“Speaking of precision,” Castillo said.
“That’s it, Charley,” Davidson replied. “It won’t go any closer. What they did was turn on the AFC just long enough for the computer to get a GPS position.”
Castillo’s fingers flew over the keyboard of his laptop.
“Jake, I’ve got a last-known position on Uncle Remus. He’s in the Congo.”
“He told me that’s where he was going. Anything a little closer than that? The Congo is a great big place, Charley.”
“You have a pencil or something to write this down?”
“The Lorimer Fund bought me the latest and greatest laptop computer just before I came over here. I thought maybe it would come in handy.”
Castillo read from his laptop screen: “One point zero six north latitude; twenty-five point nine east latitude. That’s eighty-odd klicks northeast of Kisangani.”
“Let me have those coordinates again. Slowly.”
Castillo read them again slowly.
“Got it. Where the hell did you get that?”
“We Army special operators try to stay on top of things,” Castillo said. “I think this place we’re interested in is another fifty or sixty klicks farther northeast of Uncle Remus’s LKP.”
“That would fit,” Torine said thoughtfully.
“It’s possible, repeat possible, that we’ll get position updates, and I thought that while we’re waiting maybe we might consider what we could do if this place turns out to be what it is, and where we think it is.”
“The Air Force, as usual, is way ahead of you. There’s a number of options, ranging from nuking it from a B-1 through having Uncle Remus sneak up and throw a spear at it.”
“And you’ve been thinking about them?”
“If you had to make an educated guess, Charley, would you say the target would be within a fifty- or sixty- klick radius of Uncle Remus’s LKP?”
“I’d be happier with seventy-five klicks, but you could probably narrow it down some from a radius. I have an educated guesstimate that it’s not farther than ten klicks either side of National Route 25, and no more than that from the Ngayu River.”
“That will narrow it down a lot. I’ll work on it. Give me an hour or so, Charley, and I’ll send you my thoughts.”
[NINE]
1150 13 January 2006
Two hours and thirty-two minutes passed before Sexy Susan announced that Colonel Torine wanted to speak with Colonel Castillo, and when Castillo went on the AFC, she announced, “Commencing data transmission, Encryption Level One-D.”
Moments later, the printer began to spit out sheets of paper—and then kept spitting them out. After four minutes, it stopped suddenly and Sexy Susan announced: “Partial failure of data transmission to file and printer. Printer paper supply, or printer toner supply, possibly exhausted. Transmission to file will resume momentarily. Check printer paper supply and or printer toner supply, replenish as necessary, and enter RESUME PRINT FILE.”
Doing that consumed another seven minutes.
And it was another five minutes before Sexy Susan announced, “Transmission of data, Encryption Level One-D, to file and printer verified complete.”
As Svetlana helped Castillo stack the printer’s output, he noticed the countdown, no longer reflecting seconds, was down to 37:16.
When he had finished glancing at the information Torine had sent, he was surprised at how little time Torine had spent detailing the options, not how long.
There were eight separate “Proposed Operational Order: Congo Chemical Complex” papers. A quick glance showed they called for the use of aerial weaponry ranging from missiles, through the B-1 Stealth bomber, to the F- 15E fighter bomber, and the aerial tankers needed to refuel them, and two involved U.S. Navy F/A-18C fighter bombers operating from carriers in the South Atlantic and Indian oceans.
And there was a ninth paper: “Proposed Operational Order: Bomb Damage Assessment, Congo Chemical Complex.” It suggested this could be done by satellite overfly; a U-2 high-altitude photoreconnaissance aircraft; Predator Unmanned Aerial Vehicle; return to the bombing site by bomber or low-flying fighter aircraft, or by “clandestine entry into the Congo of U.S. Air Force or U.S. Army Special Operations personnel to make such evaluation on the ground.”
The ninth was the only one Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, himself a military aviator with a good deal of experience, felt he more or less understood.
But he was going to have to try to understand the strengths and limitations of the various things Torine was proposing. He was going to have to show them to the President, and he didn’t want to look or sound like a goddamn fool when inevitably the President asked him a question and he didn’t have the answer.
He collected everything that Torine had sent him, plus the draft of the report Two-Gun Yung had prepared from his own notes and from what had come from Fulda and what he’d gotten from Dmitri and Svetlana. And he went to his old desk in his old bedroom, where he hoped he would have a little privacy.
Yung’s draft would have to be modified when Yung had a chance to review what had just started coming in from Budapest—Delchamps had finally shown up there—but Yung had put it to him that now was the time to have “a quick look” to make sure it was what he wanted, rather than have him continue “to break his ass on what might well be a waste of everybody’s time.”
He had just made himself comfortable at his old desk and poured himself a cup of coffee when Svetlana came into the room. He was convinced he’d pissed her off by telling her that he didn’t need help or company right now, thank you very much.
She simply replied, “Joel Isaacson is on the radio.”
[TEN]
1150 13 January 2006
The countdown on his laptop read 36:58 when Castillo sat down at the desk and reached for the AFC handset.
“C. G. Castillo.”
Sexy Susan said: “I have Colonel Castillo for you, Mr. Isaacson.”
Confirmation of that came immediately when Isaacson began the conversation by announcing, “Charley, I had a call five minutes ago from the President.”
Castillo waited for him to go on.
“He wanted to know if I knew where you were,” Isaacson said. “When I told him I honestly didn’t know, he asked if I could find you. I said—I don’t lie to the President, Charley—‘I think I can, Mr. President.’
“To which he replied, ‘Do so, Joel. If you can, tell him to call me. If you can’t, call me back within ten minutes.’
“To which I replied, ‘Yes, Mr. President.’ He hung up. I then called Jack Doherty, who said to get on the AFC. Jack is not capable of lying to the President, either, even secondhand.”
“I understand, Joel. I’m sorry you got in the middle of this.”
“So am I, Charley. What do I tell him?”
“You won’t have to tell him anything. I’ll call right now.”
“White House.”
“C. G. Castillo for the President on a secure line, please.”
“Hold one, Colonel, please. I have special instructions . . .”
