The Outlaws_ A Presidential Agent Novel Part 67

"What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing?" Castillo demanded.

"Carlos, I don't like it when you use that tone to me."

"You and Max are going back to the lake on the Mustang!"

She pointed at the runway. Castillo looked. The Mustang was beginning its takeoff roll.

"Well, Svet, you got that past me. But now you can wait here. You're not going."

"Of course I'm going. Wherever did you get this idea I wasn't?"

"Honey, for Christ's sake, we don't know what's going to happen at La Orchila. People are likely to get hurt."

"Did you ever think, Generalissimo Carlitos," she snapped, "you poor man's von Clausewitz, what would happen if one of Sirinov's Spetsnaz takes Dmitri out the moment we land? When you speak Russian, you sound like a Saint Petersburg poet." She wet her finger and ran it over her eyebrow, the gesture's meaning unmistakable. "You'd make the Spetsnaz giggle. I was a podpolkovnik of the SVR and I sound like one. I know how to deal with Spetsnaz and I'm going!"

After a moment's reflection, Castillo asked, "And Max? You want to take him too, I suppose, Podpolkovnik Alekseeva?"

"Absolutely! You get Max to show his teeth to Yakov Sirinov the way you did to Lammelle and he'll wet his pants. I may not even have to hurt him."

Castillo considered that a moment, and then asked, "Have you got a weapon?"

"Of course I've got a weapon," she snapped, still angry. "I've always got a weapon. You should know that. You've been looking up my dress from the day we met."

Castillo had an immediate, very clear mental image of that day.

Svetlana's skirt had risen high as she nimbly jumped from the tracks of Vienna's Sudbahnhof onto the platform, revealing that she was wearing red lace underpants with a small pistol-he later learned it was a Colt 1908 Pocket Model .32 ACP-holstered on her inner thigh just under them.

Roscoe J. Danton walked up.

"Not to worry, Charley," he said. "I understand Colonel Alekseeva was speaking off the record."

"Roscoe, sometimes he makes me very, very angry," Sweaty said.

Jake Torine walked up.

"I didn't hear that either," Torine said, and then went on: "It's about time for us to get going, Charley."

[FOUR].

The USS Bataan Bataan (LHD 5) (LHD 5) North Lat.i.tude 14.89, West Longitude 77.86 The Caribbean Sea 1255 12 February 2007

Almost as soon as he spotted the Bataan Bataan, Castillo saw that four black 160th SOAR UH-60M helicopters were already sitting on her deck, their rotors folded.

"I think I should tell you, First Officer, that the Bataan Bataan has a very impressive array of weaponry-including four forty-millimeter Gatling guns-with which to discourage strange and possibly hostile aircraft from approaching." has a very impressive array of weaponry-including four forty-millimeter Gatling guns-with which to discourage strange and possibly hostile aircraft from approaching."

Torine gave him the finger and activated his microphone.

"Bataan, this is Keystone Kop."

"Keystone Kop, Bataan Bataan, be advised we have you in sight. Go ahead."

Castillo said, "What he meant to say, First Officer, was 'gun-sights.'"

"Well, Bataan Bataan," Torine spoke into the microphone, "if you have us in sight, then I guess I don't have to tell you I estimate we are at one thousand feet about two klicks off your stern. Request permission to land."

"Keystone Kop, are you carrier-qualified?"

Torine looked at Castillo.

"Lie, Jake. We don't have enough fuel to go back to Cozumel."

"Affirmative, we are carrier-qualified."

"Keystone Kop, be advised that Bataan Bataan is headed into the wind. The wind down the deck is at twenty knots. Acknowledge." is headed into the wind. The wind down the deck is at twenty knots. Acknowledge."

"Bataan, Keystone Kop understands wind down the deck is at twenty, and Bataan Bataan is headed into the wind." is headed into the wind."

"Keystone Kop, you are cleared to land. Be advised a rescue helicopter is to port."

"I think he knows we were lying," Torine said. "You really have never done this before?"

"Only as a pa.s.senger," Castillo said. "And what I think the pilot told me that day was that if the wind across the deck is at, say, twenty knots, and you're indicating twenty knots, that means you're in a hover over the deck, which, relatively speaking, has an air speed of zero."

As Castillo very carefully lowered the Black Hawk onto the deck-I am really in a ground effect hover, even if I'm indicating that I'm making twenty knots. How can that be?-he found it easier to look at the "ground," which was to say the deck, of the USS Bataan Bataan out the left window of the c.o.c.kpit rather than the deck forward of the helo. That way he could tell, relatively speaking, if the out the left window of the c.o.c.kpit rather than the deck forward of the helo. That way he could tell, relatively speaking, if the Bataan Bataan 's island was moving-in which case he was in trouble-or not. 's island was moving-in which case he was in trouble-or not.

And when he did, he saw that he knew several of the 160th's Night Stalker pilots. They were standing, arms folded, waiting for him to crash, on the deck next to the superstructure that was the island.

One of them-a tall, graying, hawk-featured man wearing, like the others, the black flight suits favored by the 160th-he knew well. And he knew that hanging from the zipper of Arthur Kingsolving's black flight suit was the "subdued" insignia of his rank. Castillo couldn't see it, but knew it was the black eagle of a full colonel.

The Black Hawk touched down.

"You can exhale now, Jake," Castillo said as he reached for the rotor brake control. "We're on the ground. More or less."

