Williams looked at Ryder with the penetrating, don't-dare-try-to-bullshit-me eyes the Army had taught the young warrant to associate with leaders who got things done.
'Sounds like you broke the bank, Chief,' Williams said. 'Congratulations.'
Ryder nodded his thanks, unsure of himself.
The colonel glanced around the big room one more time, making sure that no waiters would descend on them.
'What a clusterfuck,' the colonel said in disgust. 'I can see I'm going to have to clean up this sideshow. Christ, I never saw such a bunch of hungover pussy-hounds. It's amazing you've gotten anything accomplished at all.'
Ryder looked down at the tablecloth.
'Chief,' the colonel said, 'I'm going to get you out of this and give you a chance to do some real work. Not that what you've already done isn't top-notch. But it's just the beginning. You've opened up a world of new possibilities for us. Goddamnit, are you listening to me?'
Ryder stiffened, shocked by the colonel's apparent ability to see inside him.
'Yes, sir. I'm listening.'
'Well, we've got a hell of a show going on downcountry. And it's far from over, if an old soldier's instincts are worth a damn. I've been up all night, working on a very special contingency plan with my field staff. Thanks to you. Son, do you realize that the President of the United States has
already been briefed on your… achievement yesterday?' Ryder had not known.
'That's right,' Williams continued. 'The goddamned President himself. And we've been busting our asses to come up with a con-plan to exploit what you've given us. Now we're just lacking one piece.' The colonel looked at Ryder.
'What's that, sir?'
'You. We need you downcountry. And I'll tell you honestly — if we implement this plan, it might be dangerous as hell.' The colonel laughed happily. 'But you'll be in good hands. You'll be working under an old friend of mine. He and I go back to a tent in the Azores. Now, he doesn't know shit about all this yet. He's a little busy at the moment. But I know old George Taylor well enough to know what I can sell him and what I can't. And he'll buy this one, all right. He'll see the beauty of the thing.' The colonel smiled, recollecting. 'Anyway, we're going to put you to work. Lot of details to iron out. With any luck, we may never have to execute this plan. But, by God, we're going to be ready.'
'Sir… if you're talking about actually entering the Japanese control system, we're going to need some support from the Russians. They've got the—'
'Taken care of.' The colonel waved his hand. 'I wasn't born yesterday, Chief. You'll have everything you need before you link up with old Georgie Taylor.' Williams looked around in resurgent annoyance. 'Chief, you just go on up and pack your things. Meet me in the lobby in half an hour. I'm going to have a cup of coffee and take a good shit. Then we'll get on the road and I'll fill you in on what's really happening. There's a bird waiting to take us both downrange.'
'Half an hour?' Ryder asked meekly.
'Clock's ticking, Chief.'
'We… won't be coming back here, sir?'
The colonel surveyed the room in disgust. 'Not if I can help it. So don't leave anything behind, Mr. Ryder.'
Shut into the arthritic elevator, Ryder closed his eyes and dropped his head and shoulders back against the wall, tapping his skull against the cheap paneling. The device rattled and rose, its motion stirring up a smell of ammonia and stale cigarettes. He was ashamed. He could think only of the woman, and thinking of her made him feel sick.
Ryder made a last stop at Dicker Sienkiewicz's room. The old man was gathering papers and paraphernalia into his briefcase, arming himself for another day's routine.
'So what did the old man want?' he asked Ryder.
'I got to go. Downcountry.'
The older man stopped packing his briefcase and looked at his younger comrade.
'What the hell's the matter, kid?'
'I just got to go. Special project. Downcountry. Listen, I need your help. Please, Dicker.' Ryder pulled out a sealed white envelope. 'There's this girl — this woman— I've met…'
'The blondie? From last night? In the bar?'
'Yeah. That's the one. Listen, she's okay. She's really okay.'
The older man smiled. 'So I'm convinced. And not a bad looker.'
'She's not just another… she's really all right. I promised I'd meet her tonight. At eight. For dinner. Christ, I don't want her to think I just…'
'So you want me to give her that?' Dicker said pointing to the letter in Ryder's hand.
'Please. It's important. It's just a note. I tried to explain.'
'I'll see that she gets it.'
'You'll recognize her okay?'
Dicker smiled. 'Do bears crap in the woods? I still remember women I seen on the subway thirty years ago.'
'Listen, I got to go. The old man's waiting.'
'All right. Don't worry about a thing, kid. You just take care of yourself. And good luck with whatever the hell you're up to.'
'Same to you. See you, Dicker.'
'See you.'
Chief Warrant Officer Five Stanley 'Dicker' Sienkiewicz watched the boy go down the hall, then shut the door. The kid was clearly rattled. Big things in the wind. The old warrant felt a little left out, neglected. Once, he would have been considered indispensable when things got serious. But there was a new generation coming up. Educated. And so fast off the mark.
You don't know when you got it good, Dicker told himself. At your age you just ought to be grateful for a warm bunk at night. Let those young studs go out and freeze their asses off.
He sat down on the side of the bed, staring at the burn-spotted carpet. He tapped Ryder's letter against his free wrist, thinking of other things. Then he roused himself slightly and considered the envelope. He turned it over. Ryder had scrawled a name on it: Vallia.
Dicker shook his head. He remembered her, all right. A good-looker. But trouble, if he ever saw trouble walk in on two legs. He was no puritan. But he knew that the women who bobbed up in Moscow hotel bars were not notable for their trustworthiness or general moral merit.
The kid was too young to have his head screwed on straight. And Dicker knew that the boy had had a bad time with his divorce. Odd how that went. Some men went hog wild. Others turned inside. Or made bad decisions.
Dicker genuinely liked Ryder. He did not want to betray his trust. But there was plenty more pussy where that one had come from, and Dicker had no wish to see the boy get himself in a fix over some little Russian tramp.
With a sigh, the old warrant tore the envelope in half, then into quarters, dropping the shreds in the nearest wastepaper basket.
The snowflakes fell like countless paper shreds. At first it had seemed as though the squadron had flown beyond the reach of the snowstorm, but as they skimmed above the wastelands, following the long arc of their assigned route, they gradually turned to the northwest and met the snow again. Heifetz had come forward from his ops cell, which mirrored the setup in Taylor's command M-100. He had just had an exasperating exchange with Reno up in the Third Squadron, and coming atop the cascade of events and emotions of the past hours, it had
