It was good to be the king, but being the man behind the king was almost as good — and certainly it was a lot safer.
Platt had the 767 to himself, save for the flight crew. Wasn't any stewardess to offer him drinks or membership in the Mile High Club, but he could stretch out in a nice hammock somebody had rigged in the empty cargo bay, and that was a plus. He was on his way to Merrie Olde England, and practically home free. Even if the feds happened across the kid in the freight office and questioned him, the kid had a thousand bucks he'd lose if he gave Platt up, plus some explaining as to why he had forged a date on a rental agreement.
Platt had hit a cash machine just outside the office, so he had money left, plenty enough to catch a flight to Senegal, rent a car, and buy himself a few toys. He didn't want to be landing at the Bissau airport — no, not hardly. That would get back to the Presidente pretty quick, and from the Presidente's lips into Hughes's ear, and that wouldn't do at all. Hughes expected him to be in the federal pokey by now; Platt wanted his appearance to be a real surprise.
Course, it might be tricky sneaking into the guarded compound, but even jigs couldn't see in the dark. Platt had learned how to move in the woods when he'd been a kid, and some African forest couldn't be much worse than the swamps back home. Once he was over the wall, the rest of it would be a walk.
It would be real tempting to break Hughes into itty-bitty pieces once he got to him, but all he really wanted was his twenty million. Well, okay, maybe a little extra for his aggravation and all, that would be fair. If Hughes didn't want to pay him, why, then he'd have to convince him, but that was the last resort. Push came to shove, he could kill the bastard and walk, but that wouldn't be good, he'd be broke and the law looking for him. Any way you looked at it, laying low in
Hawaii running his own gym was a lot better than being on the run.
Yep, that was how he planned it. Get some gear, sneak across the border, have a little chat with Mr. Hughes, finish this whole biz in the green. Course, he might have to find himself a can of shoe polish to blend in with the locals.
That was funny. Him, disguising himself as a darky.
He smiled. The more he thought about that, the better it got. Wouldn't that let the air out of Hughes's tires, he looked up and saw a giant spook who looked just like Platt coming in through the window?
Platt laughed aloud. Oh, yeah, it would.
Still flying home on the Air Force transport, Howard opened a shielded com with Julio Fernandez at Net Force HQ.
'I can't go off and leave you alone even for a couple of days, can I, Sergeant?'
'No, sir, Colonel. Cat's away, the mice'll have a field day.'
'Let's hear it on all this African stuff, Julio. Is this serious?'
'Far as I can tell, yes, sir. About time too. It's been pretty dull around here lately.'
'Talk to me.'
The sergeant rattled off a bunch of background about the country, the language, the people, the geography. A minute into it, Howard said, 'Look, just upload all that into my mailbox and I'll scan it later. Let's get down to the nitty-gritty. What are we going to run into if we drop in unannounced on the Republic of Guinea-Bissau?'
'Sir. The country is defended by something called the People's Revolutionary Armed Force, called the FARP locally. They have a small Army, about nine boats worth of Navy, and an Air Force consisting of a few prop planes and surplus helicopters — if you don't count the President's unarmed Learjet. They've got a paramilitary militia, and while they supposedly have maybe a couple hundred thousand able-bodied men who could be drafted, the standing army is a twentieth of that, poorly armed and uneducated. Probably half of them could figure out how to tie their shoes — if they
'I see. What else?'
'They got zip railroads, under three thousand kilometers of paved road in the entire country, and thirty-five airports, two of which have enough runway to allow anything bigger than a crop duster to land. We'd have to put our transport down in Senegal, to the north, and go in either via copter, or overland — or maybe with an airdrop and parachutes.
'There are fewer than four thousand telephones in the country, maybe three for every thousand persons, and half those don't work.'
'The phones don't work, Sergeant? Or the people.'
'Both, sir. Average income is a couple hundred dollar per
'I see.'
'They've got three FM radio stations, four AM stations — they like rock and country and western, and a lot of trash talk. There are two TV stations, one of which doesn't sign on until dark. That's because there are maybe as many TVs as there are telephones. And probably half that many personal computers total, of which maybe a third have web access.'
'Sounds like a place to do my next survival trip.'
'If we cruise in over ‘em anymore than a hundred feet up, we'll be safe, ‘cause none of the locals can throw their spears that high. Me and a company of our second-teamers could parachute in after dark one night and be running the country by morning, without breaking a sweat.'
'Lack of confidence has never been one of your failings, Julio.'
'No, sir.'
'You sound awfully happy for a man stuck on a dull base recovering from a shot-up leg. I recognize that tone. Who is she?'
'I'm sure I don't have any idea what the colonel is talking about.'
'You'll go to Hell for lying like that, Sergeant.'
'Yes, sir, and I'll have your landing site secured when you arrive.'
Howard laughed. 'All right. I'm going to scan in the stuff you're sending and run scenarios on my S&T system. I should be landing in' — he glanced at his watch—'about half an hour. Meet me there.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Pack your tropical-weights, Sergeant, and kiss your girlfriend good-bye.'
'Not a problem, sir.' He laughed.
'Something funny I missed?'
'Oh, no, sir. I just remembered an old joke.'
'In thirty minutes, Julio.'
'Sir.'
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Michaels said, 'All right, I think that's it. Questions?'
He looked around the conference room at the others: Howard, Fernandez, Winthrop, Gridley, and Toni.
Toni said, 'Have we cleared this with the Director?'
'Currently the Director is in a don't-ask-don't-tell frame of mind,' Michaels said. 'If we deliver Hughes, he won't much care what we had to do to get him. And certain members of the Senate who might ordinarily scream to high heaven will be, I expect, very quiet about this particular detention.' He grinned. 'We also have some off-the- record help from the CIA. About as much as we want. Anything else?'
Nobody spoke.
'Good. You all have your assignments. Better go and get started.'
The others left. Toni stayed behind.
'This is not a good idea, Alex.'
'You heard the colonel, it should work.'
