while Castillo and Svetlana said their good-byes.
“I have this terrible feeling I will never see you again, my Carlos,” Svetlana said.
“Don’t be silly. The worst that can happen to me is that they’ll have somebody sit on me until I go through that retirement charade. As soon as that’s over, I’ll get on a plane and fly to Gaucho Land, where you’ll have my golf clubs all waiting for me.”
“I wish I was with child. At least I would have that.”
“I already have one of those, and from what I have seen, one is enough.”
“It is all right, my Carlos. We had what we had, and we both know the rules of the game we’re in. I will pray for you.”
“I have to go, sweetheart.”
They kissed.
The kiss was unlike any he could remember. That frightened him.
The last thing he saw as the Lear broke ground was Dona Alicia and Svetlana standing in front of the Yukon. Dona Alicia had a comforting arm around Svetlana, who was weeping.
Castillo caught himself thinking that it looked funny.
[ELEVEN]
Atlantic Aviation Services, Inc.
Philadelphia International Airport
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
0810 14 January 2006
Getting to Philadelphia should have been as simple as Castillo had hoped: fuel the Lear, file the flight plan, get in the bird, and three and a half hours later give or take, land in the City of Brotherly Love.
It wasn’t. There was really bad weather all up and down the eastern seaboard—which he learned when he tried to file his flight plan—and it was not much better most of the way between Midland and the eastern seaboard.
Arriving in Philadelphia at 1800 for a long conversation with Jack Britton over a nice lobster dinner somewhere and then getting a good night’s rest before facing the President the next morning at 0900 proved impossible.
He hadn’t been able to get off the ground at Midland until almost eight at night, and then only because he was going to fly first south-southeast from Midland to Houston, then due east to pass over Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama, then north-northeast over Georgia and on to Norfolk, Virginia, the closest airport to Philadelphia that was not experiencing weather-interrupted operations.
At 0720, he finally received clearance to fly ORF-PHL direct, which was fortunate inasmuch as a good deal of research had revealed there was no ground transportation that could carry them there from Norfolk rapidly—if at all—as the roads were covered with snow and ice.
En route, Corporal Bradley managed to contact Jack Britton, who said he would do his best to meet them on arrival, but the roads were icy and he would be personally surprised if the airport didn’t shut down again before they got there.
Britton was waiting for them when they landed.
The Lear had forty-five minutes’ remaining fuel.
Waiting with Britton was Chief Inspector F. W. Kramer, who commanded the Counterterrorism Bureau of the Philadelphia Police Department. Perhaps equally important, Kramer had done much of his military service with the Tenth Special Forces Group.
“How they hanging, Charley?” Kramer greeted Castillo. “Getting much? What can we do for you?”
“I need to be at the Four Seasons Hotel at five minutes to nine, and Corporal Bradley and Two-Gun Yung have to be there ten minutes before that.”
“I can get you there by then, but maybe not in. The President’s in town, and that’s where he stays.”
“I know,” Castillo said.
“Why don’t we send them in that?” Kramer said, pointing to a fully equipped patrol car. “And I’ll take you in mine.”
“Can they use your room to set up the AFC, Jack?”
“Hell, no,” Britton said. He tossed Bradley a door-opening plastic key. “Show that to the doorman if you get there before we do. He’s a retired cop.”
[TWELVE]
The Four Seasons Hotel
130 North 18th Street
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
0855 14 January 2006
There was no sign of the patrol car or of Bradley or Yung when Chief Inspector Kramer’s unmarked car pulled up before the door of the Four Seasons.
“I’ll put the arm out for them, Charley,” Kramer said. “You go on in. You don’t want to keep the President waiting.”
“Let him in,” the President of the United States said when the Secret Service man announced there was a Lieutenant Colonel Castillo seeking an audience.
“Good morning, Mr. President,” Castillo said. His eyes scanned the room, and he added, “Madame Secretary, Gentlemen,” to the secretary of State, the DCI, the secretary of Defense, and Ambassador Charles Montvale.
“And you didn’t think he would show, did you, Charles?” the President said, then looked at Castillo, and added, “I don’t think I’ve seen you needing a shave before, Charley.”
“I apologize for my appearance, Mr. President.”
“Don’t worry about it. Needing a shave pales to insignificance beside the manifold other sins Mr. Powell and the ambassador are alleging you have committed.” He paused, then turned to a steward. “Get the colonel a cup of coffee. He looks as if he desperately needs one.”
“Thank you, sir. I do.”
“Good morning, Charley,” Secretary of State Natalie Cohen said.
None of the others said a word.
“Okay, let’s get to it,” the President said once the steward had delivered Castillo’s coffee and left the room. “In as few words as possible, Charley, take it from the beginning. You have five minutes.”
It wasn’t hard for Castillo to start. He had expected the question and had spent all of his time in the air
