There was a captain sitting at the far end of the table. D'Alessandro walked there and sat down next to him and gestured for the others to take chairs.

"This is Major Castillo," D'Alessandro said. "He's in on Snoopy. The captain is General Gonzalez's aide; he's on the Snoopy list. And you all know Colonel Fortinot. Major Castillo needs to talk to General McNab. We up?"

The captain nodded and said, "All green."

"Speakerphone all right with you, Charley?" D'Alessandro asked.

"How secure is this connection?" Charley asked. "This room?"

"Don't get no more secure."

"Speakerphone's fine," Charley said.

"Speakerphone green," the captain said.

"Old Fart for Snoopy-Six," D'Alessandro said.

Three seconds later, the surprisingly clear voice of Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab came over loudspeakers Castillo could not see. "Now what, Vic?"

"Fellow here wants to talk to you," D'Alessandro said and gestured to Castillo.

"It's Charley, General," Castillo said.

Three seconds later, McNab asked, "As in Castillo, that Charley?"

"Yes, sir."

"You've always had a talent for showing up at the worst possible time. What's on your mind?"

"I know what you were looking for, sir, and that it's no longer there."

"Who the hell told you that?"

"It was my intel that set the wheels turning."

"Okay. So what?"

"My boss sent me here, sir, to both get your report:"

"I already gave my so-far report to your Uncle Allan. You're talking about Secretary Hall?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excuse me, sir," Captain Brewster said. "It was Dr. Cohen, the national security advisor, who telephoned General Gonzalez and said you were coming here at the personal order of the president."

The delay was just perceptibly a little longer before McNab's reply came.

"That sounded like Brewster. Is your boss there, too?"

"No, sir. He's in his quarters."

"That figures. He's got you babysitting Castillo?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, Charley, what do you want?"

"I think we may soon know where the airplane is, sir, and I'd like to discuss with you plans to deal with it."

"You're in on my schedule? Won't that wait until I'm back?"

"Yes, sir. Of course. But there's something else."

"Like what?"

"I need three radios like these and people to operate them."

"Jesus Christ, Charley, you of all people should know how scarce they are!"

"One for my boss, one for Dick Miller, who's in Philadelphia, and one for me."

"What's Miller-I thought he was in Angola or some other hellhole-doing in Philadelphia?"

"Sir, we think the intention is to crash that airplane into the Liberty Bell. Miller's been working with the cops to come up with a connection. A little while ago, he told me he had found connections. He couldn't tell me what over cellular phone. We need secure commo."

The delay before McNab replied now was conspicuous.

"Where the hell am I? In the twilight zone? The Liberty Bell?"

"Yes, sir. What I would like to do is take a radio to Miller-and to my boss-so they have them up by the time you get back here."

"You've got a plane to do that?"

"Yes, sir," Charley said. "Or I'm pretty sure I will have."

"Just 'pretty sure'?"

"Yes, sir."

"You want me to call Naylor and make sure you have an airplane?"

"I don't think that will be necessary, sir."

"Okay, Charley. I know how close you and the Old Fart are, so this probably isn't necessary, but I left a lieutenant colonel named Fortinot minding the store; you better find him and bring him up to speed on this."

"Yes, sir, I will."

"Okay. I'll be in touch. I have to get wheels-up now. Snoopy-Six out."

The captain said, "Secure voice gone to standby."

D'Alessandro asked, incredulously, "These rag-head bastards are going to try to crash this airplane into the Liberty Bell? What the fuck is that all about?"

"I don't know, Vic," Castillo admitted.

His cell phone tinkled and he pulled it from his pocket.

"Yeah?"

"My toy, against my better judgment, will be wheels-up in about ninety seconds," Fernando Lopez announced.

"Thank you."

"Maria's really pissed," Fernando said. "And I mean really pissed."

"I'm sorry," Castillo said.

The line went dead.

"I guess you missed the sign on your way in, Charley," D'Alessandro said.

"What?"

"The sign that says, 'THE USE, OR POSSESSION, OF PERSONAL CELLULAR

"I can't do without it," Charley said. "That was word that my airplane is on the way. I've got to make-and expect-other calls."

"Sometimes, we just smash the phones," D'Alessandro said. "Other times, we castrate the offender."

"I have to have it, Vic," Castillo said.

D'Alessandro locked eyes with him for a moment, then finally shrugged.

"There's always an exception to every rule," he said, finally. "General Bruce J. McNab himself once told me that personally."

"It's about twelve hundred miles from San Antonio here," Castillo said. "That's about two hours and fifteen minutes flight time. That means we have that much time to find the radios, find three communicators, get them into civilian clothes, have them check out the radios, check me out on them, and get from here to Pope."

D'Alessandro looked at the captain.

"Can do?"

"I'm not only a green beanie, Vic, I'm a Delta Force guy in good standing. I can do fucking anything." He turned to Castillo. "It'll be cutting it close, sir, but it can be done."

[FOUR]

Pope Air Force Base, North Carolina

0025 10 June 2005

Sergeant Dwayne G. Lefler, USAF, who had sincerely believed the civilian who'd gotten off the Citation with no ID had been sent by Air Force counterintelligence to catch him with his security pants down, was still on duty at Pope Base Operations when Castillo led the three Delta Force communicators and Captain Brewster into the building.

Sergeant Lefler eyed with some suspicion Major C. G. Castillo, now attired in the Class A uniform prescribed for field-grade officers.

"Sorry about the confusion before, Sergeant," Castillo said, going to him and offering his Army ID card. "It couldn't be helped."

After examining the ID card, Sergeant Lefler said, "Yes, sir," handed it back, and then reached for his telephone and punched in a number.

"Major, I'm sorry to get you up again but I think you better come back down here."

Major Thomas F. Treward, USAF, appeared a minute or so later, took a good look at Castillo, and said, "Well, Major, back again?"

"This time we're looking for a civilian Lear that's supposed to be here right about now."

"The tower just cleared him to land," Treward said, gesturing toward the glass doors.

Castillo went outside and looked up at the sky.

There were a half-dozen flashing Grimes lights in the sky. After a moment, Castillo decided which of them were making an approach to the runway and followed them with his eyes. The first two aircraft in the pattern were USAF C-130s. The third was a glistening white Bombardier/Learjet 45XR.

Two minutes later, it rolled up to the tarmac before base operations and stopped. Castillo saw the copilot take off his headset and then get out of his seat. Castillo walked toward the plane. Before he got there, the door opened and the copilot got out, carrying a small bag.

He was a silver-haired man in his fifties whose zippered flight jacket was adored with the four-stripe shoulder boards of a captain. Castillo guessed that he was ex-military, maybe retired, who was on some sort of a list for people who needed a pilot for a light jet on short notice.

"You're Major Castillo?" the copilot asked, and, when Castillo nodded, went on: "Two questions for you. He wants to know how long the airplane will be on the ground? And what about transportation to Fayetteville?"