"Art Kingsolving's here."

"I noticed. I hope you are going to tell me you outrank him."

"No, I don't. But your question is moot. Active duty officers always outrank retired old farts."

"I don't know about you, but I think of myself as a prematurely retired young fart," Castillo said.

"And there is a welcoming delegation," Torine said.

"Why don't you go deal with them while I finish shutting this thing down?"

The Navy delegation consisted of the officer of the deck, a chief petty officer, and two petty officers, one of them the master-at-arms and the other a medic.

They quite naturally had decided that the senior person aboard the helicopter with Mexican police markings would be riding with his staff in the pa.s.senger compartment, and lined up accordingly.

The first person-more accurately, the first living thing-to exit the helicopter was an enormous black dog, closely followed by a redheaded woman in battle dress who was screaming angrily at the dog in what sounded like Russian. Close on her heels came a man holding a camera who began to snap pictures of the Navy delegation, the helicopters on the deck, and the dog, who was now wetting down the front right wheel of the helicopter.

The co-pilot's door opened and, for a moment, decorum returned as Colonel Jake Torine, USAF (Retired), came out, popped to rigid attention, faced aft, and crisply saluted the national ensign.

Then he did a crisp left-face movement, raised his hand to his temple, and holding the salute, politely announced, "I request permission to come aboard, sir, in compliance with orders."

"Very well," the officer of the deck said, returning the salute. Then he said, "Sir, the captain's compliments. The captain requests the senior officer and such members of his staff as he may wish attend him ..."

At that point, protocol broke down.

The Army pilots who had been standing next to the island came trotting across the deck, including the one that the officer of the deck knew to be a full colonel.

"I'll be a sonofab.i.t.c.h if Charley didn't steal another one," one of the Night Stalkers shouted.

"This time from the Mexican cops," another of them clarified.

"Zip your lips," Colonel Kingsolving snapped. He then turned to the officer of the deck. "Mister, I need a word with Colonel Castillo before he attends the captain on the bridge."

"Colonel, when the captain requests-"

"This time he's just going to have to wait," Kingsolving said, and then turned to Castillo, who, having exited the helicopter, was now exchanging hugs, pats on the back, and vulgar comments with the pilots.

"Colonel Castillo," Colonel Kingsolving called sternly. "I need a word with you right now."

Castillo freed himself, marched up to Kingsolving, came to attention, and saluted.

"Follow me, Colonel," Kingsolving ordered, and marched down the deck until they were alone.

"Face away from the island," Kingsolving ordered.

Castillo turned his back to the s.h.i.+p's superstructure.

"All McNab told me," Kingsolving said, "was to send the Black Hawks out here via Key West. 'The op commander will meet your senior pilot on the Bataan Bataan.' Your name wasn't mentioned."

"You didn't hear I was retired?"

"Yeah, and when we have time, I want to ask you about that."

"'Senior pilot'?" Castillo asked.

"I'm not supposed to be here, Charley. The first time I talked to him, McNab told me I was not to go. And then he called me back and said if I was thinking of having a case of selective deafness, the brigadier's selection board is sitting right now, and if this op gets out-even if it goes as planned-I can forget a star."

"You're here," Castillo said. "You don't want to be a general?"

"Two reasons, Charley. I'm one of those old-time soldiers who doesn't send his people anywhere he won't go himself."

"McNab was right. Even if I can carry this off, I think there's going to be serious political implications."

"Because you stole that helicopter from the Mexicans?"

"Because, for example, the last time I saw Frank Lammelle earlier today, he was wearing plastic handcuffs and Vic D'Allessando was sitting on him."

"Ouch! Charley, how long is this operation of yours going to take?"

"With a little bit of luck, we should be back on the Bataan Bataan by oh-eight-thirty tomorrow." by oh-eight-thirty tomorrow."

"Back from where? Where you're going to do what? Just the highlights."

Castillo told him.

"Now I'm really glad I came," Kingsolving said. "I told you there were two reasons I suffered temporary deafness. The captain of the Bataan Bataan, Tom Lowe, is a really good guy. I've done a couple of operations with him. Obviously, the more he knows about this one, the better all around. The problem with that is I don't want him standing at attention before a white-suit board of inquiry trying to explain why he knowingly partic.i.p.ated in an obviously illegal operation."

"How do you want me to handle that?"

"There is a way, but I suspect that as a fellow marcher in that Long Gray Line, it will really bother you. The Code of Honor, don't you know?"

"Try me. I lie, cheat, and steal all the time, and spend a lot of time hanging out with others that do."

"Would you be willing to swear on a stack of Bibles that the only thing you told Lowe was where you wanted him to have the Bataan Bataan and when, and aside from a.s.suring him that it was a duly authorized, wholly legal operation, didn't tell him anything else?" and when, and aside from a.s.suring him that it was a duly authorized, wholly legal operation, didn't tell him anything else?"

"Absolutely."

"Thank you, Charley."

"For what? You're the guy who just watched his star disappear down the toilet."

"One more question. Who the h.e.l.l is the redhead?"

"Would you believe, my fiancee?"

"No."

"How about she's an SVR lieutenant colonel?"

"I thought female SVR lieutenant colonels weighed two hundred pounds and had stainless-steel front teeth. Come on, we've got to see the captain."

"Can I bring my dog?"