Now it really began to frighten him. “And you’re going to raise an army?”
“I figure to put together the best mobile force of crack guerrilla mercenaries anybody ever saw. And then I figure to hire out to the high bidder and run his war the right way-my way, with no interference from anybody and no Pentagon to court-martial me.”
It took time to absorb. After a while Walker said, “And you don’t care who you fight for. Which side, I mean.”
“Sides don’t mean anything below the Equator.”
“Well I know that. I hate to sound like a hick but I meant what about right and wrong?”
“Virtues make sense when you can afford them, I suppose. I can’t. Anyhow, morality’s a pen for sheep, built by wolves. Take what you want and don’t look back, that’s all that matters.”
Walker blinked. “Why’d you come to me?”
“I told you. I want a pilot.”
“I never flew a combat plane in my life.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to.”
It wasn’t making any sense. All he knew was that Hargit was playing him, enjoying the’ game; and Hargit wasn’t about to spell it out until he was good and ready. So Walker tried another tack. “How’d you find me?”
“Does it matter? I traced you through some old contacts.” Then the billfold came out again and Walker was staring at a multi-engine commercial instrument-rated FAA pilot’s license, complete with seals and stamps and a description: Kendall Williams, date of birth 10/27/41, place of birth Albuquerque, N. Mex., ht 5’ 11”, wt 160 lbs, hair brown, eyes gray. Everything had been filled in except the bearer’s signature.
Walker’s hand, holding it, was not steady; the document fluttered with vibration.
“Where’d you get this?”
“It’s a forgery but nobody has to know that.”
“It’s a damned good phony.”
“Of course it is. What do you take me for, an amateur?”
“Okay, Major, you’re a professional.” He stood up and thrust the pilot’s license back at him. “The question is, a professional what?”
“Let’s say a professional thief.”
5
“Captain, you’ve got your tit in a wringer. I’m offering you a way out-enough money to go to Canada or Brazil and start your own bush airline. There’ll be a minimum of fifty thousand in it for you and it may come to more. All you’ve got to do is fly a couple of airplanes and drive a car twenty miles.”
“It’s too risky.”
“Nothing’s risky if the stakes are high enough.”
“What the hell do you want with all that money anyway?”
“It takes a lot of money to raise an army, Captain. Recruiting, training, equipping.”
“Jesus, the kind of money you’re talking about you could forget all that and just retire on it.”
“Some men could.”
It was terrifying to see a Green Beret type go bad. For all those years, in line of duty, he’d been breaking all the rules of civilized conduct, and it gave him a feeling of untouchable immunity from all those rules.
“Do you want me to go over it again, Captain?”
“No. I get the pitch. You’re going to rob a bank.”
“Not just any bank. A million-dollar cash bank.”
“And if we get caught?”
“This is a military operation, Captain. We’ll be prepared for every possibility. We’re not going to get caught.”
“Jesus, I don’t know. I never stole anything bigger than a pack of chewing gum.”
“Captain, it may be the last chance you’ll ever get at owning your own airline and flying your own plane.” Hargit was an astute and clever judge of weakness and of a man’s needs.
“I’m not asking you to turn to a life of crime,” he added. “We pull off one score and that’s all. It’s the habituals who get caught-the odds catch up to them.” And the Major unfolded the unsigned pilot’s license, put it on the desk in front of Walker, took a fountain pen out of his pocket, uncapped it, and handed it to him.
After a while Walker took the pen and signed at the tip of the Major’s finger.
6
“But why me?”
They were riding north in the Lincoln on Interstate 10. The speedometer hovered at seventy but it was cool and quiet inside the air-conditioned sedan. The Major drove the way he did most things-with casual and unflappable efficiency. Walker repeated, “Why pick me?”
“Because it’s always better to deal with a known quantity. You were a good officer. You know how to take orders, you’re accustomed to military operations. There were half a dozen uniformed pilots I could have brought into this thing, but they’d have had to go AWOL and it would have made a fuss. Nobody’s going to miss you.”
He didn’t think the Major meant anything by that remark but it chilled him, made the little hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He fought the feeling and changed the subject. “Who else is in this?”
“Three others. You may have known two of them.”
“Baraclough?”
“Yes.”
Baraclough had been mentioned in the clipping. He’d been an Army captain, Hargit’s second-in-command. He’d been drummed out of the Army by the same court-martial board He remembered Baraclough vaguely: a thin sardonic opportunist with a napalm scar on one arm.
“Who else?”
“Eddie Burt.”
“I don’t think I remember him.”
“He was a sergeant under my command.”
“They court-martial him too?”
“No. They thought about it but they had to draw the line someplace-on those charges you could cashier every other American soldier out there.”
“But this fellow Burt stayed with you.”
“He’s a loyal man.” You couldn’t picture the Major smirking but there was considerable satisfaction in his little smile.
“Who’s the fifth man?”
The Major’s face changed abruptly. “You’ve never met him. An ex-convict named Hanratty.” He didn’t bother to conceal the contempt in his voice.
7
Baraclough was waiting at The Sands in Phoenix. The three of them had dinner there and talked about old times in Saigon as if they had nothing else on their minds. Baraclough was dressed in casual weekend slacks and sport shirt but both garments, and his shoes, had the look of money. Obviously the operation wasn’t being financed on a shoestring.
