1750 6 January 2006
The only thing the obliging management and staff of McGuire’s would not do to accommodate the Lorimer Charitable & Benevolent Fund’s board of directors dinner was permit its executive director to smoke a cigar. They had even sneaked Max in through a fire exit door.
The management had made available to them the Wine Cellar, which was both a bona fide wine cellar—with, so the menu said, more than seven thousand bottles of wine—and a private dining room with a long banquet table in a sunken room within sight of the wine.
By the time DeWitt opened the door for Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab’s spectacular appearance on the passageway between the door and the wine cellar—McNab was in uniform, which was adorned not only with an impressive display of multicolored ribbons representing the wars he had been in and the decorations he had been awarded but seven sets of parachutist’s wings and two aiguillettes—Lieutenant Colonel C. G. Castillo had had ample time to consider that coming to a festive Irish pub (with, for example, some two hundred thousand dollars in one- dollar bills stapled by “honorary Irishmen and lasses” to its ceiling and walls) might not be, after all, one of his brightest ideas.
To say that the general was going to be surprised when he found everyone—Castillo, Dick Miller, Colin Leverette, Jack Davidson, Alex Darby, Edgar Delchamps, Lester Bradley, Jack and Sandra Britton, plus, of course, Dmitri Berezovsky and Svetlana Alekseeva—gathered around a table covered with an impressive display of hors d’oeuvres and numerous bottles of wine from the cellar was something of an understatement.
But what proved to be the real surprise, which caused Castillo’s mouth literally to momentarily gape, was that one of the three officers—also in full uniform, trailing the general, “the old friend” who McNab had mentioned —was not Chief Warrant Officer Five (Retired) Victor D’Allessando. Nor was it some old crony from the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment with whom Charley and Dick could swap war stories.
It was, instead, Lieutenant Colonel Randolph Richardson III, of the Army Aviation School.
Corporal Bradley broke the silence as he shot to his feet, sending his heavy chair loudly screeching five feet backward across the hardwood flooring.
“Attention on deck!” he bellowed as loud as he could. “Flag officer on deck!”
“As you were,” McNab said. “Good evening, gentlemen.” He then saw Svetlana and Sandra. He looked at Castillo. “And ladies.”
McNab came regally down the stairs and headed for Svetlana and Sandra, who were standing at the table, washing oysters down with Chardonnay.
“Bruce McNab, ladies. May I ask what two beautiful women are doing with all these ugly men?”
“I’m Sandra Britton, and I’m waiting for the good time that ugly man promised if we came along with him,” Sandra said, pointing at her husband. “All he’s produced so far is a couple of lousy oysters.”
Svetlana laughed, and McNab turned to her.
“And you, my dear. What did the ugly man promise you?”
“I thought it would probably be more than oysters. But I have to admit these are very good.”
“And you are?”
“Susan Barlow, General, and this man is my brother, Tom.”
McNab’s eyes said,
“An honor, General,” Berezovsky said. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Carlos.”
“I’ll bet you have,” McNab said.
“I’m Edgar Delchamps, General. Ditto.”
“Ditto?”
“I’ve heard a lot about you, General.”
“Ditto. From some mutual acquaintances in Virginia.”
“Alex Darby, General.” Darby offered his hand, chuckled, and added, “Ditto, ditto, ditto.”
“Meaning?” McNab said.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, and I’ll bet you’ve heard a lot about me. From the same mutual acquaintances in Virginia.”
“True,” McNab said, and turned to Lester Bradley.
“Why do I suspect you’re the Marine Corps representative?”
“Sir, Corporal Bradley, Lester, sir.”
“And I have heard a lot about you, son,” McNab said. “All of it from people I respect, and all of it good.”
Corporal Bradley’s face turned red.
McNab looked at Miller. “How’s your knee, Dick?”
“Coming along just fine, sir.”
McNab wordlessly shook hands with Davidson and Leverette, then turned to the others in his party. They still stood on the passageway. He pointed them out, left to right, and said: “Lieutenant Colonel Peter Woods, the second-worst aide-de-camp I’ve ever had; the worst by far was Colonel Castillo. Next is Major Homer Foster, who kept Colonel Richardson from making fatal flying errors on the way down here. On the end is Colonel Richardson, who was a classmate of Castillo and Miller at West Point. Make your own introductions, please, gentlemen.”
Max padded up to McNab, sat before him, and offered his paw.
“General McNab, Max,” Castillo said. “Max, General McNab.”
McNab squatted and shook Max’s paw.
“I met one of your progeny today, Max. He was soiling General Crenshaw’s office carpet at Fort Rucker at the time.”
“And my son Randy has his brother,” Colonel Richardson said.
Svetlana caught that and looked at Castillo. He nodded.
“Are we about finished making nice?” McNab asked. “Those appetizers look like a great starter, but I really could eat a horse.”
“Oh, I would say you’ll fare better than that in here, General,” Berezovsky said. “May we offer you a glass of wine?”
“A man after my own heart,” McNab said. “Is there some Malbec?”
“Sir?” Colonel Richardson said.
McNab looked at him.
“Sir, while I hate to pass up what looks to be a wonderful—”
“You have the name of the place we’re staying?” McNab cut him off.
“The Portofino Island Resort & Spa on Pensacola Beach, sir.”
“Check in with Woods at 0700,” McNab said.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Richardson made his apologies around the room and quickly left.
McNab looked at Castillo. “Mrs. Richardson is chaperoning a bunch of kids from Rucker. Including their boy. They’re at a motel near the Naval Air Station; the kids are visiting the Naval Aviation Museum.”
“That’s one hell of a museum.”
“General Crenshaw told me you taught the boy to fly.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, perhaps you’ll have a chance to say ‘hello’ tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If there’s time. Since we are not going to talk business at dinner and our time later tonight will be short, I suspect we’ll really be busy tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And maybe by then you’ll have come up with some suitable explanation, Colonel.”
“I’m not sure I follow, sir. An explanation for what?”
McNab helped himself to some of the seared-rare ahi tuna appetizer. He chewed slowly, clearly enjoying the delicacy, then swallowed. “I told you on the phone that I was starving.”
